Sunday, March 29, 2020

march-april 2020 books…


Trieste And The Meaning Of Nowhere (Jan Morris): I just love Morris’s unconventional ‘travel books’ (this one published in 2001); they’re a unique combination of fascinating facts, history and people but, far more important for me, also Morris’s meditations, memories and insights about the place… and I just loved this book. My friend Mike gave it to me to mark our first meeting earlier this month. I visited the city in the summer of 1968 with my student friends John and Ron (£15 return coach trip from Dover – or was it Ramsgate? – to Trieste!)… we camped just up the coast at Muggia and I have vague memories of catching trains from Trieste to Venice… and to Rijeka (in what was then Yugoslavia)… and sleeping overnight in Trieste railway station awaiting our return coach back home! Sadly, we failed to explore the city at all (a big regret). Clearly, Morris (who first encountered the place during WW2) loves the city and, especially, what she describes as its European cosmopolitanism (“multi-ethnic, multi-lingual, multi-faith…”) - rather poignant comments given our recent abandonment of the EU. The book which, at the time, was supposed to be her ‘final’ book (thankfully she’s written more since!) is very much a reflection of her experiences at what she regarded as the ‘end of her life’. I loved this passage at the end of the book (no apologies for quoting it in full): “Much of this little book, then, has been self-description. I write of exiles in Trieste, but I have generally felt myself an exile too. For years I felt myself an exile from normality, and now I feel myself one of those exiles from time. The past is a foreign country, but so is old age, and as you enter it you feel you are treading unknown territory, leaving your own land behind. You’ve never been here before. The clothes people wear, the idioms they use, their pronunciation, their assumptions, tastes, humours, loyalties all become the more alien the older you get. The countryside changes. The policemen are children. Even hypochondria, the Trieste disease, is not what it was, for that interesting pain in the ear lobe may not now be imaginary at all, but some obscure senile reality. This kind of exile can mean a new freedom, too, because most things don’t matter as they used to. The way I look doesn’t matter. The opinions I cherish are my business. The books I have written are no more than smudged graffiti on a wall, and I shall write no more of them. Money? Enough to live on. Critics? To hell with ‘em. Kindness is what matters, all along, at any age – kindness, the ruling principle of nowhere!”. Special book. Special person.
Such Small Hands (Andres Barba): Our bookgroup ALMOST chose this book as part of its ‘sadness-to-be-leaving-the-EU’ selection acknowledging authors from across the EU… and, although I’m not usually one for reading scary novels, I was very brave and chose to buy a copy for myself! It’s no more than a novella but, somewhat hilariously you may think, I decided NOT to attempt reading it immediately before bedtime (my nighttimes are disrupted as they are!). Marina, a 7-year-old girl, has been wounded in an accident that killed her parents; she is taken to live in an orphanage… and she also takes with her a wide-eyed doll, also called Marina, which is her constant companion. Both the child and the doll become the focus of the other girls’ attention… part adoring, part cruel… and, soon, uneasy playfulness develops into a shocking nighttime game. Eeerie, sinister and a bit terrifying (but impressive).
Reading Lolita in Tehran (Azar Nafisi): This is our bookgroup’s latest book. In the late 1990s, Azar Nafisi (a former professor of literature at Tehran University) invited a group of seven young women to meet at her apartment in Tehran every Thursday morning to discuss Western literature. I found it a pretty remarkable book… and, somehow, reading about her experiences of detachment and isolation in her Tehran University teaching post (and her mini-teaching community) formed fascinating, and humbling, contrasts with the experiences we’re currently encountering through the coronavirus pandemic (and, somewhat ironically, I finished the book on the day the government announced its various isolation restrictions). Bizarrely, and hilariously, reading her description (in the very first chapter, P4) of the two contrasting photographs of her women’s reading group (one dressed in their black robes and the other in their ‘normal’ clothing) gave me a mental image of our own bookgroup posing for two contrasting group photographs – one in normal clothing and the other where we’re all dressed as ‘book characters’ (oh dearie, dearie me!) - the fact that I started reading the book a couple of days after ‘World Book Day’ might have influenced my thought processes at the time!? I also thought it was somewhat ironic to read of people gathering together in secret at a time when we ourselves have to remain apart! I found reading about the attitudes to and the treatment of women (I knew much of it already, but…) in Iranian society was hugely depressing – and yet I was also profoundly moved and heartened by the courage and determination of Nafisi and her students. I hadn’t read lots of the books studied by the group (eg. Lolita, Daisy Miller, A Doll’s House, Washington Square), but that didn’t matter. I loved how literature, during very difficult and challenging times, brought the women together and how it provided surprising insights into their own very different lives. Frequently, Nafiisi’s words made me feel as if I was reading Margaret Atwood’s ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ or ’The Testament’. There was SO much in this book that I loved (eg. ‘The Magician’ character)… and I was also hugely moved by a number of passages (eg. student Nassrin’s little parcel containing transcribed words from all of their classes over the past 3 years; and Manna’s inspiring words at the very end of the book).
Three Men In A Boat (Jerome K Jerome): First published in 1889 (our/Moira’s copy 1969) is the well-known story of three men (and a dog) on a boat, making the journey from Kingston to Oxford along the Thames (and back again). This must be at least the third time I’ve read it but, in these ‘difficult times’, something humorous seemed to be required. I think it had originally been intended for it to be a travel book, but it seems that the humorous elements rather ‘took over’. It’s obviously incredibly dated and ‘of its time’, but it really is very funny and beautifully written. All accounts of their journey invariably get side-tracked by recollections of other, often completely unrelated, events (a bit like Ronnie Corbett’s old long drawn-out stories on television?). Some lovely references bemoaning the “pace of nineteenth century life”… and a rather pertinent comment about “people’s changing tastes” and things that had become “unfashionable”: “Will it be the same in the future? Will the prized treasures of today always be the cheap trifles of the day before? Will rows of our willow-pattern dinner-plates be ranged above the chimney-pieces of the great in the years 2000 and odd?...”. A very enjoyable read. 
The Three Dimensions Of Freedom (Billy Bragg): This book is something of an extended essay (it’s one of the publisher’s, Faber+Faber, new series of political pamphlets). Most people know that, as well as being a revered musician, Bragg has also been a life-long activist (I’ve previously read a couple of his books). His views are left-wing, but not extreme… and I found this a fascinating, eloquent assessment-cum-diagnosis of the crisis of accountability in western democracies. He identifies ‘The Three Dimensions of Freedom’ as: Liberty, Equality and Accountability… and I found myself underlining (in pencil!) whole sections, page after page. This provides a flavour: “At a time when opinion trumps facts and truth is treated as nothing more than another perspective, free speech has become a battleground. While authoritarians and algorithms threaten democracy, we argue over who has the right to speak…”. Lots and lots of food for thought… and I found myself agreeing with him, time after time.

