august 2023 books…

Books And Island In Ojibwe Country (Louise Erdrich): This is our next Storysmith Bookgroup selection. I’d never previously read any of Erdrich’s books (American author of novels, poetry, and children's books featuring Native American characters and settings). Our bookgroup theme was ‘Travel-related’ and this book describes her travels (with her 18-month-old daughter in tow) to the terrain of her ancestors: the lakes and islands of southern Ontario… and yet, it’s rather more than just a journal of her travels. It takes in history, language, songs, spirits, mythology and memoir of her native homeland… and also links ancient stone paintings with a magical island where a bookish recluse built an extraordinary library (note: this recluse, Ernest Oberholtzer, born in 1894, suffered with a heart condition and was told by his doctor that he had just one year to live… so he decided to paddle a canoe through the wilderness of Ojibwe Country… and kept on paddling. He lived to be 93!). As a lover of books and the owner of her own bookshop, Erdrich was clearly in her element. I enjoyed it too.
The Provincial Lady In America (EM Delafield): First published in 1934 (the third volume of Delafield’s “The Diary Of A Provincial Lady”). I loved the first two ‘Provincial Lady’ books and just knew that the third would provide similar amusement and light relief (which it did!). The publishers decide to send the author on tour to America and the book starts by how she imparts this news to her family and neighbours. Her circumstances have somewhat changed - by now, she is ‘somewhat famous’, travels First Class (except that travels back to the UK ‘tourist class’ as the publishers are no longer trying to impress Americans!), and is photographed as she disembarks the ship at New York. The trip is a series of whirlwind tours - being whisked from mansion to mansion, combined with endless cocktails and pompous speaking engagements - and all surrounded, it seems, by a host of millionaires (which, given that the diary was written in the throes of the Depression and never mentioned, seems somewhat puzzling). Her observations of the characters she met and the circumstances in which she found herself are rather wonderful and very amusing. I enjoyed the book enormously (just one more book left in the series!).
The Satsuma Complex (Bob Mortimer): This is Mortimer’s first novel (I very much enjoyed his autobiography ‘And Away’). It’s a crime novel, set in south London, involving police corruption, domestic violence, murder… and LOTS of absurd, surreal humour. The main character, Gary, is a shy, legal assistant at a firm of solicitors - who lives something of hum-drum life and conducts conversations with a passing squirrel (you perhaps wouldn’t have expected anything less from the author!). In truth, it‘s quite page-turner… although there’s a large part of me that somewhat resents how readily ‘celebrities’ are able to write work that achieves the ‘Sunday Times’ bestsellers list when far more gifted authors fail to get recognised (or even published). Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the book and liked the main characters… but Bob Mortimer is no Richard Osman!
Stories We Tell Ourselves (Richard Holloway): The book’s sub-title is: ‘Making Meaning in a Meaningless Universe’. I’ve long been an admirer of Holloway’s writings and thinking and I’ve read several of his books. This book (published in 2020) explores the stories we’ve been told about where we come from and about getting through “this muddling experience of life”. It’s thought-provoking, challenging, compassionate and wise. I continue to find myself agreeing with Holloway’s views on a lot of things in his own personal spiritual journey. In 2000, he’d basically given up on the church (you might recall that he’d previously been Bishop of Edinburgh) but, over subsequent years, he’s found himself slowly “slipping back” into the place where his prayers had once “been valid”. He’s an advocate of Jesus, but definitely NOT of the Church (or, some respects, even of God)… and, clearly from reviews of the book, such views attract strong support and opposition from both sides of the argument (I’m tending to go along with Holloway!). “The resistance goes on, though the Church that calls itself after Christ has rarely ever tried to join it, or never for long. Often it has done the opposite. It has followed the world’s style in its own institutional life. It has been one of the cruellest and least forgiving institutions in history… No, the Church never really tried to live the Jesus-life. What it did was to keep his story alive. Even as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats, Christians were compelled to listen to it. Week after week and day after day, the story was read to them”. I could go on… but I trust you get the general drift (and, again, I’m with him in large part). I think now might be a good time to re-read his book ‘The Heart of Things: Memory and Lament’.
Girl (Edna O’Brien): This is a novel (published in 2019) based on the horrific trauma of Nigeria’s abducted schoolgirls from the Government Girls Secondary School in the town of Chibok in 2014 by the Islamic terrorist group Boko Haram. One of the girls, Maryam, is the story’s narrator. Following her ‘capture’, she has given birth, and she and her daughter have somehow escaped from the compound, where she had been raped many times and then forced into marriage and motherhood… the trauma of her abduction wrecks her family (or what’s left of it). It’s all pretty devastatingly shocking (and feels amazing ‘real’). Politicians trying to take credit for other people’s actions and sacrifices… but also the kindness of some brave women who helped some of the other ‘Maryams’ survive. O’Brien spent several months in Africa researching for the book - meeting women who’d suffered at the hands of Boko Harum, together with a whole host of volunteers, doctors and trauma specialists… and such experiences obviously played a vital part in helping her convey the terror so palpably real. I’m a huge fan of O’Brien’s writing and I found this book incredibly powerful and impressive (no surprises there). Man’s inhumanity to man laid bare. 

