september-october 2021 books…

A Singular Vision: Dod Procter 1890-1972 (Alison James): I have something of a passion for UK art of the 1920s and 30s and first came across Dod Procter’s work via a book I read about one of her contemporary artists (and lifelong friend), Dame Laura Knight. Her family moved to Newlyn in 1907, after the death of her father, and there enrolled at the school of painting, aged 15. For a period in the 1920s, she was perhaps the most famous artist in Britain and her painting ‘Morning’ (of a reclining young woman) caught the public imagination and was purchased ‘for the nation’ by the Daily Mail from the Royal Academy annual show in 1927. She was elected an RA in 1932 (a rare event for women at that time). There’s a piece in the book about the RA’s Annual Banquet to which, shockingly (but at the same time perhaps not so surprising!), no women were allowed. Procter was an RA for 25 YEARS before she was allowed to attend this event! I love Procter’s paintings of women (I’m not so keen on her flower pieces)… but, sadly, it seems that ‘difficulties’ with interpreting images of children and adolescents are rooted in the contemporary sensitivities of an age have resulted in her work now being regarded as ‘unfashionable’… which is a great shame. I very much enjoyed the book.
The Sin Of Certainty (Peter Enns): My friend Phil recommended this book (quite appropriate in my on-going spiritual wilderness). For some time now, I’ve been frequently frustrated (and even a little infuriated at times!) by Christians (some writers and some friends) who seem to possess a glowing, rose-tinted faith (lucky them!) and who seem to believe that ALL Christians have the same positive faith experiences as them (and, maybe, if you haven’t, perhaps you’re not a REAL Christian – don’t get me started!). Well, let’s just say that some of us struggle on our spiritual journeys! This is something of a confessional book… about how Enns came to understand belief and faith more in terms of trust and love than in terms of facts and knowledge. At times, I found his writing style similar to that of Rob Bell. Although I found some of the book a little meandering at times (and the American way of expressing things a little irritating on occasions), I did get a lot out of it – it’s accessible, thought-provoking and, for me, relevant. A book I may need to re-visit from time to time.
The Buried Giant (Kazuo Ishiguro): This is our next Bloke’s Books book (chosen by Ed). It’s something of a fable, set in Britain’s mythical past… about Arthurian myths, about Saxons and Britons fighting over the abandoned Roman province of Britannia (complete with dragons and warring knights!). On the face of it, perhaps not an obvious book choice for old codgers like us! The book’s about faded memories (or even memories that may be false)… about a time that existed in the shadow of near-total oblivion (“this land had become cursed with a mist of forgetfulness”). Crucially, however, it’s also a portrait of marital love… it features a devoted, elderly couple who set off across a troubled land of mist and rain in the hope of finding a son they haven’t seen for years. As the book’s cover suggests: “they expect to face many hazards – some strange and other-worldly – but they cannot yet foresee how their journey will reveal to them dark and corners of their love for one another”. It’s a haunting, atmospheric, moving and unsettling novel (at times, it felt like reading a Tolkien story) that asks difficult and revealing questions about love and mortality. It’s a beautiful, unsettling and deeply affecting book (one of those that remain with you long after you’ve finished the final page).
The Picture Of Dorian Gray (Oscar Wilde): This is our next Storysmith bookgroup book (first published in 1891). It’s a story of evil, debauchery and scandal… about Dorian Gray - a beautiful, yet corrupt, man. It was Oscar Wilde’s only novel and you sense, knowing what happened to Wilde in ‘real life’, that the main character reflected something of the author himself. I must admit that when I read the preface to the book – which merely lists a series of bold declarations about the nature of art and beauty – I feared the worse. I thought the entire book would contain a series of complex, philosophical declarations that would frankly be above my intellect (or my capacity to want to bother to even try to understand). In the event, I found it an intriguing and beautifully-written book – especially in the light of Wilde’s own subsequent experiences. The story revolves around a portrait of Dorian Gray by artist Basil Hallward – who was impressed and infatuated by Gray's beauty. Through Hallward, Gray meets Lord Henry Wotton (a thoroughly detestable individual in my view!), and he soon is enthralled by the aristocrat's self-indulgent worldview (ie. that beauty and sensual fulfilment are the only things worth pursuing in life). Under Wootton’s powerful influence, Gray acknowledges that his own beauty will fade, but expresses the desire to sell his soul, to ensure that the picture, rather than he, will age and fade. His wish is granted, and Gray pursues a disparaging life of varied amoral experiences while staying young and beautiful; all the while, his portrait ages and records every one of Gray's misdemeanours. When the book was first published (in novella format), it apparently caused considerable controversy and various parts were duly edited before the final novel was printed (these apparently involved obscuring homoerotic references, to simplify the moral message of the story). It’s clearly a book ‘of its time’ but, in addition to the book’s homophobic undertones, it’s a book about class (and class struggle), privilege, wealth, vanity, male dominance, selfishness and morality. I enjoyed the book far more than I had anticipated.
Not The End Of the World (Kate Atkinson): I love Kate Atkinson’s writing. This book of twelve short stories (first published in 2002) is described on the book’s cover as “playful and profound”… and I think that’s a very good description. The individual stories frequently have some passing reference to characters or situations described in the other stories. I read half of the book on a train journey and found them perfect travelling companions… funny, quirky and quite compelling. I particularly loved the Charlene and Trudi characters (obsessively making lists while “bombs explode softly in the streets outside”) in the first and final stories.

