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Showing posts with label England. Show all posts
Showing posts with label England. Show all posts

Sunday, 23 November 2014

Writing and Running for ME/CFS #9

P writing blue
P writing blue (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Is it really only 9 weeks since I started this?

Writing:
The book is progressing. I managed to preserve all the dates of the diary entries ( a long job, but necessary). And I have now started the selection process. This will be another longish job as I have over 200 pages of diary entries and each one has to be read to detect anything of relevance or value to the book. Still, we're getting there. Allowing my subconscious to work on possible covers at present, and toying with some title options. I'll put some of these out shortly, to see what you think of them.

Running:
In spite of the back injury (which is still niggling a little) I managed my programme of 3 runs this week. That's 2 at 10 minutes each and one at 20 minutes. To think it took me all my energy to walk 100 yards at the height of the ME/CFS, and here I am running again! It's fantastic, and I hope it gives some encouragement to all those who are still suffering with the condition. Hoping the back will allow me to do the 15 minute run I'm due tomorrow. See how I feel in the morning.

So, still on track, though the house move is definitely a bind. Be very glad when all is finalised and we're in the new home so I can concentrate on what really matters again.

Friday, 24 October 2014

The Narrative Poems, by William Shakespeare, Reviewed.

I always feel nervous commenting on the works of the Bard. After all, as England’s foremost dramatist, he has one hell of a reputation. Part of my anxiety stems from simple ignorance: a lack of knowledge of the times in which he wrote, and large holes in my understanding of the vocabulary he used. It is easy to misunderstand or misinterpret his work.

All the same, as a modern reader of a classic work, I have a voice and an opinion. I hope readers of my reviews understand that they are personal and only as informed as those of most readers who also write.

So, to The Narrative Poems: this volume contains, Venus and Adonis, The Rape of Lucrece, and The Phoenix and Turtle. I read the Penguin Shakespeare edition, so there are some notes, an introduction and an epilogue to guide readers.


There is no doubt that Shakespeare was a superb poet. But these are works very much of their time, in spite of their reputation as classics. Classics, because they use language in an evocative and engaging way. Of their time, because they are rather more wordy than a modern reader would generally prefer. Although it takes the author several verses to say what modern writers would say in one, the manner of the exposition is so brilliant that wordiness is more easily forgiven. That said, there were short passages I skipped because they seemed superfluous.

Pierre-Paul Prud'hon's Venus and Adonis, Walla...
Pierre-Paul Prud'hon's Venus and Adonis, Wallace Collection, London (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Venus and Adonis retells an ancient myth in the typical style of the poet and does so very well, of course. The Rape of Lucrece again tackles an old story, but what is most noticeable about this one is its extremely moral stance. At the time of the Bard, women were routinely ‘owned’ and abused, yet the language of this work expresses such disgust over the actions of the rapist, Tarquin, and such empathy with the victim, Lucrece, that it might have been written by a modern man. The Phoenix and Turtle, however, is all but incomprehensible without a translation or some reference to the original work from which it is undoubtedly derived.


Did I enjoy the read? Yes. Was some of it hard work? Yes. Did it put me off reading more of Shakespeare? No. Scholars and those acquainted with his works, will need no input from me. Those less familiar with the work of the Bard should find this slim volume worth their time. I suggest you have a read.

Monday, 22 September 2014

Ruled by Intellect or Emotion? Tips on Word Choice #3

English: Robert Plutchik's Wheel of Emotions
English: Robert Plutchik's Wheel of Emotions (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Certain words/phrases can induce fairly specific responses in readers. As writers, we all know this, but do we use the power of emotion in our work?

I set out here to suggest a few alternatives some weeks ago. Since then, several barriers have prevented me making regular posts. However, I’m now able to resume, so here goes.

In this series I’ll look at the difference between those words that seem intellectual as opposed to those that invoke a more emotional response. How you use them is obviously up to you. The point is that the alternatives have the same, or very similar, meanings, but their effect upon the reader can be markedly different. I’ve made some suggestions here, but I’m sure you can think of others.

