godland…

After a frustrating morning following the abandonment of the cricket in Bristol (despite the sunshine and blue skies, “the umpires have decided that there will be no play today, due to a wet outfield”), I decided, at the last minute (having seen Peter Bradshaw’s 5-star review in The Guardian), to go along to the Watershed to see Hlynur Pálmason’s film ‘Godland’ – his fictional account of a Danish pastor sent to Iceland in the 19th century.
It proved to be a perfect, rewarding substitution.
The story was apparently inspired (according to the film’s opening credits) by the supposed discovery in Iceland of seven glass-plate photographs of people and places taken there in the late 1800s – something reflected by the small, square format of the cinema screen.
It’s a film of austere harshness, beauty and some terror – all stunningly captured visually.
Elliott Crosset Hove plays Lucas, a highly-strung young clergyman instructed by his bishop to travel to a pioneer community in Iceland (then a Danish dependency), oversee the construction of a church-building and install himself as parish priest. It’s perilous journey first by sea with horses (taking among his luggage a huge and burdensome cross and his bulky tripod-mounted camera equipment), climbing mountains and fording rivers with it. It’s a journey he could have taken almost entirely by sea, but Lucas is determined to experience more. It proves to be one of hardship and physical pain.
The film has some wonderful characters: Lucas’s tough, disapproving Icelandic guide, Ragnar (Ingvar Sigurdsson); level-headed widower/host Carl (Jacob Lohmann) and his two daughters, the eldest Anna (who he suspects Lucas has designs on) and the younger Ida (amusingly played by Ida Mekkin Hlynsdottir).
It’s quite a long film (143 minutes), but I found that the time just flew by… I was completely absorbed and entranced. The landscape is dauntingly breath-taking; the music hauntingly beautiful; and the storyline and the interplay of the characters utterly mesmerising.
I really think you should try to see it. I thought it was rather wonderful.
Will I see a better film this year? Probably not.

march-april 2023 books…

Beyond A Fringe (Andrew Mitchell): I’ve long-maintained that there are good politicians in Westminster from across all parties and so, being a lover of political memoirs, it seemed only ‘right’ to read Mitchell’s. From the start, he confesses to have had a privileged upbringing and has passed through a whole series of British institutions – prep school, through the Army to Cambridge, the City of London (working for a finance institution despite having initially failed O-Level Maths!) and the Palace of Westminster – but, in the process, he’s become (refreshingly, from my perspective) rather more cynical about the Establishment. You will almost certainly recall his experiences over ‘Plebgate’… and the book describes the devastating effect it had on him (in terms of health, ministerial position and financial loss). At times, he seems a somewhat arrogant and ambitious man (certainly in the early part of his career). Clearly, I don’t agree with most of his ‘Tory-thinking’, but I’ve long been an admirer of the work he undertook as Secretary of State at the Department for International Development – especially his fight for the UK’s 0.7% of GDP spending target to be maintained… which, despite ‘absolute assurances’, was subsequently abandoned by PM Johnson (yes, it’s not only Parliament that Mr Johnson who lies to!). Mitchell talks of the various Tory leadership campaigns and the fact that he was a key supporter in Johnson’s ‘campaign team’ – much to the absolute disgust of Mitchell’s wife and his two adult daughters!! It’s a very frank book about such matters as the so-called ‘procedures’ of high finance and the ‘dark arts’ of the government Whips’ Office. He talks quite movingly in the last chapter about what he describes as the ‘three potential stages’ to a career in the House of Commons – especially the advice he would offer to new MPs and the time he is currently enjoying in his ‘latter years’ on the back benches (he’s 67), where he now feels more able to speak his mind. I’ve long been of the view that, here in the UK, we fail to utilise the wisdom and experience of politicians (from all parties) in the way we should. It’s an enjoyable, self-deprecating, thought-provoking and frequently quite funny book.
Riccardino (Andrea Camilleri): This is the last book in the Detective Montalbano series. Published posthumously (in 2021 – he died in 2019), it was Camilleri’s 28th novel in the crime fiction series (I think this will be the 12^th one I’ve read). He actually wrote it in 2005, but subsequently decided to ‘adjust’ the story in 2016 (when he was 91). It’s the usual mix of fictional Sicily, murder, humour, food, the mafia and the Catholic church… but, this time, Montalbano (who has grown ever more weary and cynical), is joined, for the first time, by the author himself. The fictional Camilleri repeatedly chides Montalbano for his lack of progress investigating the death of a man with a colourful private life who has been gunned down in the street by an unknown killer on a motorbike… and even suggests how he feels the inspector should proceed. I’ll leave it there (*no spoilers!*)… but entertaining and enjoyable to the last.
My Name Is Lucy Barton (Elizabeth Strout): This is my second Elizabeth Strout ‘Lucy Barton’ book (this one published 2016). There are four in the series (thus far) and, somewhat predictably, I’ve started to read them out of order (‘Oh, William!’ from 2021); I’ve still to read ‘Anything Is Possible’, 2017 and ‘Lucy By The Sea’, 2022). Lucy, a successful New York writer, reflects on her time, several years ago, spent in hospital… with her mother (who she’d hardly seen in recent years) at the foot of her bed to keep her company. They slowly reconnected (albeit awkwardly) talking about people from their hometown in Illinois. It’s a deeply affecting novel, in which the main character endeavours to make sense of her story in spite of the vagaries of memory, the power of collective denial and the uncanny ability of those closest to her to shroud her emotional needs in misunderstandings and control. I love Strout’s storytelling and her sparse, hesitant writing style. I need to read her other books!
The Public Image (Muriel Spark): Continuing on my ‘Catching up on Murial Spark’s novels’ self-imposed challenge, this book (published in 1968) was already on our bookshelves. Annabel Christopher is a glamorous actress, living in publicity-mad Rome, with a devoted, handsome husband. Her public image is everything to her. To keep the paparazzi and her adoring public under her spell, her perfect image must be carefully cultivated, whatever the cost. Beneath the facade, though, her husband cannot bear her (or what is perceived as their perfect marriage). Envious of her success, he plots his revenge and stages a scandal – his own suicide – in an attempt to destroy her public image. Clever, intriguing… but I have to admit to being left somewhat disappointed.
Wilderness Taunts (Ian Adams): I think this is the third time I’ve used Ian’s excellent book for my Lent reflections. As ever, I found it both stimulating and challenging… and, indeed, some particular passages really resonated for me. This year on the whole, has felt a little different (and more difficult) than recent years… because I’m currently feeling very much in the spiritual wilderness and far away from God. But still with a strong sense and acceptance that God hasn’t abandoned me – even if it frequently feels that I’ve abandoned him/her. I enjoyed the discipline of reading this, out loud, each morning through Lent… and it helped me reflect on a broad range of faith-related issues. 

