Secluded Charm

Shyness

2012-02-10T13:58:00.000Z

Jeremy Vine just covered this story on his Radio 2 programme, about whether shyness should be considered a mental illness. While I don't want to get into the specifics of that, I took issue with one of his guests who suggested that shyness is selfish and indicates that someone isn't interested in the people they're communicating with. Rubbish! I'm more interested in other people than I am in myself most of the time. I don't think the level of my shyness and my interest in others have any correlation at all.

Why am I so shy? I can't put it down to one thing. Maybe this is what happens when you're a tomboy with very few friends as a child, one who much prefers to read Enid Blyton than play dress-up for her hypothetical wedding. I was a mucky kid, always out in the garden making a mess, but I can't recall shyness having an impact on my life until I got to secondary school and the bullying started. I was told by one teacher that I was visibly different and therefore brought it on myself. Perhaps that was when it happened. In order to stop 'bringing it on myself', I became ultra-conscious of everything I said and did before eventually evolving into Lucy 2.0: the person who has health problems partly due to her fear of interactions with other people.

It's irritating and I certainly didn't choose to be this way. Plus, I make a conscious effort to force myself into things that set my nerves on edge. I meet up with friends in public places, occasionally I sing karaoke and, later this month, I have to go through my upgrade viva as part of my PhD progression. Does it sound like I'm not pushing myself? Of course, I allow myself my 'me' days. I hide behind the computer - still completely invested in what's going on outside of my bubble - and relax a little bit more than I can when I'm out and about. Writing and study are inherently isolating and this also impacts on my life: these two things take up much of my time and hinder any efforts I might make to combat my shyness. As a distance student, reliant on public transport, I don't really have the option to participate in much that goes on at Sheffield but, frankly, I find much of it pointless. I'd rather be at home researching a political piece for 2020UK than discussing a long-lost poem with some English students. Not that I don't enjoy poetry; I just spend enough of my time on literature and want to focus on something that, I feel, can make a difference in my (rare) spare time.

All this said, I lose my inhibitions on occasion. Nothing makes you less self-conscious than having children to worry about. I've been known to hop, dance and sing my way around Asda in order to keep my twin nieces semi-amused and quiet during a shopping trip. I've had altercations with charity workers accosting me in town centres and, on one memorable occasion, I almost got myself beaten up by arguing with a scary bloke who criticised me at a climbing wall. Something else takes over my body sending my perpetual shyness away for a few minutes. Do I wish I could be that person full time? Well, no, because I wouldn't be me then. Do I wish I could have a few more periods of inhibition? Yes! If only for the sake of my sanity.

You may also be interested in the post I wrote last year on Recluses.

My Favourite Dickens Passage

2012-02-07T13:29:00.000Z

Jeremy Vine asked the public on his Radio 2 show to share their favourite passage from Dickens to celebrate the 200th anniversary of his birth today. I thought I'd share one of mine on this blog. I read Oliver Twist last month and noted in the review that I particularly enjoyed Mr Bumble's flirting with Mrs Corney. My favourite passage from that novel comes at the end of chapter twenty-three.

"Mr Bumble's conduct on being left to himself, was rather inexplicable. He opened the closet, counted the teaspoons, weighed the sugar-tongs, closely inspected a silver milk-pot to ascertain that it was of the genuine metal, and, having satisfied his curiosity on these points, put on his cocked hat corner-wise, and danced with much gravity four distinct times round the table. Having gone through this very extraordinary performance, he took off the cocked hat again, and, spreading himself before the fire with his back towards it, seemed to be mentally engaged in taking an exact inventory of the furniture." (p210)

I don't know why I love it so much. Perhaps it's the image of Mr Bumble putting his hat on especially to dance around a table. Whatever the reason, when I think of Oliver Twist, I don't think of the orphan or Fagin or the Artful Dodger - I think of Mr Bumble and his spoon-counting.

Happy birthday, Mr Dickens!

Book Review: Red Dust Road by Jackie Kay

2012-02-03T13:07:00.000Z

Red Dust Road is Jackie Kay's memoir about her journey to discover her birth parents. It could easily be a boring run-of-the-mill tale but the unique situation and Kay's endearing way of examining events makes it something very special indeed. Born to a Scottish mother and a Nigerian father, Kay was adopted by a white couple in the 1960s and eventually decided to track down her birth parents while pregnant with her own son. I've wanted to read this since I heard Kay read an extract from it in 2010 and on my last trip to London I managed to pick up a copy signed by Kay herself. That'll induce me to never loan it out!

I don't want to say too much about Kay's journey because I'd love you to read the book. However, I will say that there are several scenes that stick in the memory afterwards - moments aching with bitterness but also fundamental honesty. I found myself marvelling at how Kay could open up these wounds to the public but then I realised the open air was probably a good way of healing them. Her story is both heartbreaking and difficult at times but - and this is important - it reaffirms the family she already had before she set out to find her birth parents. It's hardly a happily-ever-after type of adoption story, yet that's what makes it so touching.

Most of all, it's an entertaining book. The humour that permeated Jackie Kay's demeanour when I saw her in Sheffield is evident on almost every page of this book. It's that humanity that struck me most of all. An excellent memoir, and one I'd certainly recommend.

Second-Class Citizens?

2012-02-03T12:38:00.000Z

Two posts about my grandmother in two days. Never mind, I think she's a worthy subject.

I was reading Jackie Kay's memoir Red Dust Road last night and one section towards the end particularly struck a chord with me. Kay's mother had just been rushed to hospital after a fall and a constant nosebleed and the way she's treated is unacceptable - to say the very least.

"I shine a torch up my torch up my mum's nose, and he inserts implements. It's all brutal. He talks softly and she can't hear a word he's saying. He's slick and full of himself; he has the horrible arrogance of the young doctor. He's treating her like she's stupid because she can't hear. I want to kill him." (p240)

Apart from linking directly to my post yesterday about my grandmother's new hearing aid, this pretty much summed up the relationship I see between the older generation and many younger people. By no means all. I don't want to tar any group with a single brush. Nevertheless, the implication is that when you're older you cease to be an important person. People talk over you, talk about you. That isn't right.

Kay's rage grows as she tries to engage the doctor who she sees treating her mother like a "second-class citizen". However, it's what happens when she and her mother leave the hospital that got to me most.

"Another hospital orderly appears to tell me a taxi is here for me. She looks at me and then she looks at my mum and says, 'Are you taking the old biddy back to her care home?' My mum doesn't hear her, thank God." (p241)

Old biddy?!! I was incensed, primarily because I see people thinking that about my grandmother all the time. I have the urge to hit people in the supermarket on a Saturday, jostling her small and slight frame as they rush around, treating her as if she was invisible. I also - and at this point I don't care who knows it - resent her daughter for treating her much the same way. How dare they treat her as nothing more than an old biddy? And how dare they think that the only reason you're with an older person is because you're paid to care? Even if she hadn't been her adopted daughter, Kay could still have been a friend - someone not paid, simply someone who cares. Jackie Kay then lists all the things her mother has done in her life that these people disregarding her don't know about. I suppose ignorance is something of a defence (a lousy one) when it comes to this issue. What I'd like to know is how people who have known these elderly people for decades, and perhaps all their lives, can turn around and disregard them as second-class citizens. I can't answer that because I've never had the urge to do it.

All The Better To Hear You With

2012-02-02T13:39:00.001Z

Yesterday, my grandmother went to have her hearing aids adjusted and her ears checked out generally. For the last three years she's been growing steadily worse and several trips to specialists yielded hearing aids that looked nice under her little bob of hair but really didn't make a difference to her hearing. We grew used to talking very loudly and repeating ourselves and if we happened to be in the room when she put the television on we tried to protect our poor eardrums. However, this latest trip worked wonders. When my father spoke to her, she told him the phone had startled her and the television had scared her to death when she'd put it on earlier. When we went to see her, she listened to the soft comments we were making taking the mickey out of her (entirely usual and light-hearted) and jumped out of her skin when my father coughed. It was almost beautiful to see. Even though she's getting some feedback and they may need a little adjusting, the change is miraculous. I never fail to be astounded by what we can achieve in the modern world when we use our powers for good.

It did make me think though. My grandmother had to go through a few years of muffled voices, feeling she wasn't party to most of what was going on around her. Personally, I always made the effort to talk to her (because I enjoy talking to her) but it's easy to imagine her fading into the background of conversations and her quality of life suffering as a result. That must've been painful for a woman who has been something of a chatterbox as long as I can remember. I think we all have to go through our own versions of this isolation. As a writer I frequently feel as though I'm blindly ambling around. Perhaps I need to in order to appreciate the end of the road. I don't know, I'm just speculating. I only know that my grandmother, despite the noisy feedback, looked so happy yesterday. As if she'd been let in on a secret the rest of the world was keeping from her. I can't even imagine how great that must feel.

Book Review: Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel

2012-01-31T12:50:00.000Z

I'm always wary of reading books with a list of fantastic reviews a mile long. That's probably why Wolf Hall languished on my shelves for too long. I finally picked it up last week and, despite the length, I read it fairly rapidly. That's an endorsement if ever there was one.

Briefly, Wolf Hall charts the rise of Thomas Cromwell from a blacksmith's boy to his place as one of Henry VIII's key advisers. A great chunk of the novel takes place during Henry's attempts to legalise his divorce from his first wife and marry Anne Boleyn. The characterisation in this novel is exemplary. Mantel has taken characters we know from perhaps a few traits and fashioned them into instruments and human beings. The setting is also magnificent. I can't comment on the historical accuracy, but it certainly gives off the impression of being immersed in the era. We're so far removed from this part of our heritage and yet we're fascinated with it. Mantel surely is and the love of it shows in every sentence. It's a hefty book, yes, but one thoroughly enjoyable in terms of characterisation, setting and plot.

However, a couple of stylistic things grated on me as I progressed. The use of the present tense proved difficult for me personally. I understand why Mantel decided to use it but in a book of this magnitude it kept drawing attention to itself. In a smaller work it might have passed unnoticed. Secondly, the referral of Thomas Cromwell as 'he' almost constantly was a little confusing at times, especially considering the number of men present in the novel. These were personal gripes, though, and I can understand other readers having no problems with them. They didn't detract from my enjoyment of the novel as I whole and I look forward to reading the sequel at some point in the future.

Save The Red House!

2012-01-30T19:09:00.000Z

I was aghast to read this Guardian article suggesting that Kirklees district council are gearing up to close and sell the Red House Museum in Gomersal. This stems from the fact that the wellbeing and communities directive, in charge of museums and the like, have to cut their costs by 19% to £105m. To quote from the article: "Closure of the Red House in September would make a full-year saving of £116,000 with sale of the site an additional, one-off capital receipt, probably of around £750,000." The yearly cost seems negligible compared to what they need to cut. As for the one-off receipt: are they so confident they'll find a buyer? I'll come back to that bit.

I was fortunate enough to visit the Red House last year. Despite living so close, I'd just never got round to it. That seems bizarre, given the Bronte links, but sometimes the heritage on your own doorstep slips by unnoticed. You may pay attention when it's no longer there but my general feeling was that it wasn't going anywhere. Lucky I didn't wait a few more years judging by this. Anyway, although the house itself is quite small, it is wonderfully kept. It is a perfect small replica of Victorian life for those younger visitors who might be interested in history, but not that interested in musty old rooms. There is also an exhibition in the barn - holding, amongst other little artefacts, a card for Emily Bronte's funeral - and a beautiful small garden to admire. There's a little gift shop on the ground floor of the museum and, all in all, the place is a nice little outing. More importantly, it's history. Wiping that away for a few pounds seems silly.

I would be arguing for the preservation of the Red House even if it wasn't for the Bronte connections. It's a gorgeous little place. However, the Bronte links are compelling and rather difficult to ignore. Charlotte Bronte didn't just visit the house - it helped inspire one of her novels. This is taken from the Yorkshire.com website entry about the museum:

"The stained glass windows, described in 'Shirley' are perfectly preserved in the dining room. And the award-winning recreated 19th Century gardens, with their shaped beds, decorative ironwork and authentic varieties of plants and shrubs, help to capture the atmosphere of this fascinating bygone age.