Sunday, March 15, 2020

coronavirus and us…


So, this is the scenario:
Saturday 14 March: We hear, via Robert Peston’s ITV blog (for example), that the “People over 70 will be instructed by the government to stay in strict isolation at home or in care homes for four months, under a ‘wartime-style’ mobilisation effort by the government likely to be enforced within the next 20 days”. Peston’s post goes on to say: “According to a senior government source, the perception that ministers are reluctant to make difficult and costly decisions to battle the virus is wrong. It is simply that the chief medical officer Chris Whitty and the chief scientific adviser Sir Patrick Vallance are waiting for the optimal time to force restrictions on our way of life that will be very painful. They are deeply worried that some older people will simply die at home from neglect, after they are quarantined, so want to start the quarantine as late as possible - sometime within the next five to 20 days”.
Sunday 15 March: Health Minister Matt Hancock confirms (on SkyNews) that action to isolate the UK's over-70s for an extended period to shield them from coronavirus is planned in the coming weeks and that the government would “be setting it out with more detail when it is the right time to do so”.
I wonder when that’s likely to be?

Well, Moira and I are certainly NOT going to be ones who will “simply die at home from neglect”… but, over the course of the next few days, we’ll be reflecting on the various implications that strict quarantine rules would have on our lives… and those of our families, our friends, etc.
Yes, we can simplify our own lives fairly easily (in relative terms, compared with those who have already been directly, and even more seriously, affected by the pandemic)… but with somewhat depressing outcomes and implications (no classes, no groups, no sport, no cafés/restaurants, no cinema, no theatre, no concerts, no church, no meetings with family/friends etc etc). At this stage, we haven’t any holiday arrangements scheduled over the coming months… and I suspect there won’t now be any.
I assume we’ll be ‘allowed’ to get out into the ‘fresh air’ to walk and maintain our levels of ‘fitness and well-being’ (assuming we don’t get within 3-4 metres of another human!)? I also assume I’ll be allowed to sit in some isolated outdoor location and sketch (on my own!)?
We live quite simple lives. We’ll cope...   