special day...

Last Thursday, I was privileged to enjoy a rather special day with various family members.
In the morning, I’d caught a train to Birmingham to meet up for lunch with my lovely brother Alan and cousin Barry (at the Old Joint Stock ‘Ale and Pie’ pub). We had a very lovely time catching up on stuff, putting the world to rights(!), comparing ‘old age moans+groans’ and reflecting on all the memories and experiences we’d shared together over the years. Our families were very close during our childhoods and we regularly got together at weekends – for Sunday ‘teas’ (which frequently included a projector and holiday slides!), picnics and games (Sutton Park, Cannock Chase etc) and various sporting encounters (Albion, Villa and keeping quiet when our grandfather Fred was listening to the football results on the wireless and filling in his pools coupon!).
We reflected on how lucky we’d been to have lived in what seems to have been something of a golden age… we hadn’t been asked to fight in any wars; the NHS came into being; university education was free (and, in my case, also came with a full grant); housing had been ‘almost affordable’. It seemed to be the case that every subsequent generation would ‘have it better’ than the last one… but, sadly, that was no longer the case.
It really was a rather wonderful lunchtime (over several beers, of course!) and we laughed an awful lot remembering lots of the silly, embarrassing things we did together.
In the late afternoon, I trained home to Bristol (feeling somewhat relieved that the train was relatively empty, despite the imminent holiday weekend, and that I hadn’t drunk too many beers!) and managed to arrive home by 7pm.
Alice and Dan were down from Lancashire for three days and Ru, Stu, Iris and Rosa were round for supper… and it was a very lovely, relaxed evening (again lots of laughter, playing catch-up etc etc)… and, afterwards, Moira and I reflecting just how ‘grown up’ our grandchildren had become (Dan is now over 6ft tall and Iris+Rosa were both looking rather beautiful!).
It was really great to get together again (Han+Fee+Ursa were away on holiday in Scotland, so weren’t able to join us) and lovely to hear more about the various things they’re all up to. It almost felt like Christmas!
 
Over the past few days, I’ve subsequently found myself reflecting on all that happened last Thursday… a morning spent with people ‘my age’ - looking back - recalling tales from our younger days and reflecting on all that’s happened in our lives… followed by an evening with people of the next two generations (apologies to Moira!) - looking forward - talking about their hopes and dreams (but also about all the challenges that they face – both now and over the coming years).
The sort of very special, privileged day that doesn’t happen very often… and one that I need to cherish and ‘drink from’ over the coming days, months and years.
Photo: Sadly, I don’t have any photographs from our evening gathering (understandably, our grandchildren, in particular, are very protective of their public images!)… so you’ll just have to put up with this one from our morning ‘session’ (featuring Barry, Alan and me in the pub!).