july-august 2023 books…

Drawn From Life (Steve Hurst): An account of the author’s experiences and reflections on his life as a student at Oxford’s Ruskin School of Drawing and Fine Art (1949-1953). Set against the background of an austerity Britain in the immediate aftermath of WW2 (and leaning heavily on Hurst’s contemporary diaries), it explores his journey as he tries to assess if the world of art has a place for him. The book is both a personal and a social history of that time. Moira came across this book while we were staying in Oxford for a few days and so, given that Hurst was describing places that we knew well (from Sandford village on the edge of Oxford to numerous city locations) and that resonated with our own student days – albeit that they were some 20 years after Hurst’s own time… the ‘growing up’ challenges; relationships; class differences; self-confidence (and the lack of it!); self-questioning etc. Things had changed quite considerably by the time we began our studies in Oxford (eg. available grants, no national service etc) but, nevertheless, Hurst’s account makes fascinating reading.
The Solace Of Fierce Landscapes (Belden C Lane): This is a rather special book… exploring desert and mountain spirituality. I love reading about mountains and deserts (over the years, I’ve read several books about them) – despite having never really experienced any of them first hand (and I have a fear of heights!). In some ways, I suppose I’d hoped that the book would help point the way out of my own spiritual wilderness, but it didn’t. But I did find it incredibly helpful in a variety of ways. I found his references to the lives of the desert fathers and mothers fascinating and also how these challenging locations and experiences haven’t just been limited to the Christian faith… the book contains numerous references to Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists as well as Tibetan mythology and Chinese traditions. I was relieved that the book wasn’t full of biblical references (these days, I find I’m struggling with a lot of biblical stuff!), but it did include words which resonated for me, such as: “If you cannot go into the desert, you must nonetheless ‘make some desert’ in your life”. It was good that Lane didn’t over-romanticise the desert and mountain experiences/references… and that he was able to point to some of the terrors and tussles of the wilderness/mountainous terrains as well as providing glimpses of their majesty. Throughout the book, the author interweaves his mother’s long struggle with Alzheimer’s and cancer with meditations of his own “wilderness experiences” – which I found both helpful and illuminating. I could write so much more on Lane’s book, but I think I’ll leave it at that. Beautifully written and something of an oasis, perhaps, for me.
More Work For The Undertaker (Margery Allingham): First published in 1949. The book focuses on Apron Street, an isolated neighbourhood in London… going ‘up Apron street’ has become a byword for a criminal vanishing. Undertakers are kept busy accordingly and bankers become involved with the eccentric Palinode family, which has inherited shares of stock once thought worthless. I’d read a number of Allingham novels, but had never really ‘warmed’ to her Campion character – unlike a number of my good friends who very much rate him. So, this was another attempt to become a fan… Yes, it’s an impressive, clever, complex storyline and, yes, I was rather more impressed by Campion, BUT I also found the novel rather annoying at times. There were far too many characters for my liking and it took me ages to get them clear(ish) in my head (on the other hand, it might just be my lack of intellect of course!). In addition, I frequently found Allingham’s written dialogues very confusing… and kept having to re-read them to discover who was actually speaking (again, it might just be me – but I did find this happening time after time). It took me about a third of the book to properly ‘get into the story’ and, once I did, found it intriguing. I’m a great lover of crime novels but, frankly, have yet to become a huge fan of Allingham’s writing (sorry!).
A Terrible Kindness (Jo Browning Wroe): It’s October 1966 and 19 year-old William Lavery has just qualified as an outstanding embalmer (I know!) and is about to celebrate at a posh black-tie dinner, but news comes through of a landslide at Aberfan… and there are lots of fatalities. Lavery feels the need to help as a volunteer. The story fluctuates from his time, nine years earlier, when he’s a chorister in Cambridge to perhaps 6 years beyond the Aberfan disaster. The novel’s about families, relationships, grieving and kindness (among other things). It’s very readable (I read the 380-page book in less than 3 days) and is full of quite moving passages… but I also found it somewhat annoying (and frequently predictable). I didn’t warm to the William character (or his mother) and frequently found the writing style and narrative (particularly in the first third of the book) somewhat clumsy and ungainly as far as character and dialogue were concerned. I became regularly irritated by what I felt was the author ‘showing off’ that she’d done her research about Aberfan, choristers, ‘pop music’ of the time, homophobia, embalmers and locations in the West Midlands (where she grew up) and Cambridge (where she now lives). The book-cover is full of glowing praise for the book – but I noticed that they ALL seemed from female writers/critics(?). To sum up: I enjoyed it and was exasperated by it in equal measure!
The High House (Jessie Greengrass): This incredibly moving novel describes the climate crisis as not just a possibility, but grounded in REALITY (as the book’s cover puts it: “You think you have time. And then, all at once, you don’t”). Perched on a hill above a village by the sea, the high house has a mill, a vegetable garden and a barn full of supplies. A girl and her younger half-brother arrive there one day and find it cared for by an elderly man and his granddaughter (I’ll the background details!). They learn to live together and care for one another… in a world that is fast disintegrating – islands are disappearing due to rising tides; weather extremes are becoming normal; the changing climate is even starting to have devastating effects on those privileged countries of the ‘western world’… in the UK, villages are being abandoned during the ‘winter’ months (and, even in the ‘summer’, are only occupied by those with second homes); flooding has become a dangerous reality for people who never imagined that their homes would be at risk etc etc. The novel doesn’t have a specific time-scale, but there are references to the grandfather listening to “Children’s Hour” on the radio as a youngster (so I suspect he was born around the same time as me – say 1949)… and, in the book, he’s reached a somewhat doddery ‘old age’ – so, I imagined the book being set perhaps ten or fifteen years hence(?). I’ve read a lot about the Climate Crisis (and all the frustrations that go with it – the lack of action by governments, including ours, throughout the world etc) and, yes, I appreciate that this is a novel and not an academic analysis but, for me, this book has provided the most effective and compelling description of the REALITY of the nature of the Climate Crisis we face and its imminent threat to our world. In the circumstances, it might seem rather frivolous to say that I REALLY enjoyed this book (but I did!). It’s beautifully written and, as the Sunday Times’ reviewer puts it: “full of elegant, resonant sentences about human fallibility, complacency, selfishness and our unquenchable capacity for love”. I think you definitely need to read this book.   
Footnote: I started reading ‘The High House’ on the same day that I’d finished ‘Terrible Kindness’ and was immediately struck by the huge difference in the quality of the writing. Wroe’s ‘Kindness’ showed her skills as a storyteller (despite her ‘clunky’ writing style), whereas Greengrass’s ‘High House’ was altogether more impressive and accomplished (like suddenly being to relax when a brilliant actor arrives on stage and spoke his/her first lines and you just KNEW everything was going to be ‘ok’). 

oxford recollections…

Moira and I have just returned from a few days in Oxford, enjoying re-visiting some old haunts from our student days. As you might imagine, the trip brought back lots of memories for both of us…
For me, arriving in the city in September 1967 to begin my studies at Oxford School of Architecture… coming from Handsworth in Birmingham, Oxford was a huge contrast (understatement).
Looking back, I realise just how lucky I was to have been able study away from home and, obviously, in such a beautiful city like Oxford. Exploring new places from scratch, meeting new people, facing new challenges… such as coping financially, dealing with problems, accommodation, food… and, of course, making one’s own mistakes (and sorting them out!).
I feel sorry for those in higher education who don’t have the opportunity to live away from home for a while.
Oxford is clearly a very beautiful, small city – dominated by its University Colleges – but also one in which ‘privilege’ has prevailed (and, perhaps one would say, continues to prevail). Fortunately, I had very little to do with the university… apart from watching cricket in University Parks; attending a May Ball at Exeter College; being present at a number of outdoor theatrical performances in various College grounds; standing along the riverbank watching Eights Week activities; and I vaguely remember attending some disco or other at Queens College.
I got to know my way around Oxford quite quickly – thanks to fellow first year students Steve, Age and JohnTrem (who became lifelong friends). We decided to meet up for a cheap omelette lunch (at an upper floor café on the High Street) every Saturday during the first term before exploring various colleges and their grounds. By our first Christmas in Oxford, we knew the city pretty well.
From the start, I absolutely loved the Cherwell and Thames rivers running through the city… Christchurch Meadow was (and still is) a real favourite place; University Parks; Port Meadow; Shotover Hill; Boars Hill; Osney; Jericho; Botanical Gardens; Magdalen Bridge; Iffley; the ‘Turf’, ‘Trout’ and ‘Perch’ pubs.… so many places.
The punting in the summer (I got to become quite a good punter!)… from Magdalen Bridge or the Cherwell Boathouse up to the Vicky Arms.
You could buy half a pint of mild at the White Hart in Old Headington for 6 pence halfpenny (that’s 6.5d OLD money!) and we regularly used to go drinking at the Turf on a Friday night… and each drink 8 pints @ 2s 6d a pint (spending £ONE POUND in the process!)!
There were few ‘Rag Weeks’ during my time at college… one of which included a 24 hour café and an attempt to ‘Drink the Turf Dry’ (which I endeavoured to do single-handed as I recall… and ending up slumped in a fireplace at the 24 hour café having completely failed to do so).
May Morning was a rather special time… huge crowds gathering below Magdalen Tower at 6am while the choir sang. Crowded streets, Morris Dancers, people jumping off bridges… people queuing for breakfasts (and beer!). Mom and Dad joined Moira and me on one occasion and were absolutely mesmerised by it all (in a good way!).
There was also St Giles Fair… taking over St Giles every Autumn.
Of course, crucially, Oxford was also the place where Moira and I first met (31 October 1969!)… she was studying languages at the Poly.
Sunday afternoon walks with Steve, Bev, Age, Jane, Ted and Val became part of a regular routine… and always finished off with our homemade “Mrs Blenkins’ scones”.
Later, when I worked for The Oxford Architects Partnership (35 Queen Street, 1972-76), the office had a cricket team (of sorts) and we were hugely fortunate to be able to play on various College pitches (after the end of the summer term)… Worcester, New College, University/Corpus Christi.
Moira and I married in 1972 and continued to live Oxford until 1982. We rented places in Oakthorpe Road and Osberton Road, Summertown before buying our first home in Percy Street, off the Iffley Road… and, of course, our three daughters (Ruth, Hannah and Alice) were all born in Oxford.
So, Oxford: a very special place!