Coronavirus will obviously have a huge impact on a whole range of other day-to-day issues for so many people. I suspect that (perhaps by the Easter holidays?) schools, colleges and universities will shut… (with all sorts of implications for young school children – where grandparents frequently pick up the childcare ‘slack’). Without support, some firms will collapse and others will be forced to make redundancies? What about the lack of statutory sick pay for the self-employed? Mortgage/rent payment implications? Paying monthly bills? Holiday bookings?
The list goes on (and on)…
So, at this stage, it seems to be all about what the government is ABOUT to decide (or not!)… and everyone thinking of their own contingency plans… and, of course, some people selfishly ‘going overboard’ and stockpiling. The government will no doubt receive lots of criticism (and maybe even some plaudits?) regarding its handling of the pandemic… but it’s difficult to be certain about anything in such circumstances. My heart goes out to all those working in the NHS – at the ‘sharp’ end of things and having to cope with ‘unknown issues’ set against a backdrop of several years of under-funding.

On a personal level, I have very mixed emotions about the government wanting us oldies to self-isolate (I really feel for my lovely family). As far as possible, I want to see the help and support concentrated on younger people… and yet I absolutely appreciate that it’s better to try and prevent the ‘old’ becoming infected (ie. due to their much greater vulnerability) in the first place – and thereby, hopefully, reducing funds spent on them once they’ve been admitted to hospital. Ridiculously perhaps, if I did contract the disease, I’d much prefer to be ‘killed off quickly’ (I know!) than to have large amounts of money spent on me, at my stage in life.

In the meantime, as someone who avoids using the telephone as much as possible, I think I’m going to have to learn to Skype PROPERLY (my past attempts have been pretty awful – with me watching an image on my laptop screen and listening to what’s being said on my mobile!!)(really), so I can keep in touch with family and friends effectively from my ‘isolation den’. Perhaps, for example, I can continue (ie. a couple of times/week) to prepare meals* for Iris+Rosa - pass them on to Ruth/Stu for cooking at their home – and then Skyping the girls so we can continue our hilarious chats over the 'dining table' (while I sip my glass of red)!?
As they used to say on ‘Hill Street Blues’: “Let’s Be Careful Out There”!
(now wash your hands…).
PS: * but, of course, I probably wouldn't be allowed to cook for others!

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

portrait of a lady on fire…


I went along to the Watershed this evening (yes, night time! it cost even old codgers like me £8.50 - but tomorrow is its final day at the Watershed, so…) to see Céline Sciamma’s film “Portrait of a Lady on Fire”. The synopsis goes like this: In 18th century France a young painter, Marianne (Noémie Merlant), is commissioned to do the wedding portrait of Héloïse (Adèle Haenel) without her knowing. Therefore, Marianne (posing as a walking companion) must observe her model by day to paint her portrait at night. Gradually, the two women become closer as they share Héloïse’s last moments of freedom before the impending wedding…
It’s a very beautiful film – beautifully-paced; beautifully-acted (I thought Haenel and Merlant were perfectly cast); and with beautiful cinematography. Essentially, the film’s about female desire, hidden love and art… and also, in the words of the Watershed’s blurb, “the gaze”! The observer observed as it were.
There were a couple of arty aspects that I found difficult to fully take on board, namely: a) being able to remember someone’s features sufficiently (in the pre-camera age, of course) in order to be able to paint a likeness is utterly beyond me… and b) Marianne being able to sketch a likeness of a sleeping Héloïse when she’s actually sitting right next to her head and even the best contortionist would be hard-pressed to come up with the resulting ‘front on’ drawing, but…
I found the final scenes set in the art gallery (a reminder that, despite it being an important time for women artists, art is very much male-dominated) and in the opera house (Héloïse had earlier admitted never to have heard an orchestra, so Marianne had given her a ‘taste’ by playing some Vivaldi on the harpsichord) utterly enthralling.
I would very highly recommend it.