the french dispatch…

Moira and I went to the Watershed this afternoon to see Wes Anderson’s film “The French Dispatch” – a tribute to the New Yorker magazine. It was the first time we’d been to the cinema together since the start of the pandemic (and also only my second visit to the cinema in 19 months).
I absolutely love Wes Anderson films – they’re always a visual delight… and wonderfully inventive, silly, hilarious and hugely entertaining.
This film did not disappoint! I loved it.
It really was an homage to a legendary list of writers and (in the words of The Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw) “a famed insistence on standards, collegiate office culture, distinctive cartoons and typographic layout, metropolitan sophistication targeted at a general American readership”. Frankly, I’d never heard of the magazine, but I warmed to it immediately (and, frankly, it didn’t matter at all anyway).
The film is ridiculously FULL of famous actors… I can imagine actors queuing up just to be considered for any Anderson film.
Visually, I love Anderson’s symmetrical, front-on, backdrop facades and also his colour blends (these also included a number of black+white scenes and also some clever, amusing animation). Half way through the film, I realised that I’d taken the brilliant ‘background music’ completely for granted and so, in the film’s latter stages, I tried my best to focus on it. It really is very beautifully done. So impressively simple and yet so important.
It was lovely to be back in the cinema again and, frankly, if I’d had a free choice of film to watch, it would have been something by Anderson.
I loved it… and it made very happy. 

karine polwart in concert…

I went to see Karine Polwart in concert at St George’s tonight – my first concert for nearly two years. I first saw her at Greenbelt in 2005 and, apparently (according to my blog – which, essentially, I only keep as a memory-jogger!), have now seen her seven times.
It proved to be another wonderful evening. The last time I saw her was in 2018 and at that time I wrote: “Powerful, intelligent, thought-provoking, political, tender, poignant music at its very best. She’s an eloquent poet (and she’s frequently funny too). She’s a person who reminds you that small voices are important. She’s an inspiration.
At this time when so many of us are disenchanted by politics and what’s happening in the world, last night was a wonderful reminder that there ARE decent, inspiring people who demand to be heard.  
May it be so”.
I absolutely love her music and have come to realise over the years that, for me, Polwart is probably second only to Joni Mitchell in my list of favourite singer/songwriters. The evening was a mixture of new and old songs… and I found the older, familiar ones, in particular, very poignant (memory-joggers) and I even found myself feeling quite emotional at times (but, hey, that’s probably just me in my old age!).
The audience clearly loved her and, hopefully, she’ll be back in Bristol again very soon.
PS: The only negative aspect of the evening was that Iris wasn’t able to attend (it would have been her first ‘real’ concert); she’d had her first Covid jab the day before and spent today feeling on the verge of being physically sick and therefore, very reluctantly, decided she couldn’t leave home. Hopefully, we’ll be able to sort out another concert in the foreseeable future.
I was particularly sad about Iris missing the concert because I sense that Polwart – having studied politics and philosophy at university and being a strong advocate for women, the environment, climate change and the like – represents a potential role model for Iris… and we all need good role models in life!
Photo: Karine Polwart in concert tonight at St George’s. 

anthropcene: the human epoch + a short film about ice…

I went to the Watershed for the first time in 18 months (I know)!
The first film (2018, directed by Nicholas de Pencier, Jennifer Baichwal and Edward Burtynsky) focused on how human activities have made significant lasting and potentially irreversible changes to the Earth… from the devastated Great Barrier Reef in Australia, to the concrete seawalls that cover 60 percent of mainland China's coast, to the biggest terrestrial machines ever built in Germany, to psychedelic potash mines in Russia's Ural Mountains, to surreal lithium evaporation ponds in the Atacama Desert. From the harsh industrial landscapes of Siberia, to the towering white mountains of marble in Carrara, Italy, to the uneven plastic peaks of Dandora Landfill in Kenya, watch the aggressive extraction of the planet’s resources in astonishing scale and devastating beauty. Six continents and stunning (and sometimes quite chilling) images chronicling the catastrophic path travelled by our species over the last century.
Following 10 years of research, the Anthropocene Working Group now argue that we are now in a new geologic phase (the Anthropocene epoch) - a time when humans now change the Earth (in significant lasting and potentially irreversible ways) more than all the planet’s natural processes combined.
My gut feeling was that perhaps the film could have been broken down somewhat differently in terms of subject matter/’chapters’ but, nevertheless, it’s an impressive and powerful film.
The other film (directed by Hannah+Felix’s friend Adam Laity) was rather lovely – beautiful (and frequently devastating) images of fragile landscapes set alongside poetry and literary extracts.
PS: I have to say that I’d been feeling somewhat apprehensive about returning to my regular cinema venue as we begin to emerge from the pandemic (fingers crossed). The Watershed people had put in place a number of sensible safety measures... and these all worked well – apart from the people in the audience who weren’t wearing face-masks (“We will continue to expect everyone to wear a face covering whilst in the cinemas”). There were only some 25 people in the audience but at least half-a-dozen were mask-less. It made me feel very uncomfortable… and, yes, a bit vulnerable.