Intellectual: Additionally
Emotional: there’s more

Cameron gave several reasons for the loathing he experienced from the Scots; additionally, he included the north of England in his pretence to give a damn about the welfare of the people.

Gordon listed the things he most liked about Sarah. He paused when he saw she was less than enthusiastic. ‘And, there’s more.’ He said, adding those qualities he hoped she might treasure.

Intellectual: Concerning
Emotional: About

‘I have to give a talk to my fellow politicians concerning their inability to understand the concept of honesty.’ Said the MP.

‘I’ve got to talk to those prats in Parliament about their total lack of honesty.’ Said the trade union leader.

Intellectual: Perspiration
Emotional: Sweat

There is, in the perspiration of extended effort, the joy of experiencing the reward for hard work.


‘Good, honest sweat never hurt me, mate.’

Sunday, 19 January 2014

The God of Small Things, by Arundhati Roy, Reviewed.

A prose poem of a novel, with bite. This Indian tale of love, loss, class and betrayal starts, against all the literary school advice, with the weather. But the language is so engaging, so intriguing, that the reader is drawn into this strange world at once.

I love well-rounded characters and this book explodes with them. I love the use of good and entertaining English and this book drips with it. I won’t bore you with a synopsis; there are plenty of those around if you want a truncated version of the story. Suffice to say that the story centres on the relationships within a middle class business family and those that family loves and relies upon.

I learned a great deal about Indian life during the read. The chaos, out-dated traditions, values, iniquities of the caste system, attitudes to authority, God, and religion are all exposed in the narrative. The climate and the landscape become added characters, playing their parts in this complex tale and bringing even more life to a story already teeming with it.

There are flaws, for a reader from England. There are references to Indian culture, tradition and history that arrive unannounced and leave without explanation, often failing to reveal their origins or meanings in the process.  And there are very short, occasional, passages in an untranslated language I could not identify or understand. How much of the richness of the novel I failed to appreciate because of these flaws, I have no way of knowing.

There are a couple of chapters that, for me, appeared to serve no purpose in the story and I confess to skipping through those.

The book is written in a way that keeps the reader engaged, not through action or tension necessarily, but through the exquisite combination of words. This is poetry presented as prose. And the final chapter is so brilliantly drawn, so brutally emotional, that it left me feeling raw; the empathy imposed is such that I doubt any sensitive reader could leave it without tears.

I loved this book, and read the last half at one sitting, reluctant to put it down even though there were fairly pressing reasons I should do so. Thoroughly recommended for those readers who love literature in its accessible form and for whom a story of people in love matters. It’s no surprise this won the Booker Prize.
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Sunday, 24 February 2013

Lakeland to Lindisfarne, by John Gillham, Reviewed.


Walker, moutaineer, historian, or just interested in the great outdoors? This book has something for you. It was a Christmas present from one of my wife’s sisters, some years ago, and has been sitting on the shelf until now. I picked it up as a light alternative to the rather disturbing piece of fiction I finished last week. And I’m so glad I did.

This guide is intended as just that; an introduction to and a planning tool for a coast to coast walk from the west to east shores of northern England. John Gillham makes it clear from the start that you need to procure more detailed maps than the illustrative drawings he supplies alongside the text, if you are to complete this varied ramble through some of our finest landscapes.

There are mountains, vales, rivers and moors to cross on this varied route. And Gillham brings them all to life, adding small panels of local history where applicable. The reader learns some fascinating facts along the way, and is entertained with rural humour. He gives tips about various villages, pubs, bothies and ancient monuments. He also provides alternative routes, catering for the less experienced walker as well as the proper mountaineers.

For me, this was a trip back to a pleasant past. The walk starts in the Lake District, where my wife and I spent our honeymoon, and brought back many happy memories of those days. The middle section takes the reader through an area of England not much visited and one that I do not yet know. But the last part of the walk, as it approaches the north eastern coast, involves a walk through Hexham where, before we were married, we were mistaken for hotel inspectors at the hostelry we’d chosen for our meeting. Needless to say, the service and food were excellent on that occasion! The route passes Rothbury, where we dined together at another time in our early relationship. Unfortunately, on that occasion, I contracted food poisoning that resulted in the most horrendous drive back down to the Essex town where I then lived. It passes through Clennel Street, close by Clennel Hall, where we stayed very early in our relationship and confirmed that we would spend the rest of our lives together. So, another pleasant reminder. And, in fact, as a result of reading the book, we’re now intending to do some parts of the walk.