Saturday, March 07, 2020

february-march 2020 books…


The Gifts Of Reading (Robert Macfarlane): This is a short book/essay by one of my favourite writers about the joys and gifts of books. He describes his relationship with a work colleague who was passionate about reading… someone whose life had been transformed by books and who subsequently passed on his passion to others (including Macfarlane). Macfarlane goes on to talk about books that changed and influenced his own life (eg. McCarthy’s ‘Blood Meridian’, Nabokov’s ‘Lolita’, Leigh Fermor’s ‘A Time of Gifts’, Baker’s ‘The Peregrine’ and Nan Shepherd’s ‘The Living Mountain’) and how he, in turn, now passes on his love through gifts of books whenever he can. A beautiful, simple, tender reflection.
Seashaken Houses (Tom Nancollas): Between 1698 and 1905, 27 lighthouses were constructed on desolate and perilous footholds of rock to mark the most dangerous hazards to shipping in the seas around Great Britain and Ireland. Twenty survive today. Nancollas’s book is a brilliantly-researched celebration of rock lighthouses around Great Britain and Ireland... about the almost super human ingenuity of the people who built these structures in the most isolated and wildest of locations with relatively primitive equipment and tools. Nancollas combines stories of lighthouse architecture/engineering with the human experiences involved in their construction. He visits seven rock lighthouses, telling different parts of the overall story – the early efforts and failures, the changing designs of the lights themselves and the life of the keepers. Absolutely fascinating.
The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and the Horse (Charlie Mackesy): This is a simple, beautiful, powerful book… featuring the characters in the title. It’s entirely hand-written and stunningly hand-drawn. It felt a bit like reading ‘Winnie the Pooh’ - with the boy, mole, fox and horse taking on Pooh, Piglet, Eeyore and Tigger characters. Simple straightforward, heartfelt conversations; wonderful pearls of wisdom… and all linked with a common theme of friendship, love and kindness. I read the following comment from Mackesy: “All four characters represent different parts of the same person… the inquisitive boy, the mole who’s enthusiastic but a bit greedy, the fox who’s been hurt so is withdrawn from life, slow to trust but wants to be part of things, and the horse who’s the wisest bit, the deepest part of you, the soul.” This might sound ridiculously sugar-coated and soppy, but it works. I absolutely loved it and will continue to dip into the book (especially when I’m feeling low).
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry (Rachel Joyce): I first read this book in 2013, but it’s now been selected as our Blokes’ Books bookgroup book (lots of ‘book’ words there!). I don’t often re-read books but, somewhat strangely, I’ve now re-read two books in the last month. As with the last one, it made realise how much of the detail I’d forgotten. This is what I wrote 7 years ago: I absolutely loved this book. It’s about a recently-retired, married man (Harold) who sets off, with his wife hoovering upstairs, to post a letter to a former work colleague at the other end of the country who is dying of cancer… he decides, on the spur of the moment, to continue walking (without hiking boots, map, compass, waterproof or mobile phone) to visit his friend in Berwick in order to “save her life”. The journey is both physical and metaphorical. It’s about loss and regret; it’s about misunderstandings and relationships; it’s about romance and loneliness… but it’s about simple pleasures, caring, kindness, encouragement and joy. You REALLY need to read this book!” . If you haven’t already read it, I still think you ought to! 
Ness (Robert Macfarlane+Stanley Donwood): I love Macfarlane’s writing; invariably they’re evocations of nature in some form or another. This short book, however, is unlike anything I’ve previously read of Macfarlane’s. Although it does deal with the beauty and fragility of our world, it takes the form of something of a prose-poem. The text (accompanied by Stanley Donwood’s beautiful, haunting line drawings) relates to a 10-mile-long section of the Suffolk coast (next to the shoreline at Orford)… which Macfarlane calls “Ness”. For much of the last century, it was a top-secret site for military research (machine gun testing during WW1; important work on nuclear bomb mechanisms during the cold war etc). When the site (now a Site of Special Scientific Interest) was abandoned by the military, the National Trust took it on – but ended up deciding it could little to stop the ravages of erosion. In Macfarlane’s tale (which in some ways had similarities to Max Porter’s “Lanny”), one of the buildings has become ‘The Green Chapel’ and is ‘inhabited’ by people (or are they really people?) who perform rituals focused on dereliction, destruction, threat and power. Meanwhile, over time, other non-human forces approach the ravaged coastline and begin to make their presence felt – with a view to restoring the stewardship of the planet to Earth’s own non-human agency. Macfarlane has apparently described it as “a landscape produced by a collision of the human death drive and natural life”… I found the book mesmerisingly beautiful – almost hauntingly so – and one that I’ll continue to ponder about (and re-read) over the coming months.