Explore Charlotte Bronte's Spen Valley connections and her friendships with Mary Taylor and Ellen Nussey in The Secrets Out exhibition in the barn. What did local people say when they discovered that she'd based some of her characters in 'Shirley' on them? And how did Charlotte, Mary and Ellen react to society's strict view of 'a woman's place'?"

Can you see how we'll be losing a slice of history if we let this slip quietly away? The Brontes are a major draw to Yorkshire. The more things we can offer the average visitor, the better. The council seem to think that because the museum drew so few people last year that it deserves to be closed down. It doesn't. It deserves to be promoted. There are plenty of schools in the area so why did less than 1,000 schoolchildren visit the house last year? This is a problem that probably delves deeper into school management than this blog post requires but it's certainly worth looking at. If a property fails, especially when it's free entry, it is usually down to a failure on the part of the management, not a failure of the historic site itself. The Red House is certainly a little off the beaten track but it's survived as a museum for quite some time and I don't see why we should let go of it now.

I would urge local residents to make their feelings known about this. As the Guardian article says, this is a decision hastily made that will be regretted in the long term. The Red House is a Grade II listed building. This means that a potential buyer would have to jump through all sorts of hoops to make changes to it. Have Kirklees council actually investigated whether there are interested parties in the event of a decision to sell? If not, the building will rest empty for a prolonged period, with the council still responsible for the maintenance. They will be getting all the difficulties of owning a listed building but with none of the rewards of enriching the area and providing access to a beautiful little house.

Savings have to be made. We know this. However, this does not only strike me as rash but also idiotic if they haven't completely thought it through. Can we have some sense please? And not lose a genuine piece of literary history while we're looking the other way.

I Am Good (Possibly)

2012-01-26T18:40:00.000Z

Today I attended a seminar group about how to teach seminar groups (yes, I know). One of the first little tasks we had to do was think of something we're good at. Whereas a year or so ago I would've dodged the question, desperate not to think of my many shortcomings, this time the answer shot straight into my head. Writing. I'm good at writing. It's actually very difficult to get me to say I'm half-decent at anything, despite people attempting to drum it into me (yes, Nicola, I'm looking at you). Today was a big step forward in my development. I am good at writing. I know I am. I also know there's plenty of room for improvement but I am on the path. It's like answering the tricky question of when you start to call yourself a 'proper' writer (I blogged about this last year). I think you have to be comfortable with whatever label you give yourself and how you measure your own success.

The next part of the task was to think what had made you good at your little something. Practice, that was my answer. Perseverance. Of course, that doesn't apply to just writing. Unless you're naturally gifted, everybody has to put in a little effort to get where they want to be.

Do you think Dorothy agrees or disagrees? I can't decide...

Priorities

2012-01-24T13:09:00.000Z

Yesterday I was given a date for my upgrade viva - 27th February. So that's the date this PhD charade comes crashing down around my ears, the day I learn that I'm perhaps not cut out for this academic career I had planned. Nevertheless, I have to give it a shot. The two things I need to accomplish in the next month, then, are to complete my upgrade chapter (currently in the fourth draft of the...third incarnation - possibly) and complete an abstract for the rest of the thesis. I also need to firm up my bibliography but, honestly, that's the least of my problems.

Getting this chapter up to required standard is proving difficult. I've been writing too much fiction lately so I'm having to be ultra-careful with my phrasing and the urge to slip into 'dialogue mode' is strong. I have to say, the pompousness associated with academic standards is really starting to get on my nerves. Alas, it's the way it is. My more pertinent problem stems from the abstract. Since changing my direction late last year, I've been struggling to play catch-up. Essentially, I'm reconfiguring the year and a half of work I've done to match my new focus. Unfortunately, much of the work I've done is no longer relevant. I've read books by authors I'm no longer covering; I've analysed others in a way that now seems to be useless. I'm going to have to read perhaps every novel Edmund Yates wrote to back up my abstract - and that's before I start finding Wilkie Collins novels to compare them with. See how unmanageable it's starting to look?

Then comes the upgrade viva itself. For a girl who has panic attacks walking into town to meet someone she knows well and has stress-related health issues, this is going to be painful. Literally, painful. While I've made progress in public-speaking and raised my confidence slightly, I still tend to suffer meltdowns at critical moments. I just stop talking. It'll be interesting to see how they deal with an oral examination where the candidate won't speak.

All this said, it's obvious something has to give. It has to be the writing, doesn't it? At least for the next month. I have to rewrite one more chapter for a submission somewhere (I'm not jinxing myself with explanation) but, apart from that, I think I have to focus constantly on PhD work. I already know that it'll drive me up the wall but I have to try. Don't I? Do I?

I need a little Judy to cheer me up. The girl she's singing about is the girl I long to be.

Book Review: Judy, A Legendary Film Career by John Fricke

2012-01-23T12:54:00.000Z

Any regular visitor to this blog will know that I'm a devoted Judy Garland fan. Consequently, when I was asked what one book I wanted for Christmas, this was my first and only choice. I'd seen it in a shop and barely prevented myself from sitting down on the carpet and cracking it open there and then.

This is an overview of Judy's film career, broken down by period and then by each individual film. There's enough biographical information in it to satisfy the layperson but not too much to distract from the focus of the book. Each film is given it's own section with a cast list, synopsis, contemporary reviews, notes on the production and, perhaps most wonderfully, a selection of quotes from people who worked on the film. These quotes range from Judy herself down to contract dancers and backstage personnel and proved to be one of the highlights of the book.

However, the main highlight has to be the pictures. There are hundreds of them packed into this book, many never seen before and all of the best quality. You've got Judy and Doris Day meeting up on the set of A Star is Born; Judy helping prepare Liza for her little appearance in In The Good Old Summertime; and the cast being instructed by Victor Fleming in the specially-extended picture album for The Wizard of Oz. Every time I turned the page I was faced with yet more wonderful pictures. They complimented the excellent analysis of each of the films without overshadowing it.

Some of the films naturally get slightly more coverage than others - The Wizard of Oz, A Star is Born, Meet Me in St. Louis, Easter Parade - but I was gratified to see the attention given to Judy's last film, I Could Go On Singing. When I watched this film I was struck by Judy's intense performance, along with her beautiful yet heartbreaking renditions of several songs. There's a gorgeous picture of Judy in discussion with director Ronald Neame on a bench while young co-star Gregory Phillips (who played Judy's son in the film) looks on with evident admiration in his eyes. It was Phillips's words on working with Judy that stuck with me when I closed the book:

"When Mr. Neame took me into Miss Garland's dressing gown...[she] gave me a big hug and said, 'Hello, darling!' It was marvellous, and so quick I forgot to be frightened. 'Come and sit down by me,' she said, and the next thing I knew, we were discussing the part, and I felt as if I'd known her all my life. All through the film, [she and Dirk Bogarde] were both wonderful to me. They are so completely natural, with no 'side' at all. It was the most friendly job I ever had."

I adored this book. It doesn't go into excessive detail for each of the films but it reveals fresh information and is worth buying for the pictures alone.

Thoughts on Video File Sharing

2012-01-20T12:59:00.000Z

Let me preface this by saying that, while I don't claim to be an authority on this issue, I do have some valid experience. In the past I've resorted to what some would call 'illegal methods' to get hold of clips for various reasons. Some of these were British shows (most of which I'd purchased on DVD anyway) and some were American and impossible to get hold of any other way. Do I consider what I did to be contributing to a larger piracy problem? Not really. I paid for the British shows, either via my licence fee or via the DVD costs. I wanted the clips on my computer to watch and make music videos for my own pleasure. I'd already paid once - twice for those programmes I'd watched on the BBC and then bought the DVD of. As for the American shows (I might as well say we're talking specifically about Guiding Light, the now defunct soap), there was no option for me to watch it any other way but on YouTube or by downloading the clips. There was no way I was going to miss out on the storyline that had gripped me. Equally, a current Spanish show, Tierra de lobos, has caught my attention. If I don't watch the clips via the Internet then I don't see how I can watch it. Is that just hard luck on my part? Well, with the Internet as powerful as it is, companies need to start using their brains.

Let me take an example of a show that's doing it right. Venice: The Series is a web-series currently showing its third season. Unlike many Internet-based shows I've come across, Venice charges a subscription for each series and did this from the start. It ruffled some feathers but since the fee is only a few pounds in UK money, it's more than affordable. For that you get ten or so episodes of, I'd say, average twenty minutes each. (Another good thing about a web-series is that it isn't constrained to tell a story in so many minutes - the time variants always fit the arc of the episode.) I've been paying for Venice from the start and, as far as I can tell, Crystal Chappell and her team have done everything right. They established there was a market for the show (building on the success of Chappell's last storyline in Guiding Light), they assembled a fantastic cast and they created a business model that meant the show would effectively pay for itself and guarantee it a chance at longevity. In a recent interview for the Lesbian News blog, Chappell explained: "We’ve sort of cultivated an audience that needs to come back, thankfully, and we use a lot of social media to promote it -- like Facebook, Twitter. They seem to be there. Originally it was supposed to be, and it still may be, a dual platform show with sponsorship and subscription but it’s enough to cover…it’s covered itself, it’s paid for itself for the past three seasons and it’s a show that costs about $125 thousand dollars a season; so it’s not an inexpensive show." There you go: it's working and people are happy to pay for it.

There is one main reason why traditional media is failing to battle piracy: they're not making enough of their content widely available or, when they do, they're being too greedy about it with extortionate fees. The Venice model is a good one to follow because they're focused on the quality of the show and what the viewers what. I realise that for bigger companies there has to be a profit in there somewhere, but I think they've lost sight of the fans and what they want. It's why the future is wide open for people like Crystal Chappell.

Oh, and one final thing: Venice offered the first episode free as a taster. Try before you buy is definitely worthwhile and it will usually champion quality.

Book Review: The Poison Tree by Erin Kelly

2012-01-19T12:47:00.000Z

From the prologue onwards, The Poison Tree was a riveting read; both atmospheric and enjoyable. The story is told from the perspective of Karen and straddles two periods a decade apart. In 1997, having just finished her degree, Karen encounters a young actress, Biba, and is quickly drawn into her bohemian lifestyle. She spends the summer living in Biba's ramshackle house and growing closer to Biba's brother, Rex. It's no secret to say (since the blurb reveals as much) that two people end the summer dead, changing Karen's life forever. In the more recent timeline, Rex is released from prison and struggles to adjust to his new life with Karen and their daughter, Alice. Karen is also on edge, having been on the receiving end of silent phone calls recently.

There's not much more I can say about the plot without ruining it. But I will say that the twists and turns certainly kept my attention. Throughout the 1997 story there are hints about what's to come but since Kelly piles discord on top of discord, it's impossible to see where the eventual danger will emerge from. I enjoyed just following Karen through the summer and trying to work out exactly what was going to happen. I couldn't and that's exactly how a good novel should be.

Karen is effectively an average, though talented, student when we first meet her. Her foray into Biba's world works because we experience the new and bizarre as Karen does. We can understand why Karen's so intrigued by the odd brother and sister pair and their associates. However, I think the reader has more reservations about Biba from the start than Karen does. Entranced by her new friend, Karen seems content to be allowed into her world, however she's treated. Biba is actually a complex and surprising character. Whatever she does feels real and her actions are always foreshadowed. Rex, I have to say, is a lovely but troubled man and was possibly my favourite character, despite the fact I didn't like him much at the beginning. All of the supporting characters are well-rounded, from Karen's parents down to the tutor we only meet once.

What struck me particularly about this novel, though, was the evocation of 1997 London. The accuracy of detail along with the sights, smells and noises discussed help to create a place - and therefore novel - that leaps from the page and feels real.

As you can probably tell, I loved this book. Several days after finishing, I'm still thinking about it. I look forward to reading more of Kelly's work in the future.

