On Difference, Snowflakes, and Alan Bennett

Hector: The best bits in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - which you had thought special and particular to you. Now here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours. 

(Alan Bennett, The History Boys)

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I am not sure why, or when, I first read The History Boys.

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individual

   unrelated 10 adj.

   nonuniform 17 adj.

   original 21 adk.

   self 80 n. 

   special 80 adj. 

   unit 88 n.

   one 88 adj. 

   person 371 n.

(Roget's Thesaurus) 

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Although the history of snow is as long as the history of water, and hydrogen, and oxygen, the history of the snowflake could be said to begin with Wilson Alwyn 'Snowflake' Bentley, born in Jericho, Vermont, who dedicated his life to photographing snowflakes. Having taken a few pictures of the reticent crystals, he proceeded to take another 5,000 images, just to make sure what he was seeing was correct. What he was seeing was perfect individuality, and he went on to record that individuality over and over again, receiving the American Meteorological Societies' first ever research grant in honour of his work, awarded in recognition of 'forty years of extremely patient work'. In the quest to prove that total, inexhaustible individuality is possible, one can afford to be patient. 

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After beginning university, and realising how dismally average I was for my year-group, I printed Psalm 139, NRSV version, and blutacked it to the side of my wardrobe. O Lord, you have searched me and known me. Jeans, tee-shirt, socks. For I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 

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individualism

   particularism 80 n.

   independence  744 n.

   selfishness 932 n. 

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I saw The History Boys performed twice on stage. I had also seen a play at the National Theatre, so I felt that between the two, I had essentially seen the original History Boys. By the second time I saw it, I had read the play and worked out the french parts, and enjoyed myself laughing at the jokes in schoolboy french while the other students from my school looked puzzled.

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I want to light up with the zest of the words.

I want to wear a proper tragic mask.

I want to have an excuse for drama. 

(Joanna Hollins, poem, c. 2009)

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The story of snowflakes does not begin with Wilson A. Bentley because he photographed snowflakes. He was not the first person to see snowflakes. The story begins with Bentley because he published them. Shortly before he died, he published a book, Snow Crystals, which made the snowflake, in all its minuscule glory, available to the public. The eye becomes the microscope, and what was once homogeneous falling snow became a whirlwind of infinite individual flakes.

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I date my first recurring nightmare, where I shrunk away from myself, and felt the universe shatter into infinite pieces, from the age I first learnt about atoms.

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In The History Boys, the students begin with the basic conviction that whilst they are individuals, history is one fixed story, to be learnt and memorised. The new teacher, Irwin, teaches them to think of history as individual perspectives, but that their own individuality is a lie - something to be constructed with care. The narrative is speckled with 'gobbets' taught by Hector and used by Irwin: fragments of poetry, mainly, but also philosophy, history, linguistics. For Hector, each piece given is a liberation, a sign of individuality. For Irwin, they are a tool to disguise the lack of it. In the play, Irwin's methods win out. By using individuality as a tool, a way of questioning the narrative, each boy is able to win his place at Oxford. Yet the play is successful because it is quotable, because it can be broken down into memorable 'gobbets', to be holed up, memorised, brought out at opportune moments. 

'It is as if a hand has come out, and taken yours...'

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When I write my university application, I restrain myself to only one History Boys quote. However, I take Irwin's advice seriously; any method invented by a 20th century playwright to describe a group of grammar-school boys advancing to Oxford in the 1980's will clearly work for me. On this basis, I spend my sixthform years reading as widely and esoterically as I can, or at least, as I perceive. I reference Mark Steel in my history A level. Quote the Old Testament in English Literature. The highlight of my university application is a reference to George Orwell's Keep The Aspidistra Flying, whereupon I compare myself to the eternally miserable Gordon Comstock.  

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individualist

   free person 744 n.

   egotist 932 n.

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The website KnowYourMeme.com dates the phrase 'special snowflake' from the 1999 film Fight Club. At this point, 'snowflake' is synonymous with 'individual'.

It is also synonymous with a kind of education where children are taught that they can, and should be individual, like snowflakes, and then punished when they fail to attain these standards. 

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31st January, 2012. Question and Answer session with the Education Committee. 

Chair: One is: if 'good' requires pupil performance to exceed the national average, and if all schools must be good, how is this mathematically possible?

Michael Gove (Secretary for Education): By getting better all the time. 

Chair: So it is possible, is it?

MG: It is possible to get better all the time. 

Chair: Were you better at literacy than numeracy, Secretary of State?

MG: I cannot remember. 

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If the only mark of achievement is distinction, and every student achieves well, then there can be no distinction. There are three solutions to this. One is to limit the amount of students who can achieve, thus increasing the distinction of those who do. One is to diversify the number of ways in which students can achieve, and the types and forms of distinction. In this way, many students will be able to achieve moderate levels of distinction, at the expense of a system of objective value. The other is to accept that the only distinction worth having is achievement itself, and work blissfully and invisibly into nothingness.