june-july 2023 books…

The Company Of Heaven (Catherine Fox): This is the fifth Catherine Fox book I’ve read over the past eight years or so. As with the previous books, it’s based in the fictional diocese of Lindchester and, once again, follows some of its beloved characters. It was originally written in real time (more or less) in the form of a weekly blog and continues (from the writer’s previous book) on Easter Monday 2021 – just as the pandemic’s third lockdown draws to a close. Fox is a wonderful writer and she manages to convey the uncertainties of the incredibly challenging times with heart, humour and insight… as well as providing us with a compelling, powerful reminder of what we all went through (with some pertinent political ‘digs’ and observations). At times (as with her previous Lindchester books), it almost felt as if we were following the characters from BBC radio’s ‘The Archers’ (except that I haven’t actually tuned in for more than 30 years, so how would I know?!). Frankly, such thoughts would have put me off from reading Fox’s books… but, ridiculously perhaps, she does have the ability to make you want to know more about the story’s characters as well as leaving you with a sense of hope and a reminder of the goodness of people, even in the darkest times. Another enjoyable read.
The Clocks (Agatha Christie): More ‘comfort reading’ (from our huge pile of Christie books)! This one first published in 1963. For the first 100 pages or so, I was utterly intrigued by this ‘mystery novel’… a blind woman; an unidentified dead man found in her house; four strange clocks all showing the same time left in the house; a woman from a typing agency specifically asked to meet at the house – only to find the body. As ever with a Christie novel, it’s a clever, intricate plot but, for me, the storyline became a little too far-fetched (and with some unnecessary romantic tangents) with eventual revelations about A being linked to B… who was subsequently found to be associated with C etc etc (and, of course, with various red-herrings along the way). Clever, but not altogether 100% convincing in my view (by 1963, she was 73… so might have been losing her touch?!) but, hey, another enjoyable read nevertheless.
Take Two At Bedtime (Margery Allingham): I think I’ve previously read three Allingham books and, while I’ve enjoyed her writing style, I have to say that I found her ‘Albert Campion’ character a little ‘wearing’! This book (first published in 1950, but originally published in US magazines in the 1940s) does NOT feature Campion(!) and takes the form of two novellas/short(ish) stories: ‘Wanted’: Someone Innocent’ and ‘Last Act’… and, I have to say, I really enjoyed them. Two stories of tension and suspense. One concerns a young woman hired as ‘a sort of social secretary’, but who has no idea of the atmosphere of evil that goes with the job. The other relates the last act in the career of an old French actress, who names her murderer before the final curtain. Unfortunately, both stories included romance at the heart of the mysteries – but, hey!
Lessons In Chemistry (Bonnie Garmus): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup book (theme: debut books). The story starts in the early 1950s, in the world of the Hastings Research Institute, Southern California – where we follow the relationship of a brilliant, prize-winning scientist (despite his grudge-holding grumpiness) and a very determined research scientist (who found it almost impossible for people to take her seriously – because of her sex). In the words of the novel’s opening chapter: “Back in 1961, when women wore shirtwaist dresses and joined garden clubs and drove legions of children around in seatbeltless cars without giving it a second thought…”. Chemist Elizabeth Zott’s all male team at the Institute take a very unscientific view of equality. Ridiculously, she is forced to resign and, very reluctantly (without any experience of such things), she signs on as a host of a 6pm television cooking show… and “so a legion of overlooked housewives find themselves daring to change the status quo” (according to the book’s cover). I really enjoyed this book (despite its too-good-to-be-true positivity). It’s funny, very readable and ridiculously joyful (it WILL lift your spirits!)… and I loved the characters – especially the dog (named ‘Six-Thirty’!).
Seven Dead (J Jefferson Farjeon): I bought this book (first published in 1939) while we were away in Oxford – having finished the one book I’d taken with me. The story tells of an amateur thief who discovers seven dead bodies in the house he’s chosen to rob. A detective inspector takes on the case with the help of a passing yachtsman (as you do!). The search for the absent owners takes the yachtsman across the Channel to Boulogne, where he finds “more than one motive to stay and investigate” (in the words of the book’s flysheet… note: there’s an attractive woman involved!). I’d previously read one of Farjeon’s books and enjoyed it – but that’s more than I can say for this one! I found the characters here one laughably wooden; the dialogue utterly appalling (it seems that all thieves and police constables are basically ‘thick’, while the inspectors and yachtsmen are frightfully well-educated and middle-class); and the plot implausibly concocted for my liking. Clearly, it’s a book of its time and is very ‘dated’ accordingly – but I really did think it was pretty awful. 

'as you like it' at the RSC and my ageing brother…

It’s my lovely brother’s 70^th birthday next month and so, as one of the activities for his ‘Birthday Festival’, we went to the RSC at Stratford to see Shakespeare’s ‘As You Like It’ (directed by Omar Elerian).
Somewhat fittingly (I’ll pretend it was all part of my cunning plan), the current production featured actors who were 70+ years (as well as four young, talented actors at the beginning of their careers) and focussed on age and the ageing process in general… and with lots of humour. Rediscovering the themes of freedom and love from the perspective of older age.
 
This was a somewhat different version of the play: Set in a rehearsal room, the cast are presented as gathering to remember a production they created when young (back in 1978). Reflecting on the memories – both happy and sad – and the wonder of it all. There’s something rather wonderful about acknowledged performers in the ‘later stages’ of their careers being able to demonstrate their undoubted skills and experience while enjoying the camaraderie of the past, while performing roles written for actors 50 years their juniors! It’s all played out with lots of humour – the ‘fight scenes’, for example, being little more than awkward grappling as opponents readily acknowledged that they ‘couldn’t do it anymore’!
The quality of the acting was predictably high and, in particular, I was really impressed with the performances of Geraldine James (Rosalind) and Malcolm Sinclair (Orlando) – and I thought GJ was looking rather wonderful for a 72 year-old! – capturing the innocent of excitement of first love.
The play is also about memories – both happy and sad – the people we love; the things we recall; the things we’ve forgotten; the places we’ve seen; the things we might have done; the things we have achieved; the wonder of it all… and, of course, the things still to come.
But, what about the Forest of Arden? The audience is left with imagining the forest until the very end, when the forest was revealed in all its glory. The only disappointment for me about this dramatic scene was that the cast spoke their words from the very back of the stage AND with their backs to the audience – which made audibility less than ideal (I’m sure I wasn’t the only audience member to think this). Fortunately, this was followed by Rosalind’s rather beautiful adapted epilogue (performed facing the audience!) endorsing love at all ages.
But, as ever for me, what I REALLY love about theatre is the ‘live performance’ of it all… what you’re seeing is a one-off… the excitement, the uncertainty, the promise and the drama of it all.
I REALLY enjoyed this production… an absolute treat.
Photo (copyright RSC): Geraldine James (Rosalind) and Malcolm Sinclair (Orlando).