Inappropriate Music

2012-01-16T13:04:00.000Z

Yesterday I went climbing for the first time in months. As I was halfway up the artificial wall, I became aware that I was singing a song under my breath. What was it? 'You Don't Need a Licence For That' by George Formby. Perhaps not the best motivational song for climbing, particularly the lines stuck on repeat in my head:

"You need a licence whatever you do,
One or two things they've exempted, it's true,
Lumbago, the gout, or a touch of the flu,
You don't need a licence for that."

Is it any wonder I was disconcerted? I've blogged previously that I've got through climbing sessions before by singing songs from Sweeney Todd under my breath, but that was a choice. I picked something angry that would fire me up. Maybe George Formby made me angry, although it was more in the 'cut the rope now' manner. He's just so damn catchy!

Inappropriate music disturbs me when I'm writing as well. I need some music on in the background but, if I'm into some serious editing, I need something bland and not the musical showstoppers that I usually favour. I have two playlists that I really shouldn't listen to while I'm writing - 'Loved Songs' which has about a thousand songs that have received fifteen plays or more on iTunes and 'Musical Favs Etc' which is exactly what it says on the tin and has over seven hundred songs on it. If I let those loose during 'work time' I invariably end up singing along.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who suffers with the compulsion to play their favourite music as opposed to the music they can work to. Although I may be one of the few who doesn't mind George Formby - when I'm not climbing walls.

Book Review: Touchy Subjects by Emma Donoghue

2012-01-13T12:51:00.000Z

I picked up this short story collection after reading Donoghue's novels Landing and Slammerkin. There are nineteen stories in this collection, grouped under the headings 'Babies', 'Domesticity', 'Strangers', 'Desire' and 'Death' - all certainly touchy subjects. There wasn't a story in the collection that I didn't enjoy although, of course, I had some favourites!

'Expecting' examines the way a lie to a stranger can spiral out of control. I particularly enjoyed the way this contained very little dialogue but I didn't notice until afterwards because it was so well written. That was the case in 'Good Deed' as well, when a man stops on the street when he suspects a homeless man might be seriously ill. In both of these, the narrative voice is strong enough to make dialogue redundant.

There are a couple of LGBT themed stories in the collection which I really enjoyed. 'The Cost of Things' is about a lesbian couple and their sick cat, while 'Team Men' looks at young man discovering his sexuality while on his father's football team. 'The Welcome' is another excellent story which I won't ruin for anyone.

My absolute favourite was probably 'WritOr'. It follows the unnamed writer-in-residence in his year-long role at a college. He has to deal with intimidating parents, students who mask their own life badly in fiction, poets who spew word vomit onto the page during a first draft and refuse to change a word of it. All sound familiar? I guarantee 'WritOr' will bring a smile to any writer's face.

All in all, I loved this collection. Short and snappy stories with distinctive voices and little jolts of surprise scattered throughout. If I didn't already adore Emma Donoghue's writing I'm sure this would've converted me.

I read this collection as part of the Library of Clean Reads 2012 Short Story Reading Challenge.

A Classics Challenge: January Prompt

2012-01-10T12:58:00.001Z

For my first book in this challenge, I read Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens (reviewed yesterday). The prompt for this month is "The Author". That struck me as amusing to say the least. What do you say about Dickens that hasn't been said before, especially during his bicentennial year? Well, let me quote The Monthly Review on Oliver Twist from January 1839:

"We have already expressed an opinion in regard to the power and combining talent of Mr. Dickens, and of the easy yet artistic manner in which he can work up his pictures by a diffusive and copious command of a great number of accessaries. He seems to have made himself master of human feelings and actions in so far as they are developed in the lower or middling walks of London life; and what is more, he cherishes a good natured sympathy with all, entering as it were into the condition of his most immoral characters so as in his portraiture to give heartily a perfect image, a rotund flesh and blood embodiment of each, - becoming thus the creator of new personages; but yet in all respects so natural in their lineaments that one feels convinced he has actually met with them in the streets and had more or less intercourse with them. He is a humane satirist; he is free from all bitterness; he never indulges in invective of any kind. His language is natural and happily wedded to his vivifying conceptions; and last but not least, - he is quite unaffected and far above attempts at imitation, - that is, he is a true originalist."

A little wordy but the points are clear enough. Dickens seemed to write this novel as a true representation of people he had observed and he's content enough to observe and allow his characters to pass judgement. His narrator's voice doesn't impede much in the novel, aside from scene setting. The characters tend to speak for themselves, with limited interference, in a manner that adds to the realism of the story. The Monthly Review was right - Dickens shows himself to be a master of human feelings in Oliver Twist, which perhaps explains the novel's enduring success.

Book Review: Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

2012-01-09T13:14:00.000Z

This has been sitting on my shelf for years. So long, in fact, that the spine has been bleached horribly by the sunlight streaming in through the window. Oliver Twist was always a book I was ashamed never to have read. I'm glad I've now altered that fact.

The story of the young orphan is well known, primarily due to the stage and film musical about him. However, the book is much more than the story of the Lionel Bart musical. The humour is much more pronounced, Dickens's ability with secondary characters is brought to the fore, and the grime of Victorian London seeps into the reader's consciousness. You can replicate those things in film but I don't think a visual representation can ever have the same impact as the images conjured up by words on the page.

My favourite parts of the book revolve around lesser characters and situations. For example, I adored chapter twenty three and Mr Bumble's flirting with Mrs Corney followed by his inventory of all her possessions. Although pompous and self-righteous, Mr Bumble remains perhaps the most vivid concoction in the novel. Beside characters such as Fagin and Bill Sikes, that's quite an achievement. Lesser characters also make their impact. The doctor who attends Oliver after he's been shot, Dr Losberne, is memorable, as is Mr Grimwig with his repeated threats to eat his head. There isn't a named character in the book who can't be distinguished from the throng.

Although over 170 years old, Oliver Twist is still very readable and, I would say, a fantastic introduction to Dickens for anybody wondering where to start. I sped through it once I'd started and enjoyed it much more than I thought I would. The title character is, perhaps, a little too good to be true but the novel's about much more than young Oliver. Heartily recommended, especially during this special Dickens year!

I read this book as part of A Classics Challenge hosted by November's Autumn (see sidebar for details).

Eve Arden & Me

2012-01-06T14:13:00.000Z

Although I'm a relative novice when it comes to Eve Arden's films (I've only seen five to date), I've recently encountered her in two small roles that utilised the best of her caustic wit and damning facial expressions. Ziegfield Girl (1941) and Stage Door (1937) are pretty good films, even if you take away Arden's contributions, but she's the actress who makes them as far as I'm concerned. Not bad for a woman who invariably played the side-kick in Hollywood movies.

Why do I love Eve? Well, I have a great affection for sarcastic women in films. Think of the wonderful Jane Russell in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) or Virginia O'Brien's underrated role in The Harvey Girls (1946). Bea Arthur stole my heart in the television series The Golden Girls (1985-92) for the simple reason that her outlook matched my own - even at a very young age. Sometimes the world is just so stupid that you need characters played by these wonderful actresses to point it out. But there's something else these roles (and those portrayed by Eve) have in common: the characters have a underbelly of emotion that they release to those that matter when it matters. I'm talking about Dorothy Shaw's (Russell) affection for her friend in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, whom she would defend to the hilt in spite of her flaws. I'm referring to Dorothy Zbornak's mask slipping as she confronts the potential loss of her mother in series one of The Golden Girls. And in The Harvey Girls, Alma helps out her new friend the blacksmith, giving rise to one of my favourite songs (see clip below). As for Eve Arden, her role as Eve in Stage Door was full of sarcasm until she felt compelled to comfort her friend, played by Andrea Leeds, who had just lost out on a part. These characters are fully-functioning human beings but they like to cover it up with a barrage of sarcasm. That's me all over.

Like many people, my first exposure to Eve Arden was in her role as Principal McGee in Grease (1978). But since then I've seen Cover Girl (1944) and Tea for Two (1950). It was the latter with Doris Day that beguiled me. What's not to like about a smart-talking, strong-willed female?

Book Review: The 19th Wife by David Ebershoff

2012-01-03T19:40:00.000Z

I picked this up in the shop because of its length and purchased it because the blurb made it sound so interesting. I was looking for a lengthy and engrossing read and, luckily, that's precisely what I got.

The 19th Wife recounts two tales separated by a century but both revolving around polygamous marriage. In modern America, Jordan returns to Utah when he discovers his mother is in prison after being accused of killing his father. However, the family life was more complicated than that - Jordan used to live amongst a secretive Mormon sect before being excommunicated. He sets out to prove his mother's innocence and encounters the distortion of 'family life' he left behind years ago. The other story in the novel is that of Ann Eliza Young, nineteenth wife of the second Prophet of the Mormon Church, who caused a sensation when she strove for freedom from her husband and tried to end polygamy in the US. The tale is about much more than merely Ann Eliza, however. It looks at the origin of the Mormon Church and details some of the key moments in its history.

Ebershoff creates historical 'sources' to illuminate the text but states in his author's note that these are mostly inspired by actual sources. He adds, 'The mighty lens of history has enabled me to see Ann Eliza's life as she could not, and I have used this perspective to tell her story in a way that perhaps broadens it and connects it to our day. All of this is a longwinded answer to the original question, is The 19th Wife [the historical section] based on real people and real events? Yes. Have I invented much of it? Yes, for that is what novelists do.' (p601)

This work really is mammoth, although it did leave me wanting more. Both eras were depicted in resonating detail and the entire novel is well-written. The murder mystery that sparks the 'front' story is only the catalyst for an excellent examination of polygamy in modern-day America. Jordan is a likeable protagonist, a little free and easy with his profanities but a very realistic character. He's also gay - although that's not the reason he was excommunicated from his sect. During his quest to prove his mother's innocence, he encounters several characters from his past and makes some new friends, accompanied by his dog Elektra. He picks up a stray teenager, Johnny, and garners a boyfriend, Tom, along the way, all the while promising himself he's only in Utah to clear his mother's name.

I'll leave the conclusion of the novel for you to discover. I really would recommend this book. It's fluid and enlightening, but also tells a very gripping story. If I had a complaint it would be that there was no consistent flipping between the present and the past. Chapters of Ann Eliza's 'memoir' and other 'documents' were placed in blocks throughout but there was no guarantee how many you would encounter at any one time. It threw me off a few times. Equally, there was just one point in the novel where I noticed startling repetition. Something had been told in Ann Eliza's memoir to the reader and then repeated by another character for the benefit of the protagonist. While I understand why Ebershoff chose to impart it that way, perhaps a brief summary would've been more practical for the reader.

Nevertheless, I'm glad I picked up this book and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

... Onwards to 2012

2012-01-01T01:07:00.000Z

It's much easier to dissect the year just gone than to predict what lies in store for 2012. It's a year of fear as far as the political and economic situations go, but also a year that should inspire pride in Great Britain. I hope it does. And, on a more personal level, I hope I can build on the successes of 2011. But let's cut this down into manageable goals.

I've signed up for two specific reading challenges this year (see the links on the sidebar). I aim to complete them. In addition, I want to read some of those books I've been meaning to for a while - Wolf Hall, The Secret Diaries of Miss Anne Lister and Nella Last's War to name but three.

I daren't make any predictions about my PhD for the coming year. I just hope that I'm still studying at the end of 2012. Whatever happens, I've already learned a lot from my research. That'll never go to waste.

I want to complete some revisions of all four manuscripts I've got floating about. Two are in the later stages of development and two of them are first drafts. I will also aim to have at least one short story published this year and try and complete a few of the unfinished projects I've got hanging around.

I will continue working with 2020UK and hopefully attract more people to the ranks.

I'll continue being there for the people who need me (for babysitting or a chat) but I'm making no predictions about where I'll end 2012.

My inspiration for the year ahead has to come from the Matilida soundtrack and the song 'Naughty':

"Just because you find that life's not fair

It doesn't mean that you just have to grin and bear it

If you always take it on the chin and wear it

Nothing will change.

Even if you're little you can do a lot

You mustn't let a little thing like little stop you

If you sit around and let them get on top

You might as well be saying you think that it's okay

And that's not right."

Farewell 2011...

2012-01-01T00:52:00.003Z

At the beginning of 2011 I posted my hopes for the year. Let's see how I did with the things I wanted to change or improve on.