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Shortly before starting university, I read A Very Short Introduction to Marx. My purpose in reading it was to avoid having to actually read Marx, but improve my ability to argue with my Oxford-educated and rather good-looking history teacher. I learnt that under communism, individuals aren't important; we matter as part of the whole. This conflicted strongly with my innate Christian belief that our intrinsic worth is tied to our individuality. Being a contradiction in terms made me feel more individual, so I spent my first year of university loudly announcing that I was a Catholic Marxist.

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individuality
   essence 1 n.
   speciality 80 n.
   nonconformity 84 n.

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Thinking about it now, it seems all a matter of perspective. How far you zoom in on the microscope. 

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The insult 'special snowflake' can be broken down thus:

firstly, the word 'special', from 'special needs', used to create negative associations around disabilities and then to negatively associate the subject with disability;

secondly, in the connotations around snowflake, which are:

fragility and weakness, and therefore femininity, with a hyper-masculinity that does not melt, yield, or break in antithesis;

infantility, in that the perception that individuality exists and should be valued is naive, and what is naive is infantile; also in the association with the schoolroom and the teacher who tells her class that they are all valued for who they are, before the world teaches them that this isn't true

and waking one day unable to distinguish themselves, believe that the best recourse is to knock down those who still perceive themselves as individual;

and thirdly, in combination, as an expression that to express individualism, and take pride in it - or defend it - is to be abnormal, and inferior; a suggestion that being differing from the collective identity is reductive.

This all depends on the existence of such a collective identity.

And of course, the perception that such an identity would be superior. 

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Shortly before leaving for university, my best friend and I went to the theatre to see another Alan Bennett play, called The Habit of Art. 

The Habit of Art is a very erudite, meta-play. A second stage is erected on stage, and the play concerns a group of people putting on a play about Auden and Britten, who were the only memorable characters. The dialogue flickered rapidly between play and meta-play with no chance to get into either. We left disappointed, but it took me a few months to admit I'd disliked it. 

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Ironically, Wilson A. Bentley was killed by the collective; he caught pneumonia after walking home in a blizzard. 

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Later on in my degree, I had the first of a series of conversations which would go along the lines of this:

me: Gosh, you know, I quoted The History Boys in my personal statement. I thought it was ever so clever back then. 

them: Oh yes! I did as well.

me: Ah, really?

Of all the crushing realisations, the realisation that the document you had written to prove your individuality constructed from quotes about a play about constructing individuality is particularly crushing. 

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For it was you who formed my inward parts;

you knit me together in my mother's womb. 

(Psalm 139.13-14)

Am I the sum of my parts? And if I add more parts, am I more likely to be individual?

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Identical snowflakes were first proven possible by Nancy Knight, in 1988, and created in laboratory conditions by Kenneth G. Libbrecht around 2015. Smaller crystals form similar base shapes, growing more individual as they become more complex. Under perfectly identical conditions, perfectly identical snowflakes can be created.

With this stunning revelation, every argument ever which placed value on identity simultaneously collapsed, and everyone agreed that we were just 'humans', and should probably stop all this nonsense with racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, and classism, and we all settled into perfect peace until someone picky pointed out that one of the snowflakes was on the left, and the other the right, and this was a fundamental difference between them, at which point we went back to bombing the hell out of each other and insulting minor differences in identity. 

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There came a point in my third year of university, when I had eventually realised that I was average for what I did, achieving without distinction, when I decided to stop worrying about being an individual. My faith taught me that I had intrinsic worth purely by merit of existing, and if I didn't think about that too hard, it wasn't an entirely terrifying concept. I had also decided to stop writing essays as if I was Alan Bennett. 

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I have always been terrified of individuality, because it felt like a challenge I could fail at. 

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This is not an individual experience.

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Not being individual is not the terrifying thing it was made out to be as children. Sometimes, once in a million billion times, one snowflake may brush another snowflake who looks a little like it. 

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Thousands of pounds and tens of thousands of photographs have been used to make this point. 

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When the phrase 'special snowflake' is used as an insult, the speaker is using the term to express their own fear at failing, and their hatred of anyone who embraces being different, or believes that different identities require different treatments. Rather than coming from a belief that individual identity is valueless, this comes from a strong belief in individual identity: their own, which is justified by the claim that their identity is part of the collective identity. Strangely, these kinds of people rarely react well to situations where their identity is not part of the majority.

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In a blizzard, as the unfortunate Bentley discovered, it does not hugely matter if snowflakes are completely unique, or if they may have some similarities. 

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The students of The History Boys were all remarkable characters in their own right. Rudge with his golf and dark humour. Scripps and his faith. Posner, with his anxiety and biting sarcasm. Dakin, with his rampant sexuality and excessive self-consciousness. Timms. Akthar. Crowther. Lockwood. All innately part of the play. Desperate to stand out from the crowd, they are forced into a homogeneous character, the sarcastic, doubtful scholar, churned through Oxford in order to claim the same, identical mark of distinction. The play I had thought for so many years was about becoming an individual turned out be about destroying individuality, and it nearly took me with it. 