june 2023 books…

The Provincial Lady Goes Further (EM Delafield): Delafield’s novel ‘The Diary Of A Provincial Lady’ is in four parts (this is number two, published in 1932; I read the first one last October). Again, I thoroughly enjoyed this book – it’s beautifully-written, satirical diary of a social climber living in rural Devonshire. Once again, the provincial lady faces the problems of never having enough money, an unruly house and garden, problems recruiting staff, never well-read enough, never attractive enough etc. In this account, she becomes a published author and, as a result, feels she needs to find herself a London ‘flat’ where she can focus on her writing. Needless to say, not much actual writing gets done – as her city social life rather ‘gets in the way’ (and, of course, she’s always fretting that she hasn’t got the appropriate clothes, compared with her friends, or money to compete with them). Her wonderful, boring, mono-syllabic husband, Robert, is again a star. As before, an absolute joy to read.
The Hollow (Agatha Christie): First published in 1946 (our copy 1961, priced 2s6d)… another of the extensive batch of Christie novels on our bookshelves! In some ways, opting to read Agatha Christie feels like a ‘cop out’ but, in the complex and often depressing world, knowing you can rely on her to come up with an intriguing, entertaining plot feels sufficient! Yes, this mystery has all the usual clichés – the titled upper class family, the country house, the servants, a murder… oh, and, of course, Hercule Poirot! Cleverly plotted (with lots of pointers towards different individuals as being the ‘guilty party’) - occasionally a little too contrived perhaps – but satisfying nevertheless.
Rogue Male (Geoffrey Household): First published in 1939. I bought this book for Moira initially, but she decided that it wasn’t quite her ‘thing’ as far as ‘classic thrillers’ were concerned. It’s considered to be “one of the classic thrillers of the 20^th century”. An Englishman plans to assassinate the dictator of a European country, but is foiled at the last minute and captured by ruthless torturers and then thrown over a cliff. But he falls into a marsh whose softness saves his life. He takes refuge in a tree, and then begins, desperately wounded, to make his way towards the coast. The hunter has become the hunted. That’s as much as I’ll explain… All that I’ll add is that it’s a brilliant, intricate plot – carefully compiled and entirely convincing in all its details. A real escape and pursue adventure.
Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Dog (Dylan Thomas): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup selection: ten, wonderfully evocative short stories by the exceptional Dylan Thomas (first published in 1940). The stories – written in his 20s - are a wonderful mix… autobiographical, with boyhood recollections of family life (and his relatives); dreams of fame and fortune as a budding poet; poverty and unemployment; searching for love (and all the frustrations). Some are just very funny; some are pure nostalgia; some are achingly poignant. As you would expect, the prose and the descriptions are rather brilliant… and made me attempt to read long passages/meandering sentences to myself out loud(!). Think it’s time I re-read ‘Under Milk Wood’!
H Is For Hawk (Helen Macdonald): This is our Blokes’ latest book. As a child, the author was determined to become a falconer(?)… and read all the classic books on the subject. Years later, when her father died and she was deeply affected by grief, she became obsessed with the idea of training her own goshawk… and ended up purchasing ‘Mabel’ (the author’s choice of name) and taking her home to Cambridge and beginning the long, strange business of trying to train this ‘wildest of creatures’. It’s a rather beautiful book (she’s an excellent writer). It’s not just about the long process of training a goshawk, it’s also a book about memory and grieving. Part of the book is taken up with her fascination of TH White’s book ‘The Goshawk’ (first published in 1951), telling his own story of trying to train a wild goshawk. Although I could understand how White’s experience had been the trigger for Macdonald’s own determination to train a goshawk, I felt that it took up too much of her ‘story’. On the other hand, I thought her description of the twin challenges of trying to deal with the death of her father and training Mabel were both heartfelt and quite profound. Macdonald is a writer, naturalist, and an Affiliated Research Scholar at the University of Cambridge Department of History and Philosophy of Science (she had studied English at Cambridge) – but one of the things that struck me most in reading the book was that she was, essentially, quite a lonely person and that her love of her goshawk made up for needing relationships with people… but, hey, what do I know? I’m probably wrong. As someone who loves to watch birds in flight, but absolutely hates the very idea of actually touching one (having a bird trapped in our house in Thame – it fell down the chimney – was an absolute nightmare!!), reading a book about birds was a mixed blessing… BUT Macdonald is a very good writer and I enjoyed her story (and learnt a lot about hawks!).

asteroid city...

I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to watch Wes Anderson’s latest film “Asteroid City”. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a Wes Anderson film geek, so you’ll just have to take what I have to say about the film with a huge pinch of salt!
The film is set in a South-western American desert in 1955. There is a tiny town, Asteroid City, which simply comprises a motel, a garage, and rows of small white cabins. A meteorite landed there 3,000 years ago, and the resulting bright orange crater is the site of a government observatory. This town is regularly used to host a ‘Junior Stargazers and Space Cadets Convention’ (to which scientifically brilliant high-school students are invited to show off their inventions).
It’s an amusing and bizarrely wonderful film – beautifully designed (pedantically so some might say) in Anderson’s tell-tale style… with his ‘usual’ emphasis on flat two-dimensional backdrops/formal symmetry but with, in this film, an intense pastel-coloured, iridescent Kodak colour palette. 
Many of the actors are Anderson ‘regulars’: Jason Schwartzman, Tilda Swinton, Adrien Brody and Jake Ryan (and others)… but the film also features Tom Hanks, Scarlett Johansson, Margot Robbie and Maya Hawke (who I thought made an excellent prim school teacher).
The storyline is a little too complicated for my taste. I felt that telling it through the eyes of its fictional author was unnecessary (there were enough other stories interwoven as it was… but hey!).
I really enjoyed the film, but know that - as with all Anderson films – I will need to watch it again in order to catch more of the carefully-crafted ‘incidentals’ squeezed into several of the scenes (including ‘Road Runner’).

student days…

It’s exam time of year again (or was) - one of our granddaughters has just finished her GCSEs – it has reminded me of those uncertain, but exciting, days when pupils were coming to the end of their time at school and looking ahead to going off to university or pursuing career options.
A time of reflection and ‘what might have been?’ if we’d decided to follow other paths.

I was the first person in our family to go to university and, coming from a working-class background, I suppose that was quite significant. My decision to study architecture was based on a rather tentative suggestion from my Maths teacher, Mr Jones. Although I made general enquiries about what such a course would involve I frankly had very little idea of what an architect actually did (apart from ‘designing buildings’… whatever that meant!).
In 1966, I applied to study architecture at Aston and De Montfort universities and Oxford School of Architecture (then still part of the College of Technology, now within Oxford Brookes University); my parents were desperately keen that I continued to live at home (ie. studying at Aston), so were not impressed when I opted for Oxford!
My interview at the Oxford School with its wonderful, charismatic Principal, Reggie Cave, was quite an experience. This was at a time when places weren’t awarded on the basis of gaining three A* A-Levels or whatever… the interview was THE crucial part of the process. I completed some IQ tests before being called into the Principal’s office… and then he and I sat and discussed life, art, design, architecture and a whole realm of topics for well over an hour! At the end of our time together, Mr Cave offered me a place… but not for September 1966, but for 1967 (I had been part of the ‘Remove’ stream at school and had therefore completed my O-Levels in a year less than ‘normal’; Mr Cave felt I needed another 12 months’ maturity… and, of course, he was right!). So, ridiculously (this was before the time of ‘Gap Years’!), I stayed on at school for a third year in the Sixth Form – frankly just happy to play football and cricket!
Looking back, I realise how naïve and selfish I was in assuming that my parents would be happy for me to a) spend another year at school and b) embark on a six-year university course (I can assure you, money was tight!)!