1. I have decided to work at my PhD until my eyes blur and give in from over-use. I will not try and figure out ways of getting around the work and I will be the most coherent and widely-read student I can be. I love my subject and I'm not half-bad at it. Come 2012 I will have been upgraded from MPhil to PhD status.
Well, I haven't upgraded yet! I've been up and down the research rollercoaster in the last twelve months and feel no closer to the final loop. However, I'm assured I'm edging towards it. I still enjoy my subject and I still appreciate the works of Edmund Yates, even though he's been getting on my nerves most of the year.

2. I have decided to focus on revising the unpublished novels I have waiting around before starting something new. One in particular has tremendous potential and with a restructure of plot I think it could really be something. By 2012 I will have revised this and (hopefully) submitted it.
I'm a little closer on this one. I've revised each of the two novels I had at the beginning of the year at least once and submitted them once apiece. Without anyone telling me, I realised they needed more work and I'm revising them again. I have also - despite my little focus point above - written two more complete first drafts. Well, I had to participate in NaNoWriMo, didn't I?

3.I have decided to continue with my good form of the last few months as far as submitting short stories goes. I will submit at least two a month to various competitions and aim to write a new one at least once a month. (I realise that doesn't add up but deal with it)
I fell down a little on this one. I made fourteen submissions of various formats throughout the year. One short story was shortlisted, one television drama was longlisted and one short play script was produced in September. I'd say that's progress enough for now. With the exception of the tail end of the year, my submissions were pretty regular. Meaning that I didn't have any major head-bashing periods.

4. I have decided to be the best friend I can be and be there for people who I know would be there for me in a heartbeat. I've got some great people around me and I need to appreciate them more. Also in this area, I will contact some old friends and family members I've neglected for too long.
Maybe I fell down on this one too. Or maybe I didn't. The fact is, there is no point surrounding yourself with people who don't want to be there and don't help when they are. That does neither party any good. The friends I've ended the year with are the ones that are sticking - and have stuck - for quite some time. Equally, why should I chase after old friends and family members? They could easily contact me. I shouldn't be the one doing the chasing all the time. There's nothing in life that makes you feel quite so unwanted.

5. Finally, I have decided that 2011 is the year to let go of the dreams that cannot be and focus on the dreams that can. I envisage this being the difficult one but I'm up for the challenge.
This one I toyed with. I took one step closer to being a strong person and simultaneously took one step back. My personal life has been sketchy this year but I've survived it. Given what other years have brought me, 2011 wasn't too bad in this respect.

So what else did I achieve that I didn't put in my goals last year? Well, I've started working with a political group called 2020UK whose aim is to discuss what form governance should take in the UK. We're eager for guest bloggers, article writers and anybody willing to retweet our stuff and gain us some more readers so please do take a look at the website. I spent a good portion of the year writing for a lesbian news site, Lesbilicious.co.uk, and I've discovered many new acquaintances, bloggers and funny personalities on Twitter. I am still into musicals and I swear that's never going away and I will never ever forget seeing Liza Minnelli at the Royal Albert Hall in June. That made my year and, quite possibly, my life. I must thank Claire for talking me into it. I should also thank Sal and Nicola for keeping me sane in various ways this year. It can't have been easy!

It's been a year that deserves mixed reviews on the whole I think. My great uncle died towards the end of it. I didn't know him as well as I should have but I knew enough about him to miss him. Let the final word on this post go to him: RIP Ken.

My Favourite Books of 2011

2011-12-30T21:33:00.001Z

I've read some fantastic books this year. The full list can be found in this post. However, I just thought I'd highlight some of my favourites in a special post. They're in no particular order because these are the cream of the crop - in my eyes there's no picking between them for quality. I found them to be pleasurable reads, though vastly different in content.

Carol by Patricia Highsmith

This tells the story of Therese and her attraction to a woman she meets in a department store, the Carol of the title. It's a fairly short novel but the prose is wonderfully evocative. You can read my review here.

Girl Reading by Katie Ward

Ward takes seven portraits of women reading as her starting point and weaves seven marvellous little stories out of them. Each individual story is digestible in one gulp but, if you're like me, you'll want to read them all in one go. You can read my review here.

Sing You Home by Jodi Picoult

After splitting from her husband, Zoe Baxter falls in love with Vanessa. Although she's suffered miscarriages which pushed her marriage to the limit, Zoe and her new partner are keen to use the eggs she has in storage. However, her ex has become involved with a conservative religion group and she needs his permission. A very modern novel, and a heartfelt one too. You can read my review here.

Westwood by Stella Gibbons

Gibbons' work is now being reissued and this book absolutely delighted me. Set against the backdrop of WWII, the novel tells of Margaret Steggles and her connection with a richer family she comes across quite by accident. Funny and well-written. You can read my review here.

Uncle Silas by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

Adding a sensation novel to my list was, I suppose, a given. This book is gripping and still possessed the ability to scare me out of my wits. Not bad for a book that's around 150 years old! You can read my review here.

Have you read any excellent books this year I should add to my own for next?

Merry Musical Christmas

2011-12-22T11:35:00.000Z

Christmas is a funny old time. I think I dislike it but I can never be completely sure. However, one thing I know I don't dislike are the songs associated with it, particularly those emerging from some of my favourite musicals. Here are a couple to get you into the festive spirit, starting with the wonderful Angela Lansbury. She could tell me I wanted anything and I'd believe her so maybe I do need a little Christmas after all:

"Haul out the holly

Put up the tree before my spirit falls again

Fill up the stocking

I may be rushing things but deck the halls again now..."

I'm being a bit cheeky because my second choice is Angela again. Her excellent Christmas film Mrs Santa Claus is one of my favourite festive treats. With a score by Jerry Herman and Angela singing it yet again, I don't think you can really go wrong. This is the title track from the film:

"I'm Mrs Santa Claus, the invisible wife

And Mrs Santa Claus needs a change in her life

I've been manning the business and planning each holiday plan

And I'm tired of being the shadow behind the great man..."

When you think of Judy Garland Christmas songs, I know which one naturally springs to mind. This little gem, though, was part of the score of In The Good Old Summertime. Judy's phenomenal - as usual:

"So be jolly

Have a holiday as gay as holly

May the ones you love be near you

With the laugh of friends to cheer you..."

And just because I'm not a complete tease... This is the extended scene from Meet Me In St. Louis, with Tootie's anxiety about Santa being unable to find them when they move and then her smashing up the snow people the family have built:

"Someday soon we all will be together

If the fates allow

Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow

So have yourself a merry little Christmas now..."

Whatever Christmas means to you, I hope it fulfils your expectations. Merry Christmas.

Reading Challenge: Short Story Challenge

2011-12-21T12:48:00.000Z

At the beginning of the year I condemned myself for not reading as many short stories collections as I should have. Unfortunately, I haven't really rectified that problem this year so when I came across a reading challenge from the Library of Clean Reads blog specifically to encourage reading short story collections I knew I had to participate. More details about the challenge can be found here.

I'm going for the 'Tales Galore' category which is seven to nine books, mainly because I already have seven collections sitting on my bookshelves. Here is the list so far:

1. Night Shivers - Charlotte Riddell
2. Sensation Stories - Wilkie Collins
3. Wish I Was Here - Jackie Kay
4. The New York Stories - Edith Wharton
5. The Collected Stories - Katherine Mansfield
6. Daughters of Decadence - Various
7. Touchy Subjects - Emma Donoghue
8. ???
9. ???

I'll add the final two collections later and the list is subject to change. I'm looking forward to delving into these collections, several of which have been festering on the shelf for quite some time. Although Riddell and Collins have links to my PhD work, I promise that this is all fun reading.

Reading Challenge: A Classics Challenge

2011-12-21T12:26:00.000Z

I came across this excellent challenge for 2012 hosted by November's Autumn. Read seven words of classic literature in the year (only three of which may be re-reads) and visit the blog every month for a prompt to write about (although I'm certain I'll be writing a review alongside that). Find about about the challenge here.

The classics I'm going to read are nothing to do with my PhD but have all been gathering dust on my bookshelves for quite some time. Here's the list:

1. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
2. Mary Barton - Elizabeth Gaskell
3. The Mill on the Floss - George Eliot
4. A Farewell to Arms - Ernest Hemingway
5. The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman - Laurence Sterne
6. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
7. The Mayor of Casterbridge - Thomas Hardy

The list is subject to change. I'm starting with Bleak House but that could take me most of the year! It looks to be a fun challenge, reading some of the books I really feel I should've read already. The only one I'm not really looking forward to is The Mill on the Floss - I've tried to get into that on several occasions and failed miserably. That one may disappear from the list!

Organisational Matters

2011-12-20T12:43:00.000Z

My office temping jobs instilled in me a mania for keeping things organised - at least as far as work is concerned. I like my bookshelves to be neat, my filing cabinet to be segregated and to know where I'm up to with any specific task. I don't know why it's taken me so long to create the two things I've completed in the last week considering the spreadsheet madness that has taken over my life since I started my PhD but these are two things I'm now using in my writing life:

Scene Analysis Spreadsheet
I'm fairly sure that I saw this idea on someone else's blog (and would credit if I could remember, honestly). I've gone through the latest draft of the first novel I completed. This is the one I completed for NaNoWriMo 2009 and which has undergone major changes since then. Nevertheless, I looked at it and knew there was still something missing. So I created a spreadsheet with the following categories to break each scene down into the sum of its parts and see exactly where I was:

Chapter
Scene Number
Scene Description
Scene Type
Characters
Location
Day/Time
Protagonist's Goal
Protagonist's Motivation
Protagonist's Complication
Outcome/How Does Scene Affect Growth?

I'm using the exceptional book Make a Scene by Jordan E. Rosenfield to help me with the breakdowns and see whether each individual scene works. I've got thirty one chapters and eighty-five scenes to work with. The novel needs a lot of work but collapsing it into individual units to be assessed may make it seem less intimidating. I am, however, happy with the overall story and structure. That only took two years!

The Book of Ideas
Again, I know I borrowed this from someone else but I can't recall who. I've taken a huge notebook, about three hundred pages, and have listed all the current projects and ideas I have with notes detailing where I'm at with each of them. Each project has a whole page to itself, meaning I've got plenty of space to fill up with details later. It looks quite empty at the moment but I'm hoping that'll change. There are three things on each page - 'Subject', 'Format' and 'To Date'. What's intriguing - for me, anyway - is the breakdown I've currently got in different formats:

Prose (novel) - 11
Prose (short story) - 28
Script (play) - 2
Script (television drama) - 4
Script (radio drama) - 2
Script (film) - 1
Script (musical) - 1
Script (unsure) - 1
Unsure - 5

As you can tell, I have too many ideas! Documenting them like this will help me keep track of them and encourage me to work on the ideas I've already got instead of dreaming up new ones all the time. Well, that's the theory...

Book Review: Starting From Scratch by Georgia Beers

2011-12-19T12:21:00.000Z

This was an undemanding lesbian romance that was sufficiently interesting for me to read in one sitting.

Avery King lives with her dog Steve, enjoys baking and spending time with her grandmother amongst other things. One thing she certainly isn't keen on is spending time with children but, thanks to owing a favour to a friend, she ends up coaching a sports team for five and six year-olds. Avery finds herself falling for the mother of one of the kids, complicating her life and changing the things she thought she wanted.

As I said, this was an easy book to read. It doesn't offer anything profound but it does tug at the heartstrings in places. One scene particularly towards the end had me welling up. There aren't many passages of character analysis but detail is scattered so delicately through the dialogue that the reader is rarely at a loss to decipher the motivations of any particular characters. I also found the young boy in the story, Max, to be delightful and realistic - not the whining and irritating child you find so often in novels.

One of my major difficulties with this book had everything to do with me and nothing to do with the book itself - as an English reader some of the Americanisms just baffled me at times. It made reading something of a guessing game but I don't think altered my enjoyment of the novel much. A more relevant criticism relates to the plot twist that emerges a few chapters from the end. Although it stems out of a perfectly natural occurrence - and the book is reaching a natural conclusion - I found it to be ultimately rushed over in the epilogue. I would rather the twist hadn't been put in as it didn't affect the main narrative much. However, from a character point of view, I understand why Beers wanted to tie up the loose end.