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The reason why we know that most snowflakes are unique, but once in a million crystals, some can be made to look similar, is because humans love and are fascinated by snowflakes. Their difference is something to be celebrated and encouraged. It doesn't matter that sometimes their differences are minute, that many are broken, that they are fragile. The whole is made by their variations. Being the same and being individual is only a matter of distance. 

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Bentley's book sold because it was beautiful. 

Book Review: The Fault In Our Stars

[Warning - may contain spoilers. I'll try to keep them to a minimum.]

The Fault in Our Stars
John Green, 2012. Published by Dutton Books, available pretty much anywhere. 

It is now only a few days before the long-awaited film of The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green, is released in cinemas in the UK. This morning my housemate marched down the stairs, placed the book firmly next to me, and demanded that I read it before we see the film. 

I wasn't sure if I'd like the Fault in Our Stars, so I started reading nervously. More than nervously: guardedly. I almost wanted to dislike it because it's so popular, and I'm not a fan of most of the big, easy-read popular books out there - the Twilight Sagas and endless dystopian novel series being churned out at the moment. However, I've been following the Vlogbrothers on youtube for some years now, and John and Hank Green both stand out to me as intelligent, kind men, and ideal role models for young people. They know what they're talking about, and who they're talking to, and they encourage and inspire their fanbase to act responsibly and think independently. Even without the media hype and the film, John Green's name on the cover is pretty much a guarantee of thoughtful, intelligent writing. 

The book opens with a dedication to Esther Earl, a nerdfighter (the name given to the Vlogbrothers' fan base) who died of cancer some years ago. John met her before she died, and nerdfighters celebrate #EstherDay in her honour - a day to promote love, positivity, and tolerance. As such, John's foreword, reminding readers that the story is entirely fictional and that he does not wish readers to attempt to place facts into the story, is particularly needed. It would be easy to search for Esther and John in the story, especially in the troubling relationship between Hazel and novelist Peter Van Houten, but this would undermine the relevance and autonomy of the story, and risk fictionalising Esther. TFiOS is not a novel that pretends to be real; the bands and books within the story are invented, and the story stays within its confines. It exists in a small world; it doesn't pretend to be anything more than a story for teenagers, working around the conventions of its genre. 

Yet this acceptance is not a limitation, but rather the brilliance of the novel. Augustus Waters struggles throughout the novel with his own insignificance, whilst Hazel accepts that living her own life, and doing ordinary things, is okay. 'Okay' is an important word in TFiOS: it is the word that stands for acceptance of what life deals us, and more than that, a firm belief in beauty in small things, everyday occurrences. Being 'just a good book' or 'just a normal kid' is okay. 

But okay doesn't mean simplistic, or patronising. The story itself is refreshingly simple: the plot runs in chronological order, with one strong, reliable narrator, and a small cast of detailed characters, giving it readability and easy emotional access. The 'stars' of the book are arguably the secondary characters - Isaac, Peter Van Houten, Lidewij, and Caroline Mathers (oh, wait till you find out about her. That bit broke me.) I thought it took a while for Augustus to become a fully fleshed out character, and he often irritated me - pretentious beyond even the average lit student, and far more open about his love for Hazel than any seventeen year old I've ever encountered. But Green's writing, again, is clever and critical: the character of Augustus is a comment on perception and portrayal of the heroic, male love interest, working through the clichés to the painfully real, vulnerable character who appears in the last third of the book. It's worth sticking with his pretentious 'I am not in the business of denying myself simple pleasures' nonsense to hear what he has to say in the final pages. Green works with the conventions of character writing in young adult fiction, using them to establish boundaries and relationships, and then breaking them to great emotional and structural effect. 

The real strength of the book is not just in the plot, or characterisation, but in the questions raised between the conscious questions asked by the characters, and the questions raised in the structure and authorial decisions shaping the story. Green's pacing is gentle, but never sluggish, and he allows enough 'everyday life' to creep in to make the story realistic, but not overweighted with detail. The main weight of the plot is philosophical, rather than physical; instead of hefty medical terminology, the plot centres on poetry and existential questions. Although occasionally wearying, Green's resistance of sentimentality makes this tactic bearable, and sometimes thought-provoking. 

The most obvious issue raised is the question of how to portray the life of a child with cancer, whilst resisting the mawkishness of channel 4 documentaries or sentimental eulogizing; the problems of how they want to be remembered, and of how to prioritise and reflect on their lives is a crucial question for the main characters. Green treads through this question lightly, resisting the temptation to tell the reader how to feel or sentimentalize situations. Where a character or event could become cliché, he is honest: Augustus, for instance, is as good-looking as any love-interest ought to be, but he himself knows this, and it doesn't dominate his character or become a symbol of his innate good nature, a fault of the Twilight genre. Green also resists the temptation to indulge in pity for Hazel and the other cancer sufferers; he confronts the issue on every page, but he doesn't let it rule the story even though it rules Hazel and Augustus' lives. Personally, I think this act of literary defiance is a far better tribute to cancer sufferers than any amount of sentimentality over the awfulness of their situation.