I managed to gain a full grant (£360 a year - £120 per term!) and there were no tuition fees; there should have been a parental contribution on top of this, but I was able to manage without it (although Mom+Dad did pay for the odd train fare when I made my various visits home – although I frequently relied on hitch-hiking).
I think there were 80(?) architectural students in my first year, but numbers were considerably reduced over successive years (I think there were just 30 of us by year 6). I think times and attitudes have changed significantly over the past 50+ years (‘bums on seats’ seems to be the key for university funding, so perhaps now being dropped from courses on a year-by-year basis is relatively rare by comparison?).

The architecture course was something of a revelation. It was a mixture of public school-educated students and ‘ordinary’ people like me (I think there were 8 females). We were set a mixture of design projects each term – including perhaps half a dozen ‘one-day-sketch-schemes’. At the end of each project, critiques (‘crits’) were held in which each student had to present his/her scheme to a ‘jury’ of tutors. This was a hugely important part of the course – being able to ‘sell’ your design proposals; to explain/justify the way you had interpreted the project brief; and to defend your design decisions. I was initially struck by how confident the ex-public school students were by comparison with the rest of us… but we gradually developed more confidence and know-how as the course progressed.There are far too many experiences for me to recall in any great numbers (and an awful lot that I have forgotten!), but here are a few:

• On my very first day at college, I got trapped in a lift (together with three other students)!
• After registration on Day 1, one of the other architectural students (RobP – posh and public school-educated) and I decided to walk into Oxford together to do a little ‘exploring’. I was somewhat taken aback that he insisted on walking into town bare-footed (oh, those old hippie days!!).
• One of the other first year students (again public school-educated) introduced himself as ‘Mephistopheles’ and insisted that everyone should refer to him by that name… but I don’t think anyone ever did. He became something of a laughing stock and I don’t think he survived the first year of the course.
• There were no computers, of course! Just ‘Imperial’ and ‘Double-Elephant’ drawing boards, set-squares, T-squares, pens and pencils!
• There was no ‘College Bar’ until perhaps my third year – and, even then, it was only in a small, converted store (current students would no doubt find this unbelievable!). 
• Lots of societies/clubs within the college: FADS (Food+Drink Set) – which for a very modest joining fee ensured that ‘free’ access to food and drink samples at their monthly gatherings; Film Club – excellent, current, weekly films (again for an incredibly modest joining fee).
• We had a 24-hour Blues Festival in March 1969. Excellent artists including: Fairport Convention, The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, Roy Harper, Taste, Pete Brown and his Battered Ornaments, Free, Jo-Ann Kelly, Stefan Grossman, John Peel and others). 
• In my first year, I had ‘digs’ in Headington (Mrs Brown’s B+B for £7/week); 2nd Year: Arlington Drive, Marston (with Steve, Age and JohnT); 3rd Year: Norreys Avenue (with Age, JohnT and JohnTom); 4th Year: ‘Year Out’ at home in Brum; 5th Year: Lodge Hill, Abingdon (with Age+JohnTom?); 6th Year: bedsit in Littlemore until Christmas, then Oakthorpe Road, Summertown (having married Moira).
• Principal Reggie Cave’s infamous ‘Teapot Lecture’ given to first year students; this is a link to one he did in 1990 (we never had to fill in forms in ‘our day’!).
• Second Year students used to be sent on a European Study Trip. In 1968 (as it happens, the time of the Riots!), students went to Paris… but were so badly behaved that they cancelled the ‘European’ bit of the Study Trip the following year (ie. in MY second year!) and, instead, sent us to Pontins at Southport on a holiday accommodation project. The good news (for some, but not us!) was that we were so well behaved that they reinstated the European trip the following year (students went to Athens)! 
• The Architects’ Punt Race: these happened every summer – between King’s Mill and the Vicky Arms pub. Rules were fairly ‘basic’: Le Mons start; punt and six crew had to start and finish the race (as the race became more established boatyards would hide away their punts, poles and paddles the night before – equipment used to mysteriously disappear for race purposes!). The course highlights included negotiating the ‘Rollers’ (punts had to be pushed up ‘rollers’ at a change in water level) and paddling past ‘Parsons’ Pleasure’ (nudist bathing place)! On one occasion, I ended up in the water… I think we were in either first or second place entering the ‘rollers’ and anxious to re-enter the water as speedily as possible. Unfortunately, our heaviest crew member jumped back into the punt right at the bow end and the rest of us jumped in before the punt reached the water… with the predictable result that our punt (and us) disappeared under the water!
• We were required to attend lectures (but there were only perhaps 2-3/week) but, over the course of our time at college, architectural students did most of their work at their respective ‘homes/digs’. Looking back, I feel sure that we worked harder (and longer) than all the rest of the students at the college!! LOTS of all-night sessions, followed by a couple of days of ‘relaxing’ (ie. drinking!) before it all started again.
• One of key things for me (in the first year) was Tom Porter’s art ‘syllabus’. He became a brilliant influence for lots of us (definitely for me)… encouraged us to take risks; experimenting with different presentation techniques; colour; took us on a trip to London and pointed us towards Habitat, Carnaby Street/Biba; the film ‘2001: Space Odyssey’ etc. I won Tom’s poster competition for an exhibition at the Ashmolean in 1968.
• Mrs Barber’s brilliant ‘Art Materials’ shop on the ground floor of the architecture block (she was something of a ‘mother figure’ for lots of us and kept us all smiling!). 
• I won the ‘most improved student’ award (or whatever it was called) at the end of my second year (sponsored by the Oxford Architects Partnership – who subsequently offered me my first job). A huge boost to my self-confidence.

I know I was very fortunate to have ‘survived the course’ (over 60% of my fellow first year students didn’t)… but, hey, I did work very hard! Studying architecture is a long, long process (3 years at college; followed by a year-out in an office; followed by 2 years back at college; followed by a year in an office before being allowed to take ‘professional practice exams’ and become qualified. Because of the system in place in those days (as I’ve explained above), students would be kicked off the course at the end of each year (not because they hadn’t worked hard, just because they hadn’t achieved the required standards in the eyes of the tutors). Two of my closest friends met this fate and, as a result, never qualified.

Today, for those who choose or are able to go to university, the world is very different. There are no (or very few) grants available and, of course, there are also course fees to be paid… student loans are virtually the only way (the consequences of which seem to hang over individuals for the rest of their lives)… unless, of course, you have rich parents! Such matters have seriously curtailed opportunities to study away from home for many (due to lack of money) - a massive shame in my view. Having said all that, I do regret that there now seems to be an assumption/expectation that everyone will end up going to university. I feel quite strongly that this would be the wrong choice for SO many people… apprenticeships and/or specific job-related training would be the better option for huge numbers.

However, looking back on my own experiences, approaching 60 years later(!), I feel incredibly fortunate to have been given a chance to go to university.

It was an amazing, life-changing time for me personally – a time of independence; making decisions (and mistakes!) off my own bat… and seeing them through; meeting new people/making new friendships; adapting to new educational challenges (and growing in confidence in putting over my ideas); growing up(!); and, of course, being fortunate enough to study in a beautiful place like Oxford.

Bon voyage to all those about to leave school and/or continue their studies… dream your dreams!