I'd recommend this to anyone looking for a modern lesbian romance without too many strings attached.

I read this book for the LGBT Reading Challenge 2011.

NaNoWriMo Draft Finished

2011-12-17T15:09:00.000Z

It may have taken me another two weeks to finish the final chapters after the mad rush of November but the first draft of the novel is complete. It's a little (okay, very) light at 53,756 words but the difficulty I've had in drawing it to an end means I'm just relieved it's down on paper. I've spent a week building up to the big kiss and trying not to write it. Looks like I was as much of a coward as my protagonist!

I feel as exhilarated and as tired as I did when I finished my last first draft back in October. So I've now got four manuscripts I'm dithering about with. Plenty of rewriting to be done on all of them and plenty of PhD work to be done between now and the end of January. Who cares? I've accomplished something else before the end of 2011 and at this stage that's a huge surprise!

I'm going to drift into contentment with Bing to keep me company. This is one of his lesser known songs but I do like it.

200th Post - Getting There Alone

2011-12-16T12:30:00.000Z

When I was in my early teens my mum gave me a copy of A Tale of Two Cities for either Christmas or a birthday. I read it but it didn't make much of an impact on me. Although I was an avid reader throughout my youth I don't think classics really touched my radar. I think I rebelled against them, probably due to the fact my paternal grandfather had bookshelves stacked high with Dickens, Milton, Fielding and Shakespeare. Who doesn't instinctively feel as a kid that they should be the exact opposite to their family?

Of course, I was exposed to Shakespeare throughout my schooling and appreciated the tragedies enough to see Hamlet and Macbeth on stage at the West Yorkshire Playhouse. I studied the first chapter of Great Expectations for my GCSE coursework and looked at Tess of the D'Urbervilles for an A-Level module. I think Tess proved to be the breakthrough text. Certainly, when I got to university I was more than happy to find myself on a Victorian fiction unit. I remember vividly sitting and reading Jane Eyre in the lounge of my student accommodation, curled up on one of the cheap Ikea chairs and gazing up once in a while to look at the view of Lincoln Cathedral. Jane Eyre was followed by Wuthering Heights then the full text of Great Expectations and other selections. Although these books were part of a syllabus, reading them wasn't a chore (perhaps reading Middlemarch was though). I was then (and still am) a rather shy girl, reluctant to speak in seminars, but I really did enjoy the literature. I hadn't come to the texts on my own as such, but I'd found enjoyment in them because I'd been able to look at them as something other than the books my grandfather enjoyed.

Reaching conclusions about your tastes on your own is satisfying. Most people, unless they're exceptionally eager to please, can't get enjoyment from acting to suit others. When you finally sit down and consider the things you like, there's a certain thrill in knowing that these tastes are yours alone. They may be influenced by the prejudices and encouragements of your past but, if you have even a smidgen of self-awareness, you can pinpoint why you like them and not why people you've known like them.

Look at me and Victorian fiction. From being ambivalent about A Tale of Two Cities I've progressed to studying a minor author at PhD level. Classics of all eras find their way onto my reading piles. I'm intrigued by the literature and culture of the nineteenth-century in particular but I count Tom Jones and Mrs Dalloway amongst my favourite books. But I read them because I want to, not because somebody stern wants me to.

We've got a serious problem in Britain at the moment. One in three children live in houses without books. This is a nightmare and I dread to think where it'll leave us in a few decades. But I don't think pushing so-called 'good' literature on them from a young age is quite the way to go. Some will be receptive to it but a lot won't. It might put them off for life. When I was younger I loved Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl and whatever mystery books I could get my hands on. I happily read tie-ins with my favourite television shows - Sabrina the Teenage Witch springs straight to mind. That's a great way to get children from screen to page without much of an effort. Then perhaps when they get older they'll go looking for fiction they might enjoy themselves. Perhaps they'll even discover Charles Dickens, Emily Bronte and Wilkie Collins on their travels... Ah, well, an academic can dream.

Book Review: Haunting Violet by Alyxandra Harvey

2011-12-15T12:54:00.001Z

This is another book I was drawn to by the cover initially. Because I'm not an avid reader of Young Adult fiction I hesitated a bit but after looking inside and seeing the Victorian setting I was enamoured. This are the two covers of Haunting Violet. The one I was drawn to is the one on the left but I think the second one would've caught my eye too.

The novel's premise is simple: Violet has been a participant in her mother's fake seances since she was young but suddenly finds herself hearing and seeing spirits. Dragged into the life of a drowned girl, she tries to decipher who murdered her. There are many twists and turns in the plot and I have to say that I wasn't bored at all.

The Victorian setting is invoked to great effect, but not distractingly so. There are a couple of scenes that stick vividly in the mind, primarily Violet's trek to the grave of her murdered spirit - an eerie scene that was well written and startled me a fair bit. Violet's mother is utterly self-absorbed and unpredictable, with a little bit of a sherry problem. Colin, Violet's faithful ally, is an interesting character whose assistance is helpful but doesn't overshadow Violet's own role - he's involved in the story but it's definitely her story. The rest of the cast is varied, with a few stereotypes in lesser roles, but all consistently written.

For the most part the language holds to historical convention. Of course, it's a stripped down version and there are a few uses of words that had me raising eyebrows but, as I found when I whizzed through the final third, it ceased to bother me as the plot picked up pace. The ghostly aspect of the novel naturally adds another dimension to the Victorian setting but it's very sensible (as far as ghostly apparitions can be!).

At just over three hundred pages this is a brief read but certainly an enjoyable one. I'm glad the cover enticed me in - it's got all the ingredients of a Victorian sensation novel but with characters we identify with today.

Rule Breaking

2011-12-12T18:15:00.000Z

I'm ashamed to say that today I broke one of the golden rules of writing. I mean one of the few rules I agree with. Most are nonsense and can't be applied haphazardly to novels as if they were tightly-regulated experiments. But this one... I wholeheartedly approve of this one. Which one was it? Never submit anything before revising it a million times. I'm heartily ashamed of myself. But I do have a reason.

The competition I've submitted this script to moved the goalposts - last year the deadline was January and this time it was a full month earlier. I found this out in the middle of last week and quickly decided that if I could enter, I should. I had no script prepared so I needed to write one - and quick. Don't ask me how I managed it. Two days of plotting, three days of writing and it's done. It's gone.

I should feel guilty about not rewriting it. I'm not a little prima donna; I know fine well it could've been improved. Yet I feel it was more important to at least try. If it gets shot down then so be it. You've got to be in the running. Would I have preferred more chance to perfect my script? Of course. But things don't always work out that way. This was a once a year opportunity and I'm glad I took it.

What do you reckon? Do I deserve to be put in the writing stocks or am I forgiven?

An Edmund Yates Dilemma

2011-12-07T13:51:00.001Z

What do you do when the subject of your research is accused of not being the author of some of his most popular works? I mentioned this in my previous post on Edmund Yates but it's suddenly become a prominent issue in my thoughts as I prepare my upgrade chapter for submission.

To recap: there was a rumour circulating that Irish novelist, Frances Cashel Hoey, had written some - perhaps all - of Yates's novels. According to sources, Hoey confirmed this privately in the early days of the twentieth-century. However, these allegations were first levelled by two people Yates had quarrelled with in earlier years: his publisher, William Tinsley, and his colleague at the Post Office, Anthony Trollope. Those are hardly lightweight names in the world of Victorian fiction. The allegations were printed in Tinsley's memoir of 1900 and reprinted in many sources thereafter.

There are numerous questions about why Hoey didn't come forward in the years between Yates's death in 1894 and the publication of Tinsley's book. It reeks of jumping on the bandwagon somewhat, particularly as she continued working for Yates's the World in the years after his death. I can also state with substantial certainty that the tone of many of Yates's books are the same. His habits of digression, the way he describes characters and his plot progression all feel consistent throughout his work. They also match the tone of journalistic articles which it is certain he wrote. The scholar who has written most on Edmund Yates to date, P.D. Edwards, has said the allegations are 'unlikely' to be true but points out that it's impossible to say for certain. He does, however, make a compelling case against them. His attitude mirrors my own: he suggests that Hoey must have been a remarkable mimic and Yates a scrupulous editor hiding traces of her authorship. To be perfectly honest, I believe the time it would've taken Yates to check through all the work Hoey supposedly produced would've negated the time won by her writing anything in the first place.

In scanning the Internet over the last few days I've come across references to the rumour given as fact in early twentieth-century books. One pointed out that Yates abruptly stopped writing novels in the mid-1870s and suggested Hoey refused to cooperate further and that was why his fiction ceased. I'd counteract that with this: in 1874 Yates set about publishing his most successful periodical, the World. It's supposed that apart from the editorship, Yates contributed many other articles anonymously, nor did his additional work cease. It doesn't surprise me that further novels had to take a back-seat to these ventures. Equally, the popularity of the three-decker and sensation fiction generally was waning. Collins was still going, of course, but many sensation novelists had either sunk or diversified.

I could write a compelling argument of my own against these allegations if I so wished but that's my problem: I'm focusing on specific themes within Edmund Yates's work. I don't really want to engage with every person who held a grudge against him in his long career. In earlier drafts I've written these allegations off with a simple footnote and a reference to Edwards's research on the subject. Is this enough? If it isn't, what is?

I'm beginning to learn why Yates's has been critically abandoned for the last century!

Dental Survival

2011-12-06T14:51:00.001Z

Likemany people I have a completely natural fear of going to visit the dentist. I have a particular aversion to dental injections. The last time I had a filling I persuaded the dentist to refrain from anaesthetic and to instead just drill indiscriminately. Yep, I preferred the pain of direct drilling to an injection. I'm not what you'd call brave. Today I had a check up and was told I needed another small filling. Instead of booking me another appointment, she did it there and then. So much for a check-up! Mind you, if I'd known I was going to have work done I would've panicked and set sail for the North Pole three days ago.

As I sat in the chair trying not to scream and run away, I searched my brain for something to keep me occupied while *it* was going on. The last song that got stuck in my head for a dental trip was Idina Menzel's 'The Wizard and I' from Wicked. It's forever linked with pain for me now! The first song that sprang to mind today was, rather inevitably, 'Dentist' from Little Shop of Horrors. Not a good one to calm you!

So - with extreme difficulty - I searched for something else. Barnum is full of good fast tracks. I needed something to recite on a loop in my head to stop me thinking and I came up with this:

Alas, this song will be forever linked with the dentist, just as 'Thank You Very Much' from Scrooge is a distinct reminder of my first blood test earlier this year. A small price to pay perhaps. Am I the only one? Does anybody else have dedicated trauma songs to get you through those difficult appointments?

Using Profanities - Pure Laziness?

2011-12-02T15:46:00.001Z

Caroline Thompson, a senior BBC executive, said recently that swearing in comedies was all right now because there is an "enormous intergenerational difference about what is acceptable". This got me thinking about things I've seen, read and written lately and how they used language which could be deemed offensive.

I have to admit, I'm not a big fan of any current comedies. In my view they just can't match the class of previous decades. This may have something to do with the dependence on cheap laughs, partly stemming from bad language and partly from a buffoonery I just don't find endearing. But, as the article above says, classic comedies such as Porridge and Dad's Army didn't resort to swearing to get laughs. Yes, they sailed close to the wind sometimes but the laughs came out of what they nearly said as opposed to what they actually said. Modern British comedy has lost that to some extent.

But what of other genres? Well, I watch a lot of crime drama and hearing swearing on those feels acceptable to me because of the subject matter involved. I'm never going to get my knickers in a twist about the odd bit of swearing in a programme. My objections come from the fact that many writers (whether directed by broadcasters or not) seem to use coarse language as a crutch and as a substitute for meaningful dialogue. It's certainly easier to have a character swearing at a situation than figuring out a truly funny response to the events.