In some stories about kids with cancer, the question of the novel is how they survive, how they cope, how their families react (and so on), and the answer is almost formulaic; the tragedy, the pain, the resolution. As satisfying as this might be to a spoon-fed readership, Green has more respect for his readers, and for kids like Esther and the reality of their lives, to write another book of this ilk. In TFiOS, cancer is not the answer but the question, and the answers aren't always predictable. Rather than going for big, overdramatic twists, the structure of TFiOS is gentle curves, with believable and powerful revelations lowered slowly into the story. In other words, it punches below the belt; it isn't a book that can be closed halfway through if the reader doesn't like a plot change. Aside from a few clangers such as 'I never took another photo of Augustus Waters', there is little in the way of foreshadowing; instead, certain catch phrases and repeated events hold the story together. I won't spoil the ending, but I will say that to my mind, it's a technical masterpiece. Content-wise, it brings together several themes and ideas from the story, and is deservedly emotional, but not overdone, but best of all, it's not a satisfying ending. In satisfying stories about kids with cancer, everyone goes into remission, the couples get each other, and they all go off to college and have kids who grow up to be ballet dancers or marine biologists or firemen, and because they are brave and good, cancer never pops its ugly head up again. Throughout TFiOS, the characters are preoccupied with the ending of a particular book, and its lack of resolution (which Green consciously has Hazel describe as 'literary'). Is it literary to lack an ending, or is that just real life? Should stories be complete? In the end, TFiOS is neither of these things. The ending doesn't fully satisfy our need to complete all the stories, but what we are given is perfect in its own, self-contained way. In the end, Hazel acknowledges that 'forever' can exist within 'their numbered days', and although that is really not okay, it can be okay - a decision mirrored in the ending, with its mixed sadness and acceptance, the lack of What Happened Later details. It doesn't satisfy, but it's right - respectful to the real struggles of cancer sufferers, respectful to the readers, and to the novel's question of what makes a good ending. Perhaps Green's refusal to fully end the story is an answer in itself: the best endings are not really ends at all. 

Backdated books review: LOTR, Rattigan, Economics, Owen Jones, Rilke, and other such ramblings

August 2012

I've been rather lazy with this page. When I realised I couldn't set it up to do individual posts - as on the main page - I went off the idea a little. However, I have been re-inspired to write something at least up about what I've been reading. 

My main project for this summer was to read the Lord of the Rings. The sheer scale of Tolkien's world, with its millions of avid readers, its fanfiction, films and appendices, really intimidated me - I was convinced it would be a whole-summer reading marathon, trekking through interminable passages listing the genealogy of elves. For those interested, there are interminable passages listing the genealogy of elves (and humans, dwarves, the Numenorians etc), but the story itself isn't overwhelmingly difficult. I can understand that some people might not get into it, but I was gripped. For days I raced through the familiar journey, watching Frodo and Sam struggle across Ithilien and revelling in the sheer beauty of the story. It has a wonderful epic quality, a richness of language, which is unsurpassable. I read all the appendices and spent days discussing the lineage of the dwarves with my Dad, who is a long-time Tolkien lover, and fully intended to go and read all the additional books, but then I got distracted reading other things, so I am yet to discover the history of the Second Age  of Middle Earth and that sort of thing. Perhaps its better this way. When you read the Lord of the Rings, you realise you're just skimming the surface of Tolkien's life work, the culminating event in the glorious history of Middle Earth. It's only fair that it should take a lifetime to read it, and savour the pleasure. 

Since then I've read a variety of new things and old. I finally read a Terence Rattigan play, The Deep Blue Sea, which I'm still thinking about, and I'm reading 50 Economic Ideas You Really Need to Know, one economic idea at a time. The idea is to try and make myself sound more intelligent when I'm arguing with politics students. So far, I'm eight ideas in, and I can refer to things like the 'invisible hand of supply and demand' with alacrity. The '50 ideas' series are the most fantastic books for sounding smart at short notice. I read '50 Literature Ideas You Really Need To Know' just before my A-Level exam, and I think it helped. Maybe. I'm slightly terrified that when I start university next month everyone I meet will genuinely understand these things, so I'm trying to polish my few nuggets of knowledge in the brief time left before I start packing... I've also been re-reading Sherlock Holmes for relaxation, because like most literaturish students I'm in love with him. 