I’m well past the days when I can contemplate tackling such an arduous walk as a complete exercise, but, because John Gillham breaks it up into smaller parts, we’ll definitely be hiking several parts of it over the coming years. And I give my thanks to him for mapping out this route through some of the most spectacular and beautiful scenery in this small island of ours.

The photographs that illustrate the walk are all excellent; some merely informative, but many reflecting the beauty of the landscape and giving a clear idea of what the walker can expect to see along the way. I look forward to visiting these places with my wife and my camera in the near future.

The final part of the book is a diary, kept by John’s new wife, Nicola. This is a charming, personal account of her trip with him as he mapped out the routes he suggests. It gives a touching insight into the loving relationship between the couple and provides a more intimate view of both the pleasures and hardships that the walker may encounter along the way. I enjoyed this short piece every bit as much as the main narrative.
So, whether you’re a seasoned walker, a sometime rambler, or one of those tourists who rarely moves more than a few paces from your car, there’s something in this book for you. I picked it up as a contrast to the gritty and disturbing fiction of urban poverty that I’d read previously. As an antidote, it was perfect, and I thoroughly recommend it.

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Thursday, 29 November 2012

The Comedy of Errors, by William Shakespeare, Reviewed


Heresy! Infamy! Thou darest malign the Bard?

The Comedy of Errors appears to be based on a premise that I found impossible to swallow, for two simple reasons. First; why would the twins, both sets, not have been named prior to their separation and therefore have different names? It seems unlikely that these infants were so young as to have been denied such a basic ceremony as naming. Secondly, and perhaps more to the point, why were both sets of twins dressed identically, bearing exact copies of the same hairstyle, using the same manner of speech? So identical, in fact, that they could not be separated by the intimate servants or, in the case of Antipholus of Ephasus, by his wife and her sister. One was raised in Syracuse, a town in Sicily, with, admittedly, Greek influence. And the other in Ephasus, in Turkey, again, with Greek influence. However, the manner of speech in these two widely distant provinces would undoubtedly have been equally wide. Manner of dress, customs, mannerisms etc would all have been very varied, and Shakespeare would have been aware of such regional differences from his exposure to such during his everyday life in England.

A farce, and this play is definitely a farce, requires the audience to suspend their disbelief in order to appreciate the confusions caused by the plot. I found I was unable to suspend my incredulity to the extent necessary to enjoy this piece of comic drama.

I’m an admirer of our national Bard; what writer of English could fail to prize the literary skills of this world renowned wordsmith? But I couldn’t push past what quickly became an insuperable barrier to my enjoyment. This impediment was further reinforced by the poor quality of the poetry of the piece. We’re all used to the subtlety, variety, cleverly composed and richly metaphorical nature of Shakespeare’s dialogue. But in this, one of his earlier plays, he seems not to have quite got the hang of things. The language is unnecessarily convoluted, as if he’s more concerned with impressing the audience than with conveying his meaning. The usual contemporary references aside, I found the meaning often difficult to determine because of the structure of the sentences and the employment of obtuse metaphors. I accept, when reading Shakespeare, that some of the language’s more subtle meanings will be lost on me: I’m not a scholar of the period and I lack the time to delve into references that require lengthy searches to unpick. But, in this play, I felt the playwright was more concerned with fireworks than with substance. Also, although I’ve never seen a production, I very quickly knew the outcome, since this was flagged too clearly in the first act.

So, not the best of his work, but, hell, it’s Shakespeare, so it must be good, yes? 

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To my regular readers, my apologies for the lack of a piece on writing today. My ME/CFS has returned and it limits my energy and creativity. I'll try to get back to normal next week. Thank you for your patience.

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