I've seen a fair few plays this year. One thing that struck me was how the modern ones relied so much on swearing. It was something noticed by others as well as me - I had several conversations about it later, including with people who swear as often as they breathe in their day-to-day lives. One comedic play had a situation uncovered and two characters panicking about it. Instead of proper dialogue they literally just walked around the stage saying 'f**k, f**k, f**k' for at least a minute. As an audience member, I felt cheated. The word lost its resonance somewhat by the repetition and did nothing to further the plot or the characters. It was a substitute for what I'd deem 'proper writing' (as controversial as that term may be).

When I write I almost always keep to acceptable dialogue - until the situation calls for something else. I've sworn in most of my drafts to date but never just to fill space or to get a quick laugh. Profanity has to stem from both situation and character. It might be funny to have a grandmother spewing out a load of expletives but, unless you've got a reason for it, my patience wears thin.

All this may make me sound straight-laced and boring. I'm not (I hope!). I just want to see writers challenging themselves. How else are they supposed to challenge their audiences or, for that matter, entertain them?

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: I Did It!

2011-12-01T11:48:00.001Z

Don't ask me how I did it but I did. Despite something of a hiatus in the middle of the month, extra childcare duties yesterday that I hadn't factored into my schedule and PhD work that needed to be done quite some time ago, I validated my 50,000 novel with 58 minutes to spare last night. I'm so proud of myself. It's been a hectic month to say the least. The fact that I persevered and managed one heck of a last nine days is extraordinary. But, as was pointed out to me on several occasions, I'm stubborn. Sure, I could've done what some people do and 'make believe' they've won but where would be the fun in that? I'd be cheating myself and I refuse to do that. Here are my stats for the month:

That stationary bit in the middle was my weekend away in Derby. Once I got back I didn't want to continue. So far behind, I figured it would be a losing battle. But the stubbornness persisted. You might also be interested to note that I've done everything in my PhD that I needed to this last month and managed a little sleep in the process.

So what next? Well, I left my characters at something of a pivotal point. It's the penultimate chapter but I stopped writing as soon as I finished this paragraph, having hit 50,004 words: "Still, as Dawn skidded across the floor, they both smiled.Lauren clenched her hands around her mug, aware that they were once againcloser than they should be. Shelley, it seemed, didn’t mind the lack ofdistance. She smiled shyly and looked straight into her mug. As the song builtinto the second chorus, Dawn jumped up on the end of the bench... Then thelights went off." This is the scene I've been building up to for the entire novel, the one I've had in my head for years. Perhaps stopping here was an excellent idea - the desire to write this scene will make sure I finish the novel. But that's next week! Today I return to the normalcy of PhD reading. Angels, demons and devoted specimens await me. I've never been so grateful to fall into a book of somewhat crusty criticism. Allow me to celebrate my victory with a Stephen Sondheim that is so full of energy I feel like bursting out of my seat:

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: Uh-Oh

2011-11-29T12:01:00.001Z

Is it just me or has November skidded past with barely a wave? I remember the long luxurious evenings of writing ahead as I sat in this very chair on 31st October. It was going to be good. It was going to be fun. It was going to get written.

Well, the good news is that I'm still going. The bad news is that I have to write 5,491 words before midnight tomorrow. That might not sound too bad but my hands are still tied to my PhD: I have to do secondary reading tomorrow afternoon come what may. I'm only holding onto my academic ambitions by the skin of my teeth - one lapse in concentration and I'll miss my deadlines. So tomorrow afternoon is out, along with early evening tomorrow as I go to visit my grandmother. As for today... Well, my afternoon will be spent alternating between the PhD I'm supposed to be working on and reading analysis of George Osborne's Autumn Statement. It's a riveting life I lead but I'm happy with it.

All those factors included, is it plausible I could be clapping by midnight on the 30th? I doubt it to be honest. But I've been told I'll do it because I'm stubborn. That's certainly true enough. I can't see myself coming this far and willing missing it by a whisker. So... 2,746 words today and the same tomorrow? Judy's face sums up my own reaction, I'm afraid.

EDIT: Alteration to my plans since I've been drafted in for emergency childcare tomorrow. It means I'll be staying over tonight losing my chance to write 2,746 words tonight. I think the ending has just popped up in front of my eyes - That's All, Folks! What do you think?

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: Catching Up

2011-11-26T13:17:00.001Z

Hey, I'm still going. That has to count for something, surely?

A look at the stats page tells me I should be at around 43,333 by the end of today. I'm currently at 38,523 but still have an entire evening of writing to go and I expect to hit 42,000 either tonight or early tomorrow. Then I'll be that little less behind. It still seems like a mountain but I'm experiencing something rather odd with this story - I finally picked the right way to tell it and it's still flowing. Possibly flowing like raw sewage at the moment but we can fix that later. As I've mentioned before, this story was once a script in Script Frenzy 2010 and then a failed attempt at a novel in last year's NaNoWriMo. I thought I was mad to try and resuscitate it again but apparently it worked.

Although I only have chapter plans for the next chapter and a half, I'm confident I can write the 11,500 words I need to in order to cross the finish line. The question now is whether I can do it in time. I've got tonight and tomorrow morning and then I'm helping to look after three (adorably difficult) children on Monday. So far my Tuesday and Wednesday are free (although I will be going into political overdrive on Tuesday when George Osborne delivers his Autumn Statement). I'm only hoping it's enough. Seems a shame to fight back to this point and fail...

Book Review: Slammerkin by Emma Donoghue

2011-11-23T11:45:00.001Z

Slammerkin tells the story of Mary Saunders, an eighteenth-century girl who is attracted by a bright piece of ribbon and pays a heavy price for it. Cast out by her family, she falls into prostitution, though when the winter weather bites she voluntarily enters a home for fallen women. After that she is propelled out to a country town where much of the novel takes place.

I found this to be an exceptional book. While it was thoroughly readable, it was also completely immersed in the eighteenth-century. Something some historical fiction writers struggle with is appropriate tone and language but Donoghue doesn't have this problem. The language certainly feels authentic and that's one of the most important things for drawing you into this novel. Another important aspect is the characterisation of Mary. She's an excellent creation, one completely comprehensible no matter what unexpected lengths she goes to. Alongside her, all the secondary characters are well-drawn and individual in their own right, from fellow prostitute, Doll, down to the child, Hetta, who Mary encounters later in the novel. Nothing felt out of place or wrong.

Donoghue has taken the very bare bones of a newspaper story and made them into something tangible and touching. She explains the basis of the novel in an author's note at the end of the book but I would urge you not to read that until you're finished with the story. I was surprised by the climax in a way I wouldn't have been had I read that note.

One final point: Donoghue creates a gloomy eighteenth-century London which doesn't seem false. Both her descriptions of London and then of Monmouth are excellent and evocative. That was the final jigsaw piece for making this into an exceptional read. As you might've gathered, I thoroughly recommend it!

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: Getting Started Again

2011-11-22T20:01:00.001Z

Well, after my weekend away I'm at least 6,000 words behind where I should be at. I did have three days when I was unable to write and yesterday I was completely shattered so those are my excuses out of the way. However, I'm not giving up that easily. This is still a completely manageable task...even with a funeral on Friday and helping with three small children on Monday. Oh, and dealing with a mountain of Victorian non-fiction while I battle through my upgrade chapter for my thesis. I'd better stop listing things; I'm rapidly talking myself out of continuing!

Fortunately, while I was sitting through an excruciatingly noisy and painful Smashing Pumpkins gig on Saturday evening I had plenty of time to think about my plot. I had plans for the next chapter and a half but nothing after that. Thanks to my wasted evening I realised that someone had to die (and I know who and I know it has to happen shortly) and my path to my finale became clearer.

I think I have more than 22,000 words still in me for this novel. In fact, I think could ramble on a little longer than that. The characters are really taking shape in my head and they're finally suited to the setting I've put them in. I'm not kidding myself that this won't need a heck of a rewrite when it's complete but I still have hopes of completing it.

My optimistic attitude may certainly deteriorate as the week goes on!

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: Hurdles

2011-11-18T11:43:00.001Z

Last night was the first time I gave up without reaching my personal goal for the day. I'd speculated I could get to 29,000 and I gave up at a paltry 27,821. I'd lost my thirst for writing. Although I knew what my characters were doing (driving to Chelmsford, arguing on the way and when they got there) I just couldn't be bothered trying to force it onto the paper. I was in the rather unique situation of wanting to work on my PhD instead. I can safely say that enthusiasm for that area of my life is new and alarming. But, instead of packing in NaNo for the night, I just stared blankly at the screen for two hours. That was something of a waste of time, don't you think?

Anyway, this morning things got more complicated. I already knew I would have no NaNo time Friday to Sunday (I'm going to see the Smashing Pumpkins in Birmingham on Saturday night). When I arrive back during the day on Monday I have to go straight to a Teaching Assistant lecture in Sheffield which I won't get home from until after six. Then on Tuesday I have an afternoon meeting with my PhD supervisor. Again, I'll be home fairly late. All that was fine and booked in but I got word earlier (via text message of all things) that my great uncle died in hospital late last night. He's been severely ill for the last month or so but it still came as a shock because he's been communicative and coherent. Apparently. I never went to see him in hospital. As a consequence of his death, I don't feel much like writing right now. To be honest, the weekend away is feeling like a burden I could do without. I'm concerned about my grandmother (his sister) who was widowed three years ago and has obviously had a close relationship with her little brother all his life. I feel like I need to support her but I don't know how. All I do know is that Ken has been around all my life and has been very interested in me and my education. He was a gentle man and he will be greatly missed by his close and extended families.

We'll see what happens next week. In a few days I might want to hide in my NaNo to get away from the real world. We'll see. For now I hope that everyone else participating is struggling through okay.

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: Mid-Point

2011-11-16T11:38:00.001Z

Do you remember the train scene in Dumbo? The engine (Casey Jr to be precise) is climbing up a steep hill in the dark saying 'I-think-I-can-I-think-I-can-I-think-I-can-I-think-I-can'. His speech gradually becomes more laboured as he reaches the top of the incline to the point that it looks doubtful whether he'll get over the peak. But he manages it and, as he zooms down the other side, his mantra changes to 'I-thought-I-could-I-thought-I-could-I-thought-I-could-I-thought-I-could'. He's in free-fall! He knows the hard part is over!

I wanted NaNoWriMo to feel like that this year. As I chugged towards the 25,000 mark I had hopes of reaching the top and then flying down the other side as words magically appeared out of my fingertips. I hoped the second 25,000 would be easier than the first. It's easy to see that I was deluding myself, giving my addled brain incentives to reach the halfway mark. The second leg will be as painful as the first and, if the last few days are anything to go by, will result in more yelling and rendering of garments.

That said, I'm still in it. As a fellow Tweeter pointed out, this time last year I was exchanging jerseys. I was a happy failure. If I gave up at this point now I'd be an unhappy failure because I know both me and the novel can make it to the finish line. Something I envisioned as a minor subplot (a domestic situation involving my protagonist's love interest and ex) gained bigger status as I was hurtling towards the halfway point last night. I was desperate to reach my daily goal so my fingers ran away from me and the conversation I've wasted a thousand words on has to come back later.

Can you tell I'm trying to convince myself that I have another 25,000 words in me? It's not working but... 'I-think-I-can-I-think-I-can-I-think-I-can-I-think-I-can'...

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: At Night

2011-11-14T13:21:00.001Z

I spent this weekend with a friend I haven't seen for too long (I'll swear here and now this relates to my mad November writing endeavour). We went to see The Vagina Monologues and I spent Saturday night on her very comfy sofa. She has a sixteen week-old kitten, though, who is a bit, well, mad. She was leaping around in the dark, bashing into walls and startling the very haughty and stately older cat (think Hyacinth Bucket in feline form). Every so often I would hear a bang then a hiss. The funniest part of proceedings was when I turned the light on to see why the kitten was so distressed and found her attached to a shoe insole which was flapping around and whacking her on the head every so often.

The point is, what goes on in and out of the house after your average human being goes to bed is usually a black spot. My novel is set in a laundrette where my protagonist works between the hours of ten at night and seven in the morning. What I have to be careful about before introducing customers is making certain I know why they choose to do their washing in the early hours of the morning rather than at customary times and why they haven't got their own washing machines. Here are my conclusions.