Strangely for me, I haven't yet finished my holiday reading books. It's a tradition in my household that we each buy a novel or two for holiday reading, and this year I asked for Owen Jones 'Chavs: The Demonization of the working classes' (non-fiction), Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke, and The Duino Elegies and the Sonnets to Orpheus, also by Rilke. I'll start with the book of letters. Written to aspiring poet Franz Kappus in the early half of this century, this selection of ten letters from Rilke to Kappus is inspiring, uplifting, encouraging, and life affirming. I felt, as I'm sure most readers do, that Rilke was talking directly to me. For a manual on how to write, on God and on life, they are essential reading, and I can this book becoming part of my 'Desert Island Discs' kit - the book, after Shakespeare and the Bible, that I'd want beside me when I feel lonely or lost. 
This brings me on to the Duino Elegies and the Sonnets to Orpheus. I haven't finished the Sonnets yet, so I can't really comment on them. I don't feel qualified to comment on anything Rilke created, so all I can say is this: read them. Read them slowly. Read them on buses, and then listen to the conversation the people behind you are having about them, having seen you reading them. (You have to turn the pages every now and then so they don't realise you're eavesdropping.) If you can, read a bilingual translation so you can appreciate the rhythms and rhyme scheme which are totally destroyed in translation. Go away and learn German then read them properly.* Love them. Do not worry too much about understanding them. 

I bought the wrong translation of the Elegies and I am contemplating going and buying another translation because I think the phrasing is slightly better. This is how obsessive and lit-geeky I feel about them. (If you're interested: I have the Stephen Mitchell translation, which is good, but I'd prefer the Martyn Crucefix translation. So. Sad.) 

I haven't finished Owen Jones Chavs yet. It merits slow reading. Discussing attitudes to the working class in Britain, it is a truly challenging book, taking on many common misconceptions, from social to statistical. It suggests links between cause and effect, prejudice and reason, and argues strongly for the case that that social ills are a symptom of, rather than the cause, of Cameron's 'Broken Britain'. As you might have guessed, it's an angry left-wing work, with plenty of reasoned criticism of the Conservative governments of the last few decades, especially Margaret Thatchers' government. Jones also levies a fair amount of criticism of the labour party under Tony Blair, and is careful to present a reasoned and valid case for all his arguments. It is the sort of book that could be questioned, but it's a useful springboard for a groundwork of understanding the problem of class in Britain today. I feel it could do with - or at least, I'd appreciate - some more political theory to support the statements it draws from case studies and statistics, but the point is that the book is popular politics, designed to be accessible to everyone, so the absence of theory is justified in its premise. A highly qualified political commentator, Jones presumably has argued through the more academic side of his arguments and is confident that he could, and I think often has, support them when required to. It is, in any case, a useful and informative book, and the authority of Jones' arguments has for me been confirmed by the instances where he speculates about the future and his speculations have been confirmed by events since the book was published around two years ago. He's another person I'd love to meet, as our views seem very similar. The only other thing I'd nitpick about the book is the poor organisation of his arguments. It's a little hypocritical of me to complain, given the rambling nature of most of my blog posts, but I feel the book could have done with a plan setting out a miniature argument and conclusion for each chapter and then sticking rigidly to it, like an academic essay. Perhaps the book was planned like this, but if so, it's been hidden cleverly so as to create a general impression with each chapter rather than a logical, joined-up-the-dots argument. If there's one thing Critical Thinking AS Level did for, it was to make me pedantic about being able to trace argument structures, and it's often quite hard to follow the thread in Chavs. 
Nevertheless, it's definitely worth reading. It might not leave be more informed, or better at social arguments, but it will leave me with a genuine desire to challenge class perceptions and my own inherent prejudices. I have to read it in small chunks because it makes me want to hit people who vote Conservative,** but underwritten in the text is a genuine desire to make the lives of others better, and educate the uneducated - the degree-holding classes...

Soonish I will (hopefully) have a reading list for University, so that'll probably take up most of my time. I'm going to have to learn to think again! :D 

Until then, I have two main things on the go. I'm going to read Julius Caesar, because I saw the RSC production on TV and really liked it, and I'm going to read Les Miserables. Today, on the 7th or 8th book of the first principle book of the story, one of the main characters was finally introduced...more on that when I get there.

Until then, keep reading :D I always like book suggestions so please send me some!
J.R. 


*This one is still a work in progress. 
**Which isn't nice. Please don't stop reading if you vote Conservative. I love you really. 

Cassette Appeal: Please Help!

In September, I leave home for university. The idea with leaving home, albeit briefly, is that you're a legitimate adult. Not necessarily grown up, but old enough to look after yourself. For most, including myself, it's a time to put childish things behind us and discover ourselves as adults. I'll pack up all the bits of me and my life I want to take on, all the adult bits, and leave my childhood tidied away at home. All my old toys, my teddies, my old clothes. Well, brown bear may come with me. I've had him since before I was born and I don't want to leave him, although on the other hand, I'd hate it if he got damaged. 