Photograph: Oxford city from ChristChurch Meadow.

sketching in the cathedral garden…

I’ve really been enjoying the summer weather of recent days/weeks and one of the activities I’ve particularly been appreciating is sketching in the wonderful Bristol Cathedral garden.
It’s located on the south side of the Chapter House and accessed through the cloisters. It’s not particularly big, but it’s the kind of space in which you can just hunker down on a comfortable bench (I haven’t counted them, but there must be perhaps two dozen?), amid the flowers, the shrubs and the greenery and enjoy the stillness and the beauty.
This magical space seems to be something of a secret garden – despite all the summer sunshine. With the cathedral café currently closed, people seem reluctant to venture through the cloisters (which suits me fine!).
I’ve sketched in the cathedral and garden several times over the years (I’ve probably got perhaps 30 drawings?) but, this year (and with us living less than 200m from the cathedral), I’ve been dropping into the garden on a regular basis. My scribbles aren’t particularly good or technically proficient - and, clearly, there are only a limited number of sketches you can do of the cathedral’s southern façade(!)… but the major benefit is simply being ‘in the garden’ and enjoying all that it offers.
The bonus, of course (and my brother will acknowledge this!), is that someone else manages the space and I simply turn up to enjoy it!
Image: a mishmash of my cathedral garden scribbles (all but one, done over the past 2 or 3 weeks).

ros...

Our lovely friend has died…
It all happened so quickly.
No time to tell her how much we loved her
And how important she was in our lives.
How wonderful it was that our families bonded
During those formative years for our daughters and for hers.
Their impromptu musical concerts
All the dramatic plays they wrote and performed
(Not to mention the elaborate programmes they drew!).
She was a second mother to all our girls.
The care, the grace, the wisdom that came natural to Ros.
Her love and consideration for others
Her teaching, her citizen’s advice volunteering
Her passion for a more equal society
Her love of nature and her garden
Her glorious art and creativity
Her gentle humour and encouragement of others.
Our wonderful New Year’s Day Walks
Followed by the leftover grub from the pooled holiday fare.
The shared meals and effortless hospitality.
Our daughters have already decided that we need to properly celebrate her life…
With pasta bakes and quilting sessions…
And a concert with all the percussion instruments!
Laughter, joy and smiles.
So many memories… even in this time of grief.
A very special lady who we were all privileged to call a dear, dear friend.
xx 

Photo: from New Year's Day Walk, 1988(?)

may-june 2023 books...

Anything Is Possible (Elizabeth Strout): I’ve only fairly recently ‘discovered’ Elizabeth Strout… this is the third of her ‘Lucy Barton’ novels I’ve read (and, somewhat typically, I’ve read them out of order – this is number 2!). This one tells the story of the inhabitants of a rural, rundown town in Illinois (the hometown of Lucy Barton – successful New York writer – who finally returns after 17 years of absence to visit siblings she left behind). Each of the book’s chapters effectively represents a short story… about relationships, class, memories, feelings and emotions. Many of the chapters make reference to characters who appear elsewhere in the book (I frequently found quite difficult to recall who was related to who etc – but that’s me!). I love Strout’s writing – intimate, wise and managing to capture empathy without sentimentality… there are some similarities between her and author Kent Haruf methinks.
Lady Sings The Blues (Billie Holiday): This is next Storysmith bookclub book (music theme), published in 1956 (3 years before her death, aged 44). It’s an unflinching, disturbing account of her life (somewhat disappointingly “written with William Dufty”, but hey!) – about all the racist incidents; about being raped as a 10-year-old; about her upbringing in poverty (she grew up scrubbing floors and running errands in a brothel before she began singing); about how she was often directed to the ‘Black’ entrance when she performed; about the constant use of the N-word in public; about her mother (who was just 13 when she was born and died aged 38); about her struggles with drugs; about her time in prison; about her ‘adventures in love’; about her frequent lack of money when she performed; about her clothes… but, crucially, it’s also about the age of jazz and, in particular, her own music and style. Somewhat bizarrely, I found myself contrasting Holiday’s talented and creative life with that of Frida Kahlo (who died in 1954, aged 47). The book feels like an honest and raw account of her life (it’s also full of humour) - but, also at times, it felt as if some facts might have been ‘massaged’ for effect. I felt that there were also occasions when her struggles/relapses with drugs was glossed over (perhaps unsurprisingly?) – everything going swimmingly well, then suddenly turning sour when it became clear she had also become drug-dependent. However, the genuine passion for her music comes through clearly in the book and I found it a fascinating and absorbing read.
Mothercare (Lynne Tillman): Tillman is an American novelist (although I’d not read any of her books), but this book (published in 2023) is her account of how she and her two sisters looked after their mother (who died aged 98) for 11 years. Her mother actually died in 2006 and the author ended up converting an essay she’d written at the time into the final book… as something of a cautionary tale/sympathetic guidance for anyone who becomes a caregiver. In fact, although the sisters were ‘in charge’ of the caregiving (they seemed to take it in turns to be with their mother most weekends), the bulk of the actual caring was undertaken by a series of live-in staff (and how, invariably – shockingly in my view – these were ‘black women on low pay’… and sometimes ‘undocumented workers’). The book deals with the author’s life-long difficult relationship with her mother, but also focusses on the battles the sisters had a) in getting their mother’s condition properly recognised and b) employing/changing/criticising (and occasionally endorsing!) the various consultations they used… “why did no one tell us we should use a geriatric psychiatrist before now?”… “why did no one tell us about hospice care?” etc etc. There were lots of things in the book that I found somewhat questionable (eg. they spent LOTS of money each year arranging extravagant birthday parties for their mother – whether she wanted them or not… and also a sense that they perhaps seemed focussed on keeping their mother alive beyond a time when it was reasonable to do so? Obviously, caring for a loved one in their final days is a pretty grim prospect but, at times, I found myself feeling angered by the somewhat selfish attitude of the writer (it all seemed so time-consuming and inconvenient for her etc)… but that’s probably a little unfair. Before I’d read the book, I went to hear Tillman talk about her book/experiences at one of Storysmith’s writer evenings and I have to say that she came across as a warm and engaging individual. A fascinating, challenging book.
Slow Horses (Mick Herron): This is the first of Herron’s books I’ve read. It’s a complex, clever, spy-thriller (in the Le Carré style) based in London; the title refers to those individuals within the Intelligence Service who were once high-fliers, but who made a “noisy mess of their careers” and ended up as ‘slow horses’ in Slough House. All these individuals share the common desire to be ‘back in the action’. As is often the case with ‘clever’ books, I spent much of the time trying (and failing) to remember the names, key details and relationships of the ‘slow horses’… and, ultimately (of course!), the complicated plot itself. It all felt chillingly plausible, wonderfully cynical and with lots of dark humour. I was very impressed by the book… and look forward to reading more from Herron in future.
Cards On The Table (Agatha Christie): First published in 1936, our 1962 copy priced at 2s6d!). I find Christie’s books (and I’ve read a LOT of them) very appealing and, despite their sometimes complicated plots, quite easy, relaxing(?!) reading. This novel tells the story of four people playing bridge; meanwhile, their host (who is in the same room, but is ‘sitting out’) is murdered. One of the four players must have committed the murder… AND, it transpires, each player has previously committed at least one murder. The only clues are the people themselves. Fortunately, Hercule Poirot is on hand! Clever, intriguing and, of course, the finger of suspicion is pointed to each of the players in turn.