Students - As a student I used to do my washing in the early hours of the morning. I have vivid memories of sitting on the floor of the laundry room in my block of flats and finishing off Middlemarch for a seminar the next week. How I expected that to keep me awake I'm not sure! Anyway, students generally keep more flexible hours and the likelihood of those living in private residences without proper washing facilities going to a late-night laundrette is not out of the realm of possibility. None of my major secondary characters are students but it's inferred they make up a large proportion of customers.
Viv and Dot - Viv comes in once a week to wash her husband's overalls. She does have a washing machine of her own but just doesn't want to muddy up her own kitchen. Since she and Dot both work late shifts at a call centre their sleeping pattern accommodates their nocturnal visits to the laundrette. Dot tags along with Viv, mainly because she's slightly intimidated by her on occasion and wants to stay on good terms.
Alan - He doesn't really come to the laundrette to do his washing. He did a few times to get away from his domineering wife but then he encountered Dot and fell madly in love - in his own special way. He coordinates his visits to fit with hers and brings a few shirts each time as a pretext.
Ben - Here is another man who doesn't really need the services of the laundrette. He was enchanted by manager Shelley on a visit when his washing machine was broken and now patronises the place on a Saturday evening in order to manoeuvre his way into her life.
Mavis - She was a character who came out of nowhere but I've got her pegged now. She brings all her washing in on a Tuesday evening in a trolley stolen from the local supermarket. She doesn't like people and she hates authority: she comes at the time she does in order to avoid all that rubbish. Also, she's a dangerous driver as far as the trolley is concerned and empty streets suit her purpose. She's an OAP who can't afford a washing machine of her own in the pokey flat in which she lives.

These are the conclusions I came to while listening to a kitten throwing itself down some stairs in the early hours of Sunday morning. I already knew it deep down but it's all concrete now. And, in case you're wondering, my word count's on target. I'm exactly where I'm meant to be at the moment. Let's hope that lasts!

A Pause For Thought: The Cenotaph by Charlotte Mew

2011-11-10T22:46:00.001Z

This is one of my favourite poems about the Great War. It's not written by a soldier or even a widow but by my all-time favourite poet, Charlotte Mew. I think it encapsulates what the families at home - and those left behind - feel and how quickly the world turns away from the sacrifices made by our loyal defenders. The quest to remember them is why we observe a two minute silence each year at 11:00 on the 11th November but it should by no means be the only time in a year that we think of them.

The Cenotaph by Charlotte Mew
Not yet will those measureless fields be green again
Where only yesterday the wild sweet blood of wonderful youth was shed;
There is a grave whose earth must hold too long, too deep a stain,
Though for ever over it we may speak as proudly as we may tread.
But here, where the watchers by lonely hearths from the thrust of an inward sword have more slowly bled,
We shall build the Cenotaph: Victory, winged, with Peace, winged too, at the column’s head.
And over the stairway, at the foot—oh! here, leave desolate, passionate hands to spread
Violets, roses, and laurel, with the small, sweet, tinkling country things
Speaking so wistfully of other Springs,
From the little gardens of little places where son or sweetheart was born and bred.
In splendid sleep, with a thousand brothers
               To lovers—to mothers
               Here, too, lies he:
Under the purple, the green, the red,
It is all young life: it must break some women's hearts to see
Such a brave, gay coverlet to such a bed!
Only, when all is done and said,
God is not mocked and neither are the dead
For this will stand in our Marketplace—
              Who’ll sell, who’ll buy
              (Will you or I
Lie each to each with the better grace)?
While looking into every busy whore's and huckster'sAs they drive their bargains, is the Face
Of God: and some young, piteous, murdered face.

Book Review: A Passage to India by E.M. Forster

2011-11-09T20:27:00.000Z

A Passage to India was on the list of books I noted in June that I'd bought and never read. Since then I've received several nudges towards it so I thought I'd bite the bullet and finally get around to reading it.

The plot of the novel seems fairly simple: after an incident in a cave an English woman accuses an Indian doctor of assault which sets the English and Indians against each other. However, this brief analysis disregards the complexity of the world which Forster depicts in A Passage to India. Adela Quested's woes are brought on by her desire to see the 'real' India, primarily because the English exist separately from the Indians. The gulf between the two is highlighted on numerous occasions during the first third of the novel, coming to a head after Adela's accusation in the second section. The final third demonstrates that, as things stand, the people of the two nations cannot yet be friends.

All of the characters are well drawn and realistic. If Forster disparages anyone it is the English oppressors rather than the Indian subjects. But he is also at pains to demonstrate the divisions in India between Moslems and Hindus. Things are not as straightforward as England v. India and characters are utilised to show the different shades of life. Mrs Moore, Adela's prospective mother-in-law is the first English character the reader encounters. She has a slight altercation with Dr. Aziz, the alleged perpetrator of the later crime against Adela, about wearing shoes in mosques. She has already removed hers which surprises Aziz. Mrs Moore's attitude is the one which best describes Forster's sympathy towards India and, by offering her as a mouthpiece so early on, all other impressions are judged into relation to Mrs Moore's and often come up short. A few pages after this encounter with Aziz, Mrs Moore's son, the City Magistrate, shows all the contempt we come to expect from the English when he says, "So he called to you over your shoes. Then it was impudence. It's an old trick. I wish you had had them on." (p27) This simple sentence sets up the tensions that dominate the novel.

Forster excels at description and this is used to great effect in this particular novel. India comes alive on the page, in as vivid detail as I can remember in fiction. Nowhere is this more useful than in the very first chapter:

"The sky settles everything - not only climates and seasons, but when the earth shall be beautiful. By herself she can do little - only feeble outbursts of flowers. But when the sky chooses, glory can rain into the Chandrapore bazaars, or a benediction pass from horizon to horizon. The sky can do this because it is so strong and so enormous. Strength comes from the sun, infused in it daily, size from the prostrate earth. No mountains infringe on the curve. League after league the earth lies flat, heaves a little, is flat again. Only in the south, where a group of fists and fingers are thrust up through the soil, is the endless expanse interrupted. These fists and fingers are the Marabar Hills, containing the extraordinary caves." (p6-7)

I'd recommend this book to anyone, primarily because the theme of tensions between two cultures is still as applicable today as it was a century ago.

This is a good essay on the origin of A Passage to India.

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: Solid Start

2011-11-08T12:09:00.000Z

A week into this annual pain session and I'm doing relatively fine. A glance at my stats page shows that I should have 13,333 words down by the end of today and, without having typed anything yet for today, I'm already at 14,310. That all looks positive. However, yesterday I wrote a measly few hundred words. I knew what needed to happen in the chapter and I'd pretty much planned it out in my head but... Well, I couldn't be bothered trying to get it down. In my defence, I'd spent an afternoon being dragged around/stood on/laughed at by two adorable little girls. Once you've flopped down into a chair after that the desire to write goes out of the window. And I indulged in my laziness. I'm a bad person.

Things could really get dicey here. I have the end of chapter nine to write and the three chapters after that all nicely planned out. That should take me up to about 20,000. I'm a little unsure what happens once I get there. I know my ending - and I know my sub-plot resolutions - but I'm not sure I'm capable of stringing all that out for another 30,000 words at this stage. Still, this is what the challenge of NaNoWriMo is all about, I suppose.

My protagonist began channelling my own worst instincts in chapter eight. Having got into a disagreement with a caustic customer, Lauren began polishing the floor in an attempt to send her flying. This little segue came out of nowhere - it was not part of the plan. But then Lauren had an attack of conscience and put out a sign warning of the slippery floor. Unfortunately, in his haste to rush to the rescue of someone he wants to start an affair with, customer Alan fails to heed the warning and crashes into a washing machine. Although it almost knocks him senseless, he's happy because Dot pays him some attention for once: "I was eager to... Well, you understand. When alady’s in trouble you have to help. It’s part of my DNA I think. Not that it’sserved me to great advantage in the past but I feel my luck’s changing. Don’tyou?"

The sub-plot that needed a kick up the backside was offered a little help by my revenge fantasy. I love writing sometimes.

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: My Character Introductions

2011-11-04T19:53:00.000Z

I'm 8,000 words into my novel and I've got one pesky thing out of the way: I've introduced all my major secondary characters. It's something I always find difficult and once they're in there I feel supremely satisfied. I'll worry about more/less detail when I revisit this manuscript (in about three years schedule permitting!) but here how things started from the perspective of Lauren, my protagonist.

Shelley - "A woman came into view with curly brown hairstretching beyond her shoulders. Lauren couldn’t catch her facial expressionfrom this range but she instinctively knew she was good-tempered when thetension in the man’s shoulders gradually disappeared as she sorted out hisproblem for him. Then the woman calmly disappeared out of view."

Dawn - "A young blonde, probably mid-teens, reluctantlygot out while he was shouting at her...On closer inspection, Lauren could see she was apetite girl, though probably with one hell of an attitude. She was dressed injeans and a halter top, barely covered by the leather jacket she washalf-wearing. Trouble was the wordwhich sprang to mind."

Viv and Dot are originally depicted as something of a double act and Lauren hears about them from Shelley before she meets them. This is what Shelley says: "Viv’s got a mouth on her but take anything shesays with a pinch of salt. Dot comes across as her sidekick but she’s a bitgentler. You’ll see what I mean when they turn up. Viv comes to wash herhusband’s overalls and Dot mainly keeps her company. She lost her job, you see,in the last round of redundancies at the carpet factory. She was in accounts."

Alan - "He entered looking like a train-spotter, a single bag underhis arm that couldn’t have contained any more than four shirts. He nodded toShelley but still seemed a little on edge with her. Methodically, he removedhis anorak and hung it on one of the pegs beside the door. Then he glancedfurtively to Viv and Dot who had paid no attention to his entrance whatsoever. Aflicker of discomfort crossed his face and he commandeered the washing machineclosest to the door."

Ben - "Waiting at the door was a small man in a suitand tie. He carried a holdall in the same way you’d carry a briefcase, utterlyunconscious to the fact that the long strap was trailing on the floor. He was aweedy little man with thinning brown hair and thick eyebrows that dwarfed histhin nose. A small smile tugged his lips with effort as he saw Shelley. It disappearedwhen he caught sight of Lauren hovering behind her."

Trying not to think too much about whether the characters on the page match the characters in my head. Time enough for that later!

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: Things I'm Learning

2011-11-02T17:51:00.000Z

I've had a good start to this attempt at NaNoWriMo. By that, I mean that 3,000 words in I still have enthusiasm. This time last year I was gazing critically at my computer and wondering what it would look like on the concrete below my bedroom window. No such thoughts yet this year so I must be doing something right. I am, however, learning a little about my own habits as I write.

1. I like starting novels by calling a place a dump. This is the second first draft where I've felt compelled to identify a place as less than pretty. My first line is thought by my protagonist, Lauren, as she looks across the road at her new place of employment: "Even the look of this place was lousy." Short but fitting.

2. I'm slightly Dickensian in my naming style. I didn't have a name for the laundrette until I got to the point where I needed to name it. Is it just me or does Crimbleweed's Laundrette sound as though it could have come straight out of Dickensian Britain (with a few electronic advancements, of course)?

3. When I'm nervous my characters ramble. Shelley offers an example in chapter one: "Hedging your bets, I like that. Now, in all honesty,there’s no need for two of us but the boss insists. We’ve got regulars and thenwe get people coming in who managed to break their washing machine by lodging acoat-hanger in it. Keep an eye on them, make sure they don’t do it to ours. We’vegot a contract with a repair firm, a local one, but I’ll deal with that." Then again, verbal diarrhoea is not a bad thing during NaNoWriMo!

4. Yorkshire's my bread and butter. I like it and I write about it. And woe betide any non-Yorkshire person who criticises it!

5. I have a thing for cantankerousness elderly women. Meet Mavis: she brings her clothes to the laundrette in a shopping trolley. "After a lot of grunting the woman managed tocram her load into the machine. She pulled out a bag full of coins and insertedthem one by one into the coin slot. It was like a day at the seaside amusementswithout the annoying bleeping in the background. Instead, each drop waspunctuated by a raspy cough on the part of the customer. Lauren gritted her teethand returned to the back room."

