Sep 12th, 2009
Skimming the Pond of Literature
I have a guilty reading secret. No no, not Barbara Cartland. I tried that once, eager not to appear a book snob, but I was bored beyond belief within two pages. No, my guilty reading secret is that I skim read. The last book I read, a light, emotive novel, well-enough written if not earth-shatteringly brilliant, only took me about a day. Because of all the actual words on the page, I really read only about 60% of them.
I blame it all on Tolstoy. For I can date this appalling habit to a few weeks in the summer when I was 17. I was reading, for the first time, War and Peace. It was one of the books that all my contemporaries were reading that year – you couldn’t claim to be part of the gang if you didn’t read certain books, and I so desperately wanted to be part of the gang. I don’t remember what the other books were – I think Franny & Zooey had come and gone by then. Vera Brittain’s Testament of Youth would be for the first year at college (more…)
Jul 1st, 2009
Shooglin’ around the clock
“Ca’ that dancin’? That’s jist shoogling aroon’!”
“It’s no’ jist wummen whae hiv shoogly bits, if ye ken whit ah mean.”
“Mah man’s awfy shoogly oan his feet, bit ah cannae tell if it’s his bunions grievin’ him or ra booze.”
Give a well-made port jelly on a plate a judicious nudge and you’ll see shoogling in action.
Gently collide with a person of ample proportions and watch how nature embraces the shoogle.
Eat your tea off that table your father inherited from Auntie Phemie and (more…)
Apr 28th, 2009
The unchosen words
This is an old project which has never really lived on paper as vividly as it does in my head. I took the notion of words that were unchosen, words that were edited out, words that change in your mouth the instant before you say them, violent or outmoded words. Who would they be? Where would they be? What would they say, these forgotten words, if they could speak to us?
Note: Image is hard to read, I know – couldn’t find a way to make it small enough for the blog but big enough to be legible.
Oct 27th, 2008
More nonsense
Following on from the last and thinking about nonsense verse and why it’s so seductive. I can still recite Betty Botter and I also remember some of the nonsense verse my mother and I used to make up together. We took a line apiece and simply ran with it. Here’s an example:
I had a little budgie
The apple of my eye
One day it fell right off its perch
Now its feet point to the sky.
Stanley Unwin would be proud…
Nonsense verse is nearly always rhythmical, I think (more…)
Oct 27th, 2008
Says he to me
This has to be recited as fast as you can tumble the words out your mouth. I’d love to know the origin of this nonsense rhyme – I attribute it to my mother (who was full of classic putdowns like “If I had a fault, which I have not, it would be modesty”)
Says he to me “Was that you?” Says I “Who?” Says he “You” Says I “No” Says he “Oh - It must have been somebody awful like you.”
Oct 3rd, 2008
Life in six words
It’s all Hemingway’s fault. Ernest H. bet that he could write an entire story in six words – the result was For Sale, baby shoes, never worn. Smith, an online magazine, ran with the idea and thousands of people contributed their own six word stories. Not to be outdone, my favourite Flickr group, the salon that is Utata (of which more later) made a weekend project of it, the twist being that the six-word story should also relate to a specific photograph.
I’ve been trying it (sans photo) and it’s harder than you might think. I’m haunted by the spectres of old English teachers reminding me that Dubber’s Grammar clearly states a sentence must have a subject, verb and possibly an object. Mind you, they would have failed Hemingway on that basis. But my Scottish education weighs upon me and I cannot in good faith write ‘banana leaves (more…)
Oct 3rd, 2008
Where enthusiasts dash in
In a fit of enthusiasm, I’ve asked my local library if I might take photographs of the interior of the building and mount a small exhibition there. And they’ve agreed. And now, scarcely twenty four hours later, I’m panicking at the very idea – even though I have until January to complete the project. This afternoon, I took a slew of what might pretentiously be called concept roughs just to get an idea of what might work with what lenses and so on. The results weren’t anything to write home about. But it’s a start. I’ve photographed the exterior of the building many times and recently took one of a little cupola-type appendage on the roof. It has an equivalent ceiling feature on the inside, but with no apparent trapdoor. This intrigues me – the cupola has windows, so presumably had a purpose once that required natural light.
Sep 29th, 2008
The comfort of books
Although I occasionally tackle a weighty tome, these days I’m more likely to read comfortable books. Comfortable is an unfashionable word isn’t it? It suggests old lady slippers and saggy woollens. And badly written pulp fiction. But that’s not what I mean at all. I mean the kind of book that draws you in to its own little world and while doing so, reaches into your heart. It’s intelligently written but not too demanding. A book that finds it way to the top of the reading pile time after time while the worthy biography of Gunter Grass slips unread to the bottom.
Books have always been a comfort and a joy for me. I was given my first library ticket when I was five and read everything in sight during a childhood which could otherwise have been rather lonely. I owe my early passion for books (more…)
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