eight mountains…

Yesterday afternoon, I went to the Watershed to see “Eight Mountains” (by Belgian film-makers Felix van Groeningen and Charlotte Vandermeersch, adapted from the 2016 novel by Italian author Paolo Cognetti).
It’s difficult to sum up what the film’s about…
Essentially, it’s a film about the friendship of two men, Pietro and Bruno (going back to their childhoods) and the challenges and experiences they face (both good and bad) on their respective journeys through life. The film is set in the stunningly beautiful Italian Alpine valley of Aosta and begins with the two 12-year-old boys getting to know each other when Pietro’s mum and dad – to get away from the cut+thrust of city life in Turin – come to an isolated village where Pietro befriends local boy Bruno, who is staying with his farmer uncle and aunt… they spend a lot of time together in the mountains and valleys exploring the magical location. Pietro’s parents try to encourage Bruno to join them in Turin; Bruno’s absent father objects… Pietro never forgives his father for splitting them up (and never speaks to his dad again).
But, fate reunites the grown-up Bruno and Pietro (played by Alessandro Borghi and Luca Marinelli) and, after a hesitant reconnection, they spend an Alpine summer re-building a shack in the valley that will become their special place. Pietro is hurt when he discovers that his ‘wounded’ father actually became a friend to the grown-up Bruno, hiking with him in the valley and becoming a quasi-father to him. Pietro feels to need to move on and ends up travelling to Nepal (and becomes a celebrated writer), but is consumed with the thought that his friendship with Bruno was the ‘best of him’ (and that Bruno was the ‘better man’ in being satisfied to make his home in the mountains). I think I’ll leave it there… (you need to see it for yourself!).
The film is stunningly photographed… and it’s sad, encouraging and compassionate and deals with issues of love, compassion, friendship and dreams.
It’s a long film (2hrs27mins), but WELL, well worth it.
Note: the ‘eight mountains’ of the title refers to the eight highest peaks of Nepal: a ‘mysterious symbol of worldly ambition and conquest’.
PS: It was a beautiful sunny afternoon yesterday and I can therefore fully appreciate that most people wanted to be outside, if they could… but it felt a little strange to be part of an audience of FIVE who watched the film!

o’hooley+tidow at st george’s…

Rosa and I went along to St George’s last night to see O’Hooley+Tidow (I think it was the third time I’d seen them). Sadly, Heidi Tidow was ill and was unable to take part and so Belinda O’Hooley performed alone… which was a great shame, because the combination of their voices and characters is crucial to who they are and what they can give to audiences.
But, hey, Belinda and St George’s beloved Steinway piano is a brilliant combination and she didn’t let the audience down!
She was absolutely excellent!
O’Hooley+Tidow were booked to perform at St George’s as part of this year’s Bristol Folk Festival and I suppose ‘folk’ music is the appropriate classification… and yet they’re much more than ‘folk singers/musicians’. Indeed, there were times last night that I felt that O’Hooley and her exquisite piano playing reminded me of a ‘female Rufus Wainwright’ in the breadth and depth of her songs.
Anyway, although we all missed Heidi Tidow’s presence, Belinda O’Hooley went down a storm last night… and the audience loved her (and Rosa was also duly impressed!).
Photo: From last night’s performance (including when she sang unaccompanied and ‘un-miked’… and the audience watched/listened ‘spellbound’… stunning!).

april-may 2023 books…

Biography Of X (Catherine Lacey): I’d previously read Lacey’s book “Pew” and purchased this one after going to hear her speak at a Storysmith book evening. She’s a very impressive, intelligent, articulate woman. This ‘epic novel’ is entirely a work of fiction… a fake biography of ‘X’ (she’s “an iconoclastic artist, writer and shapeshifter”) supposedly written by her fictional wife, CM Lucca (‘CM’). CM justifies writing the ‘biography’ on the grounds that she wanted to dispel the lies (in her view) contained writer Theodore Smith’s earlier biography of X. X lived something of a wild life… of secrets and betrayals; the novels recounts of her supposed collaborations (and feuds) with the likes of David Bowie, Tom Waits and Susan Sontag. She ‘died’ in 1996, but it seems she was one of the more enigmatic cultural figures of the 20th century. She always refused to confirm her place or date of birth, and after she took the pseudonym ‘X’ in 1982, it was never clear which if any of her previous identities – Dorothy Eagle, Clyde Hill, Caroline Walker, Bee Converse – corresponded to her actual name. It’s a wonderfully detailed and complicated book supposedly drawing on X’s archives and a range of interviews with the people closest to her – complete with “original images assembled by X’s ‘widow’ and hundreds of cross-references to fictional interviews, books, performances.
Pretty soon it also becomes clear that the events of the book take place on “an alternative timeline of US history in a world very different from our own” (as The Guardian’s review puts it). There’s a female socialist president in the 1940s; some of the southern states have their own dictatorial governance (complete with their own morality police) – walled off from the rest of the country until 1996; the north, meanwhile, has pursued (but not actually realised thus far) a range of enlightened, progressive policies. It’s a long (some 400 pages), haunting, clever book – sometimes so clever that I failed to maintain my concentration!
Whale (Cheon Myewong-Kwan): This is our Storysmith’s bookgroup next book (it’s one of the longlisted International Booker Prize 2023 books). It’s a complicated, bizarre saga set in a remote village in mid-20^th century South Korea and blends fable, farce and fantasy. It follows the lives of three linked characters: Geumbok (an extremely ambitious, enterprising, somewhat selfish woman with a shrewd business brain despite being born into poverty) who thrilled at her first sighting of a whale in the ocean; Geumbok’s mute ‘giant’ daughter (she weighed 15 pounds at birth), Chunhui, who communicates with elephants and is a gifted brick-maker; and a one-eyed woman who controls honeybees with a whistle. It’s a long, surreal, satirical book (367 pages) in three parts - with a complex list of characters and situations. It’s a fascinating, clever, frequently funny book, but also an unsettling one (eg. sexual attitudes and behaviour of men towards women; violence; the plight of women in 20^th century Korea etc). Although I found it a very impressive book in many ways, it wasn’t really quite ‘my cup of tea’.
Hugh Casson’s Oxford (Hugh Casson): After the intensity and complexities of the previous two books, it really was rather lovely to envelope myself in Hugh Casson’s book of Oxford (which I’d been given for the 40^th birthday by my architect partner and friend Eric Hardy). It’s a book of the author’s wonderful watercolours and alongside his insights on a city he knew intimately (he died in 1999). His ‘sketching’ technique is very impressive – quick, accurate watercolours depicting the building details with, often, just the merest hint of pen/ink embellishment. My lovely old boss at The Oxford Architects Partnership, Geoffrey Beard, even gets a brief mention.
Death And The Penguin (Andrey Kurkov): This is our next ‘Blokes’ book. This book, first published in 1996) is the second of Kurkov’s books I’ve read (the other was ‘Grey Bees’). Russian-born Kurkov lives in Kiev and, sadly – given the Russian invasion last year – this political satire of a novel neatly reflects ‘life imitating art’. The background to the book is one of contract killings, executed journalists, rampaging political corruption and an environment of profound moral chaos. The novel's hero, Viktor Zolotaryov, is a frustrated, unsuccessful short story-writer who reluctantly takes up a job as star obituarist for a newspaper… with a brief to select powerful figures from Ukrainian high society and prepare mournful, pithy articles in readiness for the possibility that they might suddenly die… which, of course, they do! I’ll refrain from providing further details (*no spoilers*), but Viktor's ‘career’ is watched over by his pet penguin, Misha - adopted a few months earlier from the impoverished city zoo… and it’s the penguin that is the only being capable of inspiring any real affection in Viktor. In the cynical atmosphere of post-communist Kiev, the penguin is the only being which inspires in Viktor real affection (and produces delightful dark humour into the novel). Apparently, the author saw the penguin as something representing a portrayal of post-Soviet chaos ('the penguin is a collective animal who is at a loss when he is alone. In the Antarctic, they live in huge groups and all their movements are programmed in their brains so that they follow one another. When you take one away from the others he is lost… This is what happened to the Soviet people who were collective animals - used to being helped by one another. With the collapse of the Soviet Union suddenly they found themselves alone, no longer felt protected by their neighbours, in a completely unfamiliar situation where they couldn't understand the new rules of life'). It’s a depressing story but, despite its bleak moral landscape, one which I also found very funny and nourishing.
Shy (Max Porter): This is the author’s fourth book… and I’ve read all of them. It’s set in 1995 and Shy, a 16-year-old boy, is a pupil at the Last Chance boarding school – an unconventional institution for the rehabilitation of some of the most disturbed and violent young offenders in the country. He’s been expelled from two other schools and has a history of drugs, violence, crime and, not surprisingly, has alienated his mother. The novel is about childhood, cruelty, compassion and despair. It makes for a tough, disquieting and exhilarating read… brilliantly impressive in the way Porter gets inside Shy’s head and expresses his thinking and actions in a blunt, shocking way. I don’t want to divulge how the story evolves; all I’ll say is that, as with Porter’s previous books, I love the way he constructs his stories - even how they appear on the page… different type faces and font sizes, careful considered layouts. I’m a great lover of Porter’s writing style and found this short, but intense, book hugely impressive.