But there's one thing I'd like to find, before I try and pack away all the relics of my childhood. I'm looking for an audio cassette tape of Philippa Pearce's 1958 novel, Tom's Midnight Garden. It was probably made during the 1990's, when I would have been listening to it, as it was a high quality cassette - possibly even as late as 2001. We owned it until recently, but somewhere along the line one tape was misplaced and so the other - it was a two tape set - was thrown away. Ironically, the second tape later turned up, and so followed its sibling into the dustbin. Being a child, I had no reason to remember who read the story, so I'm having a hard time tracking down these cassettes. Many adaptations of Tom's Midnight Garden have been made over the years. YouTube has thrown up no hints, and it isn't possible to hear a sample of the tape on ebay to verify whether it's the right one. I'm only after one particular adaptation. It had particularly beautiful and entrancing music. Some of the happiest memories of my childhood are listening to these tapes in the car with my family or falling asleep, and this was my absolute favourite.

I'm also interested in any tapes of Diana Wynne Jones books - they always made me smile :) Thankfully we still have our dramatisation of the Hobbit and the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which were equally wonderful tapes. 

If anyone reading this - which I know is very unlikely - owns any of these tapes and doesn't want them, or knows of an inexpensive way to copy them, or would even let me borrow them, I would be immensely grateful. The Tom's Midnight Garden tape, for some inexplicable reason, is very important to me and I would love to hear it again. Equally, if anyone knows of a better way to find old tapes on the internet than google searches, which have proved pretty useless so far, I would love to hear about it.

Please forgive me for writing such a sentimental post. I'll try and write something more serious next time! When I first started this blog I intended it to be more personal, looking at the tiny adventures of my everyday life, and as I've gone on I've realised that I want to talk about bigger things than myself, even if I have no right to. I worry that, despite having an opinion on everything, I'm not a very interesting person. Now, I am a not-very-interesting-person with a strange interest in old children's tapes. Well, it's a development... 

Until next time, go find your old cassette players, wind up the spools of tape with the end of a pencil and let the memories flood back - 

                                                      - for in a few years those tapes will just be plastic rectangles that unravel when you try to use them... 

God bless,

J.R.

Update: Within a few hours of posting, not only have I received an offer to turn the tape into a CD - thankyou! - but my lovely mother managed to locate it on amazon, so I have purchased the CD version. I am now a happy almost adult. Thankyou :) 

On the High Street

Warning: May contain over-dramatic metaphors


I am now firmly convinced I live in the best town ever. Four years ago we moved to a medium-sized market town on the verge of being swallowed up by a fast growing city. Having moved from the city itself, this isn't something I particularly resent, but the longer I live here the more I fall in love with little town life. Out of some appeal to originality, I'm trying to avoid the word 'vibrant', but I can't think of any other way to sum up the atmosphere in this town. It's so full of history and culture and life. Like many towns, it's experienced it's losses, such as the closure of the branch line (now a lovely, shady walkway) but it hasn't become a dead, commuter town. Old families stay. People move here and never move away. The churches and the clubs and societies and the multitude of coffee shops and the scout groups and the festivals teem with happy locals. I love it, and when I move away in September, I'll miss it more than anywhere else I've lived. 


The high street is only five minutes away from my doorstep, so this morning I went up into town to raid the charity shops. As you may or may not have guessed, I am a book fiend, and as it happens we have a particularly excellent selection of book-selling charity shops here. After visiting Oxfam (my favourite, but smelt weird this morning), Willen Hospice (always excellent for books) and Age Concern (spotted useful book on Hitler in window display) I was meandering towards the co-op to pick up 4pints of milk (thrilling) when I remembered that I'd heard about a new book shop opened down one of the side-streets, so I thought I'd take a look.


And then I was transported to book lovers heaven. 


Maggie and Josie's Bookshop is an independent shop, selling a wide selection of second hand books. Walking around, it was obvious that they'd been selected with love and taste: everything was in good quality and the selection was fantastic, from sports biographies to 50p Danielle Steels to Dr Faustus and English A-Level textbooks. The shop itself felt quiet and homely, with a few beautifully kitsch touches like the front of the desk, papered in book-leaves. Clutching my armful of books, I had a lovely chat with the lady who runs the shop about books, and unashamedly dragged my long suffering mum back later in the afternoon so she could buy some too. In the end I purchased 5 myself, plus 1 mum bought for me, at only £12.50 in total, which was fantastic! Having also bought three books in charity shops earlier, I now have nine new books. It's too good for words, so here's a picture instead: 

Courtesy of Maggie and Josie's bookshop: 
The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. 
The Buddha of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi
Peter Pan and other Plays by James Barrie 
Save me the Waltz by Zelda Fitzgerald
A glossary of literary terms &
a palgrave book of 20th century literary theory.


I am so happy to have been able to get the original play version of Peter Pan, which I have been looking for for ages. I was also tempted by Yann Martel's Life of Pi and Vladimir Nobokov's Lolita but I had to stop buying at some point. Also Lady Chatterley's lover, but somehow it does not feel quite decent to own it. I had to get it out of the library by the self-service checkout. 


I also bought Animal Farm by George Orwell from Willen Hospice and The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins and Burning your boats: collected stories by Angela Carter from Oxfam. We already have the Moonstone, but I am a Wilkie Collins fanatic and require my own copy to attend university with me! 