Wednesday, March 04, 2020

dark waters...


I went along to the Watershed this morning (I know!) to watch Todd Haynes’ “Dark Waters”.
It’s a shocking and true story of a corporate lawyer Robert Bilott (impressively played by Mark Ruffalo) and his decades-long battle against the large chemical company, DuPont, who knowingly dumped toxic materials on local land in West Virginia - poisoning animals… and people.
It’s a frightening story that powerfully underlines the stark reality… corporations rule the world! Corporations have unprecedented power, resources and, crucially, loads of ‘dosh’.
Whatever YOU think, whatever GOVERNMENTS think… Corporations can effectively “do what they like”. If someone argues or disagrees with them (even, it seems, governments), they argue back… and they WIN. They wear opponents down… you don’t stand a chance (whether you’re a business or an individual).
We constantly come up against instances where corporations/companies are fined comparatively paltry sums for breaking the law… and they do so because they know that the huge financial benefits (or, in the case of the ‘Leave’ campaign during the Referendum, for example, political results?) far exceed the penalties - make taking the risks MASSIVELY worthwhile.

Clearly, this story is exceptional in that, thanks to the single-handed determination of a pedantic lawyer, the appalling conduct of a corporation IS exposed… and you have to be aware that all this took place against a backdrop of a corporation who ‘generously’ rewarded communities living adjacent their business undertakings… by helping them to build community centres, libraries and such like (but, in fact, the amounts in question represented a tiny drop in a huge ocean compared with corporation’s high financial rewards). As you might imagine, members of such communities were loathe to find fault with such ‘benefactors’… until Bilott was able to prove that DuPont were (and had been) directly, and knowingly, responsible for hundreds of (early) deaths (and birth deformities) that had taken place within their State over the course of several decades.
DuPont come out of this mess appallingly… after being ‘found out’, they reneged on a vital legal commitment following proof of their guilt (resulting fines far outweighed by not having to pay out damages) – effectively forcing the ‘injured parties’ to fight on a case-to-case basis… with DuPont assuming that individuals would be scared off by the expense and commitment required. But, thankfully, Bilott DOES pursue EACH of the cases… the first results in a fine of more than a million dollars; the second even more; the third well exceeds that… and so on.

The story is utterly frightening… and underlines just how powerless most of us feel in the face of controlling corporations. But, very occasionally, their actions are exposed by amazingly brave individuals who just aren’t prepared to give up without a fight (even if such action might have serious implications for ‘everything’ – their future, their family, and even their own life) in order to expose the truth.  
The headline of a subsequent article in the New York Times (and on which the film was based) summed things up perfectly: “The lawyer who became DuPont’s worst nightmare”.
A brilliant film and one that I think you should see.

Monday, March 02, 2020

trying to heal political wounds…


If you’re on facebook, you might recall me posting a ‘plea for help’ back in mid-December, following the General Election result (which also effectively ruled out any chance of continued EU membership)? In my virtual world, perhaps well in excess of 95% of my 650 FB friends probably didn’t vote Conservative (and I fully appreciated that there’s another virtual world out there for whom exactly the opposite is true).
Against this background, I wanted to meet up with some Tory-voters… although I vehemently disagreed with the vast majority of Tory policies, I thought the time had come to try to heal some of the wounds (a tall order - but you know what I mean!).
I wanted to meet a few Tory-voters to chat and compare our current thoughts, concerns, hopes and aspirations. Clearly, I didn’t want to try to ‘convert’ this Tory voter (and, equally, didn’t want to talk to anyone who thought they could persuade me to support Mr Johnson!)… but I did (and do) think there’s an awful lot of healing that needs to happen. These proposed meet-ups wouldn’t be confrontational in any way – they would just be an opportunity to discuss political stuff in a calm, rational (and, who knows, even humorous) way - with me buying the first round!
For the record (in case you didn’t know), I’m a 71 year-old member of the Green Party. I live in Bristol. I’m a retired architect (and ran a successful, medium-sized Buckinghamshire practice for getting on for 30 years). I’ve been very happily married for 47 years, have 3 beautiful daughters and 6 wonderful, funny, bright grandchildren… and I voted ‘Remain’ in the Referendum. Although I hold strong political views, I’d describe myself as a ‘liberal with socialist leanings’(!). I’ve never voted Conservative in my life and don’t anticipate ever doing so… but, by the same token, I’m definitely no ‘Labour-lefty’.