the challenge of technology…

We just wanted to change our internet provider…
The deal is duly done (it’s really a very simple matter).
“Your connection will be made on Wednesday…” (that’s 19 April)
“Oh, sorry, we’ve had to change our plans… make that Thursday…”
“Sorry, another change… make that Monday…”
“Your service is ready to go…” (Monday 24th)
“Your Home Tech Expert’s visit is tomorrow…” (referring to Tuesday)
Tuesday: Home Tech Expert (HTE) duly arrives… (we’d booked one, because we’re useless at technology stuff)
There’s something wrong: the connection isn’t working…
HTE reckons the engineer who ‘connected’ us, remotely, on Monday failed to carry out the necessary checks…
HTE departs telling us that, when the lights on our new hub turn to blue, it means our connection has been completed…
“It’s a good job you’ve still got your Virgin Media link…” (he really said this!)
“How long will it take before everything is sorted?” (we ask HTE)…
“Don’t know… perhaps a couple of days?” (says HTE)… HTE departs.
The following day (our hub lights still aren’t blue!)…
We check our emails for updates (none)…
We check online (there appears to be no way for us to actually SPEAK to anyone)…
There isn’t even a way of us getting specific online help (or even know that someone’s dealing with it)(which they weren’t)…
Cutting a long story short… (choose option 1 blah blah etc etc).
We end up being asked to text the word ‘fault’ to a particular number…
“We will then run some tests to see how your service is performing…” (it’s NOT!!).
“We got your (fault) message and will get back in touch shortly, usually within 15mins…”
“We’ve passed your case on to one of our agents to call you back within 20 mins (calls may be recorded for training and monitoring purposes)…”
We hear nothing… 4 hours later, I reply to their text: “still waiting”.
“We’ve passed your case on to one of our agents to call you back within 20 mins (calls may be recorded for training and monitoring purposes)…”
“Your service should now be back up and running. But if you’re still having problems simply reply ‘1’… (it obviously WASN’T!).
But hey, we then DO receive a call from one of their agents (and actually she was very helpful)… she undertakes remote checks and eventually confirms that they’ve booked an engineer appointment for us on Friday 28th… (phew!).
Having listened to our frustrations, she asks if I’d like to register a complaint…
Yes, I would (because the process has been something of a nightmare)… she makes notes.
Within a couple of hours, we receive this text: “Based on your recent interaction, how likely are you to recommend XX to friends or family?...” You couldn’t make it up!!
“Your bill is ready…” (Wednesday evening email). Really? We haven’t even been connected yet!!
“We’ve closed your complaint… thanks for getting in touch with us recently” (Wednesday evening email) Really?… hang on, it’s not yet sorted!!
“Our engineer will be visiting you shortly, he won’t need to come into your home, but might need to get into the main building…” (Friday)
Engineer Jake duly arrived and immediately apologised that he DID need to get into our flat (one of the outlets apparently wasn’t working - and he also detected a fault in the street service cabinet “210 metres away”). Actually, Jake was brilliant and sorted out the fault and connected our system (Friday).
I actually managed to SPEAK to someone at XX (Sunday) – in response to a text reply I’d sent to one of their previous messages – and, amazingly, they’ve set up by their Home Tech Expert to come on Wednesday (3^rd)!
He came. He was freelance, he explained (he didn’t work for XX). He asked if he could park his car in our parking space (fine, but such things have not previously happened with plumbers, electricians and the like that we'd booked at other times... seemed strange).
Personable and clearly had good engineering knowledge but, strangely, wasn’t really able to answer some of my specific queries… and I found it frustrating that he always seemed to answer my questions while typing on his phone at the same time.
Anyway, it happened… we’re now connected (even if I don’t yet really know how the system works).
I duly contacted Virgin Media (via chat line) and cancelled our account. This took an hour (but Roberto was very helpful)… and I now know about when (and how much) our final bill will be(!)… and that we’ll also receive a refund within 45 days(!) and that we’ll be sent an “equipment returns package” for us to deal with.
I then contacted (again via chat line) XX (Sougadip was incredibly helpful) to ask some very basic/naïve questions about retaining our current email address (answer: I think we can… but only time will tell). At the end, I thanked him for his patience and help and received this rather amusing (but lovely) reply: “It was lovely chatting with you, you were very co-operative throughout the chat. Trust me you are the most co-operative person we have ever come across. I am sure your friends and family are happy to get you in their life as we are glad to get you as our customer”. If I was going to have a gravestone (which I’m not!), these words would take pride of place on it!!
It’s only taken 14 days, but we think we’re there (although there’ll no doubt be teething problems - or worse - ahead!). 

the unlikely pilgrimage of harold fry…

I went along to the Cinema de Lux earlier today with Ru and my good friend Ed to see Hettie MacDonald’s film based on Rachel Joyce’s novel (which I first read 10 years ago… and re-read a couple of years ago).
Recently-retired Harold Fry (Jim Broadbent) takes a stroll to the postbox one Devon morning to post a letter to an old work colleague (Queenie, played by Linda Bassett) who’s dying of cancer. But for some reason he can’t bring himself to post the letter and then, following a chance encounter in a petrol station, he decides to walk from Devon to Berwick-upon-Tweed (something like 500 miles!), where Queenie is receiving palliative care in a hospice… leaving his wife Maureen (Penelope Wilton) feeling just a little hurt and confused (understatement!) by her husband’s abandonment. Fry somehow believes that, by walking through the B-roads of Britain, he can save his friend’s life.
But the film is much more than this… it explores all sorts of other stuff (life, love, family, loss, relationships, friendships, purpose, boredom, old age…).
Like the book, I enjoyed the relatively gentle (pedestrian even!) pace of the film – which felt absolutely ‘right’ and appropriate for Harold’s pilgrimage.
The film also represents something of a fantasy… 500 miles walked in deck shoes and with virtually no equipment by a retired, somewhat overweight man unused to exercise? Some days (at times, when Harold was joined by a ‘gang’ of marching supporters), they were apparently only covering a mile day? Doing the journey utilising B-roads and without maps (and a compass for only the latter stages) seemed like a breeze (a walk in the park?)? But, hey, I’ll forgive it…
I loved the book and very much enjoyed the film version… and felt hugely relieved that it was done ‘well’ – keeping more or less to the book’s storyline and, crucially, using perfect actors for the key roles (Jim Broadbent and Penelope Wilton were both absolutely excellent).
PS: Sadly, this film wasn’t on the Watershed’s current programme… Cinema de Lux was fine (larger seats, more legroom… and more expensive!) but you had to put up with the VERY loud (even for me without my hearing aids!) Dolby Sound System, not to mention the 25-30 minutes of adverts and promotions at the start.
PPS: There were less than a dozen people in the audience (for the 11.05am screening!).