The other high street shop I want to talk about is Queen of Threads, a relatively new vintage clothing shop at the other end of the high street. This used to be my opticians and I was gutted when they closed down as they were really lovely, but all that changed when Queen of Threads opened. At present, it is the only clothing shop on the high street. Quirky and colourful, it sells the most amazing range of jewellery, bags, shoes, dresses, skirts, tops and trousers to be found in the county, all at affordable prices. Being reasonably conventional in my tastes, I haven't been brave enough to buy any of the more exciting pieces yet, but I love going in to browse. Although my 'sleeping mouse' ring broke, I still have a gorgeous dress with a woolly dog on it and this wonderful, hand-knit jumper photographed right. It's the perfect jumper for snuggling up in on a winter's evening, but it also looks great and makes me feel confident. What more can you ask for? Love it! 


So that's my materialistic outpourings for the month. I hasten to assure you that I am a deep, fulfilled, spiritual person and did not jump up and down with joy at the prospect of double-stacking my bookshelf...




Till next time, God bless & stay groovy!


J.R. 

Magic me there?

I've been writing a lot of serious posts recently, so today I have decided to write you a short summary of my favourite fictional ways to travel, which I'll probably update as I think of more. Please leave me your suggestions to be added to this list in the comments!

1. FLOO POWDER

From: The Harry Potter Series

Advantages: Quick, Magical folk only, looks amazing

Disadvantages: Dirty, No muggles (awh!), may deposit you one grate too early, not very environmentally friendly.

Why? I like the idea of being able to step into your fireplace and go wherever you like. There's something wonderfully quaint and mystical about this aspect of floo powder. It's cute without being gimmicky, and as far as I can tell, it's pretty original. 

2. BABYLON CANDLE

From: Stardust 

Advantages: It's really valuable, it can travel long distances ridiculously fast, it can follow imprecise commands like 'take me home' 

Disadvantages: It gets confused and takes you to places you'd really rather not be, it's hard to get hold of, and each candle only has one or two journeys in it. 

Why? The candle is black and for something supposedly good, looks wonderfully evil. Also, the phrase 'travel by candlelight' has a wonderful ring to it. 

3. HEART OF GOLD

From: The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)

Advantages: Beautifully random and eccentric, doesn't have to go through hyperspace, flickers through every point in the Galaxy at once, looks pretty, is filled with wonderfully strange rooms/people/fish. 

Disadvantages: Often appears in very dangerous places, easy to loose when you've misplaced it, vulnerable to the attacks of cricket-robots, not as fast as the bistromath, can't fly and make tea at the same time

Why? This is without doubt the coolest space ship in the universe. It works on the principle of improbability. The whole series refuses to take itself seriously, and as such, is the most hilarious and yet beautiful science-fiction series of all time - and certainly it's only trilogy in five parts. 

4. ASLAN'S BREATH

From: The Silver Chair (6th book of the Narnia Series, C.S. Lewis)

Advantages: Fast, very good view, warm and comfortable, very safe

Disadvantages: Only Eustace Scrubb and Jill Pole get to try it out, and even then only once. Also, involves falling off cliffs. 

Why? Although it sounds initially VERY WEIRD, in context, it makes a lot of sense. Aslan is a lion/God, he's sending them on a mission, they're all at the top of a cliff looking over the entire world, so he lets them float to their destination over Narnia on a sort of cloud made of his breath. C.S. Lewis' writing, as usual, is extraordinarily beautiful. Don't start the Narnia series with this book though - the best introduction is the 2nd chronologically, but principle book, the ever famous The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. 

5. DRAGON

From: Everywhere, but I'd like to pick the time Dr Faustus gets to write a dragon with Mephistopheles in Christopher Marlowe's play Dr Faustus.

Advantages: Seriously cool, quite fast, and if you tame them it wouldn't be a bad ride. 

Disadvantages: The scales might make it quite uncomfortably, people run away from you, the dragon may decide to eat you, and it's very hard to steer a dragon. Apparently. 

Why? Again, the cool factor triumphs. Also, Dr Faustus is enjoying the benefits of being seriously evil at this point, which is quite a welcome rescue from wizards in pointy hats jumping on their cute pet dragons etc. I saw a production of Dr Faustus at the Globe where the dragons were these wonderful blackened skeletons, terrifying looking things, the perfect complement to the Jacobean dress and all... It was beautiful, comic, and haunting. Also, the fire-breathing could be quite handy.  

6. NAZGUL

From: Lord of the Rings

Advantages: Fast, powerful shriek, quite hard to kill (a sword through the neck usually does the trick)

Disadvantages: Large size makes it hard to balance on buildings, ugly.

Why? Most of the characters travel by foot, horse or pony in LOTR, which emphasises the human aspect of the epic, but frankly, isn't very exciting. As ever, the baddies, who have no need for the valour of a slog across Middle Earth, get the coolest transport, although the goodies get the best costumes. The Nazgul are horrible, but with all the SFX, they are  also quite spectacular. 