Well, largely as a result of my facebook plea, I’ve now managed to meet up with three Tory-voters (over the odd glass!) – all male as it happens (not by choice!).
Somewhat predictably, it proved to be an illuminating, fascinating… and, at times, frustrating experience.
In the event (and as anticipated), all three ‘conversations’ were conducted amicably… there was humour; a general acceptance that the Labour Party’s poor performance in Opposition had had a direct bearing on the General Election result (at a time when, arguably, the government’s own performance since 2010 had provided ‘easy targets’ for any opposition party); that the EU Referendum had been unsatisfactory on various levels; but also a general acceptance of the need to ‘move on’ (perhaps much easier to say if the Party you voted for won!).

I could write at length about our individual conversations and disagreements/agreements, but this would probably make very boring reading (not that this is sparkling ‘journalism’!). Indeed, I HAD originally anticipated summarising the discussions on a whole variety of issues… including Democracy, Party Leadership, Brexit, Westminster/Politics in General, Climate Crisis/Environment and Politics over the next 5/10 years.
Instead, I’ll simply say this:
I found some comments from two of my ‘friends’ both annoying and somewhat jingoistic – and, no doubt, they would have their criticisms of my views. At times, I sensed a certain arrogance in their various and collective stances – along the lines of “well, your views are very much as we might have predicted… but, sadly for you, you’re wrong/disillusioned/badly informed… we know better”.

However, my third meet-up was an altogether different matter… right from the start, we both accepted the need for a time of healing/need to move on. There were certainly matters that we had completely different ‘takes’ on, but we were able to discuss these openly and freely accept the other’s viewpoint. We discussed our respective backgrounds; we covered a wide range of subjects… and, crucially, we laughed a lot!
Genuinely, I think this could be the start of a very rewarding, encouraging friendship – which far exceeds my original expectations. We’ve agreed to meet up again in due course to continue our wide-ranging discussions.  How lovely is that!?
   
For me, I’ve been trying to use this time of post-election reflection as a time of reconciliation and healing; a time to ‘move on’. In some ways, the time has been fruitful and worthwhile (perhaps, to underline this process, Lent has come at a good time for me?), but it’s also proved more difficult than I’d imagined. I think, perhaps naively, that I’d hoped to have had conversations whereby we might have been able to agree that there was a ‘better way’; or a compromise way which addressed various issues and enabled ‘both sides’ to move on together on some matters; or simply an opportunity to move away from confrontational politics (perhaps, to some extent, this was achieved).
I feel passionate about UK politics (don’t get me started on the US version!) and, as I’ve got older, I think the range of my ‘beliefs’ have become sharper and more focussed. Perhaps, also, I’ve become less tolerant of others who don’t share my views (I hope that’s not the case)?
I think we all need to listen more. I think we need to create opportunities to exchange our views… and, somehow, I think we need to move away from the world of Party Politics whereby our MPs follow the Party-line on every issue and ignore the views of their constituents and the potential for working alongside colleagues – whatever their political colours - who share similar concerns and aspirations.
I live in hope.  
Image: These are words from AA Gill (in an article ‘The Times’, dated 12 June 2016, just before the EU Referendum)(and just six months before he died)… I wrote them down in my sketchbook because I felt they summed many of my own feelings towards those who voted to leave the EU and to ‘get our country back’… by the same token, sadly, I think they also sum up the attitudes and sentiments of many (not all) Tory-voters per se (certainly not my third Tory ‘friend’!).