7. T-65 X WING STARFIGHTER
From: Star Wars 

Advantages: Fast, cool navigation & targeting equipment, precise, fits one droid & one human/humanoid, good weapons if you like blowing things up

Disadvantages: Blows up ridiculously easily, no good if you land it in a swamp

Why? Luke Skywalker has one. Also, it's possible to blow up the Death Star with one of these, as they're very fast and can make quite precise moves. Also, it kind of means unlimited access to any planet in the galaxy. 

8. HAGRID'S MOTORBIKE & THE FORD ANGLIA, also THURSDAY NEXT'S SPORT'S CAR
From: Harry Potter Series & Jasper Fforde's The Eyre Affair 

Advantages: Technology at its utmost, augmented by magic! Fast, potent, and eccentric.

Disadvantages: Occasionally unreliable, all of them stand out, two of them are dependant on magic

Why? It's a bit retro and  and very effective, and a great way of announcing that you're a trustworthy character.

My inner geek is satisfied. 

surely you know this: poetry by Wendy French

Finally, I have found my ideal writer. Unbelievably, this is somone I love more than Sylvia Plath. More than George Orwell. Maybe even more than J.K. Rowling...

(Please forgive me all the hyperboles. I'm still ridiculously excited at finding this book.)

Annoyingly, I can't remember where I got this book. It was either a Foyle prize or a Poetry Society renewal of membership freebie. Either way I'm more than grateful to them for giving it to me. After several months sitting inconspiculously on my shelf, I picked it up abset mindedly for some light reading and have discovered one of my favourite books of all time.

So this is it: surely you know this, a small book of poetry by Wendy French.

It's published by Tall Lighthouse, a rather lovely poetry publishing firm, and is Wendy French's second Anthology.

In terms of physical qualities, it's just 63 pages long, with most poems only taking up one page. The design of the book is rather beautiful, with a very readable typeface and an endearing sense of simplicity. If I can personify the book, I'd say that's it's a book that wants to be read.

Inside, the poems are divided into three sections:

1. present tense (sappho fragments)

2. she says / he says

3. stone

Each sections has an entirely different character. 'present tense' is full of allegorical language, ambiguous phrasing, experiments with syntax. The poetry has a surreal, dream-like quality. It's hypnotic, and yet also entirely relatable - something I would say of the entire book. French has a marvellous way of drawing the reader into her poems so they seem like a new aspect of something very familiar in your own life, but yet also something new. Even the poems dealing with situations unfamiliar to me, like the 'old woman'/mother in Rocking, Rosendale Road (stone) became real through the lyrical, tangible quality of her words. 'she says / he says', the second section, is written in prose poetry. The poems alternate between taking a female voice or male voice, and share mysterious, dazzling fragments of other people's lives. Both 'present tense' and 'she says / he says' contain fractions of other poems as the starter for each poem, which I'll get to in a minute. The third section of the book is the simply titled 'stone', a section of mixed prose poems and poetry. The voice here is often distinctively the authors, yet there is a tremendous amount of imagination and passion. 'stone' does deal with the more difficult, raw aspects of life, yet it is also a tremendously hopeful section.

French's poetry allows for a great deal of reader interpretation, so reading her poems is a very personal experience. She also has a completely unique tone and a remarkable gift for honesty. Her work stands alone somehow, a new current in 21st century poetry. I honestly believe she is someone who is going to take poetry somewhere, and as a literature student I'm very excited about her writing - after all, the advantage of discovering a new author is that very few critics have written about her yet. Although she deserves lots of critical praise, it's nice to be able to form my own opinions on poetry before it's put into the GCSE syllabus and analysed to death!

French also leaves a lot of questions for her readers, although unlike some poets *coughcoughTonyHarrison* her poetry isn't so litered with classical references you need google open to understand the poetry. However, I've never heard of 'sappho' (althoguh it's a very pretty name!) so I'm now going to google it and find out.

According to google, Sappho was an ancient greek woman poet, whose poetry has only survived in fragments, some of which feature in 'surely you know this' (Which, incidentally, is taken from one of the fragments!). Her poetry was apparently very famous and beautiful, but also shrouded in the mystery of time, which has destroyed much of it. If anyone knows anything more about her, please comment. I'd love to know!

This site has some good information: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/318 

Wendy French's 'surely you know this' is a collection which I'm going to come back to over and over again. It's the anthology I wish I'd written myself. interestingly, much of it reminds me of my own poetry - with a few hundred years more polish - so I am a little envious of this anthology... if ever I become famous (haha) I shall be a French-esque poet xD

I would recommend this collection to absolutely any literature lover, even those who are not big fans of modern poetry, and to anyone looking to discover a new and exciting writer.

For more information, her page on Tall Lighthouse is:

http://www.tall-lighthouse.co.uk/p_wendy-french.html 

Get Reading!

J xx