I'm having fun with this. How's NaNoWriMo treating you so far?

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: So Unprepared

2011-10-31T14:32:00.002Z

It was only when I was sat on the train earlier that I realised November begins tomorrow and that, consequently, so does NaNoWriMo. I know I have the idea but I've got very little besides. I like to have some sense of where I'm going before I set off, particularly when faced with the daunting prospect of 50,000 words in thirty days.

Doing some quick flow-charting in my notebook, I've established the plot arcs I see occurring. I've also got the first scene set out in my head, which should be enough to get me through the first day at least. I'll be kicking off this year as I have on my previous two attempts: at midnight on the dot I'll be ready to go. If I can get a thousand words down it'll be a good nudge to continue tomorrow night.

I'm kidding myself if I think I've got thirty days to complete this. A glance at my diary tells me that the three weekend ahead are pre-booked. That's the time I'd really knuckle down to writing because weekdays are predominantly PhD time, particularly as I flounder towards my upgrade in January. If it's a choice between failing that and failing NaNoWriMo... Well, there can't be a contest. However much I want to dither!

So... At midnight this evening Lauren Hobson will walk into a laundrette (I need a name for it...) to start the new job she thinks is humiliating to have to do. She'll meet her new boss, Shelley, and then be thrown into disarray by the arrival of a mouthy teenager who has been abandoned on the doorstep. If I get to that stage I'll be more than happy!

Good luck to everyone else participating this year. Find me on the NaNoWriMo site as CharmedLassie and become a buddy. I think I'm going to need them!

Book Review: Sing You Home by Jodi Picoult

2011-10-27T15:40:00.002+01:00

I was fortunate enough to receive this book as a prize for participating in the LGBT Book Challenge 2011 over at the Book After Book blog and now I'm reviewing it for the same challenge. I'd love to see more people participating in this for the last few months of the year because apart from the opportunity to win books you get the chance to discover some gems you didn't know existed. Anyhow, plea over but I'd just like to reiterate my thanks to Book After Book for the challenge and the wonderful Hodder & Stoughton for supplying the book.

Sing You Home has a very contemporary plot. Zoe Baxter has suffered several miscarriages and disasters in her quest for a child. After her son is born prematurely and dies, the strain begins to tell on her marriage to Max. They separate and Zoe finds herself taking solace in her job as a music therapist. Then she meets Vanessa and falls in love quite quickly. They discuss children and the fact that Zoe still has frozen embryos. The stumbling block is that Zoe requires Max's permission and he's been taken into the heart of an evangelical church. I'll try not to give away any more of the plot though, to be fair, all that you would have learned from the dust jacket.

The novel is narrated by Zoe, Vanessa and Max in clearly defined sections. This was a concise way of showing the effects of proceedings on all three characters and it was, I feel, vital to include Max as a narrating character. Without this insight into his mind he could've become a basic villain using religion as a justification to dislike a lesbian couple. As it is, we know first-hand why Max came to seek solace in the Eternal Glory Church. We know about his alcoholism and his loaded relationship with his brother. All in all, this comes across as a very balanced portrayal with Picoult being remarkably even-handed during Max's chapters.

It was a difficult read for me, mainly because religious arguments against homosexuality make me furious. But, as I said before, it's a very contemporary novel detailing the conflicts in modern societies. Living in a more secular country than the USA, I found some of the evangelism alien and, in that way, it was educational. The most important thing, however, is whether a book is a good read and Sing You Home is. The characters are human - they lie and hold things back as any normal being does - and the plot had enough twists and turns to keep me interested. I liked the numerous flashback scenes for each of the characters because they were consistently related to the current events and proved useful in understanding them. A word of caution though: it can be harsh on your emotions. The tiny scene near the beginning of the novel when Zoe holds her dead son haunted me for days.

I'd thoroughly recommend this book. I can't find a negative thing to say about it.

Another First Draft Finished

2011-10-26T16:39:00.003+01:00

It feels exquisite to say that I've completed another first draft of a novel. That makes three complete novels I'm rewriting and reworking. Getting to the end of an original draft gives me the ultimate shiver down my spine: it's all neatly packaged away to be looked at again in a few months. No characters hanging partway down cliffs as I dither about what to do with them. I know one thing for a fact: the things I have done to my beloved characters Lizzie and Eve in this first draft will be markedly different to the ones I'll put them through in the second draft. It's a positive thing that I already know what changes I want to make next time around. I don't have any illusions that this baby is ready to be handed over to friends and relatives just yet.

So why did I bother finishing it if I knew that was the case while I was writing the second half of the novel? Well, it's a lot easier to rewrite something if you have a whole to work from in the first place. And, besides, not all of what I've written is junk. It tells me a lot about my characters and their relationships with each other. I wouldn't sacrifice this imperfect first draft for a perfect half draft with no ending in sight. You have to finish to start over.

I can pinpoint exactly when this idea sprang into my head. It was during the Wakefield Drama Festival 2011 at the beginning of June. It all came from noticing the woman sat in front of me. The initial setting altered from a working theatre to a converted one currently serving as a crumbling cinema. I started the draft on 6th June and meandered along with it quite happily. The first third was a lot easier to write than the rest. I admit the last few weeks with it have been painful. I've been forcing words from my fingertips with the promise of chocolate and tea at the end of it. Well, at least the bribes worked!

First draft total word count: 55,033.

Feelings towards my protagonists: still adore them.

Feelings towards my plot: needs work but it's not too shabby.

All makes for a reasonably content Lucy!

Blogging NaNoWriMo 2011: The Idea

2011-10-21T13:47:00.002+01:00

Here I am again. Despite the fact I'm still debating whetheror not to participate in the challenge this year, I'm blogging about my plans!That rather says it for me, doesn't it? Last year, I crashed out at a very early stage and, looking back at my reasons, I think I'mmental for trying this again.

After all, I asked, "Why did I think thatsomething which had slipped between forms, setting and characterisation for thepast eight years would settle down so easily?" Do you know what I'mplanning to do this year? Yes, that's right: take another setting for this verysame novel and mush up the definite characters I've got in my head to create avery different story. Before I hear cries of "cheat", I do solemnlyswear that I haven't written a word of this novel before. The alteration ofsetting means the few thousand words I managed last year are completely useless- I can't use them because a service station is a very different place to alaundrette. The interactions my characters will have are going to be completelydifferent and relationships will build differently as a consequence. While the essenceof the idea (the characters I've had in mind for many years) is the same, thestory I'm going to tell isn't. It will still be a tale of love and redemptionbut the way that redemption comes about will be a completely different processto the one I planned last year. I still have to be cautious though. Last year Iwrote, "I think it's a non-idea. Or maybe it's meant to be written,just not by me." That doesn't bode well and speaks volumes about mystubbornness.

Something else struck me as I looked at my failure from2010. I said, "In order for me to still be fighting in Decembersomething had to give in November." That sounds familiar, doesn't it?I've blogged about the imminent failure I'm facing in all areas of my life at the moment: do Ihonestly believe I can throw NaNo into the mix and survive?

I'll leave the answer blowing in the wind until I see whathappens.

Book Review: Westwood by Stella Gibbons

2011-10-18T13:36:00.001+01:00

I first became attracted to this book by seeing the cover on the Guardian website. The new Vintage Classics edition is striking, as book covers should be, and enticed me towards an author I hadn't heard of before.

Gibbons is one of those authors seemingly lost in the mid-20th century. She has over a dozen novels to her name, though many of them have fallen out of print until now. Westwood was a delightfully amusing book that certainly inspired me to become better acquainted with this author.

The novel tells the story of Margaret Steggles, a school teacher, who finds a ration book on Hampstead Heath and returns it to the Niland residence. Alexander Niland is a well-known artist and his father-in-law, Gerald Challis, is a famous dramatist. Margaret itches to become well-acquainted with the Challis family (and Gerald in particular), despite the fact that they treat her as a glorified child-carer. In a twist of fate, her friend Hilda attracts Gerald one night when he walks her home in the blackout. He gives his name as 'Marcus' while he idealises and courts Hilda, who has no interest in anything he has to say and simply sees him as a kind old man.

Gibbons is an expert at character sketches. There are many people who pass through the pages of the novel but they all have a distinct voice. I particularly found it remarkable that the half dozen or so children are recognisable by their differences. This applies to Alexander Niland's three children and the others encountered throughout the pages, including Linda, a girl with learning difficulties. I especially enjoyed being able to guess which child was talking when dialogue tags were sparse in a section towards the end of the book. If your characters are that distinctive then you don't need to highlight who's speaking on every other line.

As may have been gleaned, the novel is set during WWII. The war seems to be an inconvenience to the lives of the Nilands and Challises. Alexander is concerned about his paintings being destroyed and Gerald notes a significant alteration in the reception of his plays. The backdrop of the war isn't thrust forward on many occasions but that's something I appreciated: life went on in many ways and it was pleasant to read a war story that wasn't actually about the war. Gibbons describes England in very vivid terms throughout, notably when Hilda and Gerald meet in the blackout and when Margaret takes a rowdy bunch of children for a walk. However, I still think the opening description is one of the most evocative:

"London was beautiful that summer. In the poor streets the people made an open-air life for themselves under the blue sky as if they were living in a warmer climate. Old men sat on the fallen masonry and smoked their pipes and talked about the War, while the women stood patiently in the shops or round the stalls selling large fresh vegetables, carelessly talking." (p1)

The narrative swiftly moves on to Margaret's emotions on Hampstead Heath. The first few pages are all description but it doesn't drag: it helps frame the story that is to come against the backdrop of fighting abroad and struggling at home. It's a luxurious read which explores the desires of humanity and their worshipping, infidelity and difficult friendships. It's a novel about life - lightly and comically told - which ends rather ambivalently. Don't read this in search of a traditional happy ending; read it to smile and recognise different types of people who are as familiar now as they were in 1946 when Westwood was first published.

Nobody Calls Me Nobody

2011-10-17T12:10:00.000+01:00

I'm a funny one. The only way I can boost my mood to the point of productivity sometimes is to submerge myself in my favourite upbeat (and usually musical) songs. It's almost guaranteed to fire me up. I have a playlist on my iTunes called 'Musical Favs Etc' which currently runs to over 700 songs. If I'm in a mediocre mood I let the playlist run and see what effect it has. If I'm in a terrible mood I'm forced to select the songs which will most improve my mood. These are some of my current favourites:

'Birdhouse In Your Soul' - Kristin Chenoweth & Ellen Greene from the soundtrack to Pushing Daisies.
'We're Gonna Be Alright' - Julienne Marie & Stuart Damon from Do I Hear A Waltz?
'A Parade In Town' - Angela Lansbury from Anyone Can Whistle.
'Thank You Very Much' - James Head from Scrooge.
'It's A Lovely Day Today' - Donald O'Connor from Call Me Madam.
'On How To Be Lovely' - Kay Thompson & Audrey Hepburn from Funny Face.
'The Life I Never Led' - Katie Rowley Jones from Sister Act: The Musical.
'I've Gotta Be Me' - Glee cast version.
'Walkin' My Baby Back Home' - Bing Crosby & Judy Garland.
'A Little Priest' - Angela Lansbury & Len Cariou from Sweeney Todd.
'Old Friends' - Ann Morrison, Jim Walton & Lonny Price from Merrily We Roll Along.
'One Brick At A Time' - Glenn Close from Barnum.
'Down The Lane' - Toni Palmer from Blitz!
'Out There' - Jim Dale from Barnum.
'Just Around The Corner' - Bebe Neuwirth from The Addams Family.
'Another Little Victory' - Sarah Lancashire & Reece Shearsmith from Betty Blue Eyes.

As you can tell from that list, Stephen Sondheim inspires me quite a bit with four songs from his pen. There are many many more songs in my playlist that fire me up. 'A Little Priest' may seem a bit of an odd choice but it's full of energy and venom - sometimes all you need to be inspired. I go through phases with them, relying on various songs to drag me out of different types of doldrums.

My latest love is 'Nobody' from Betty Blue Eyes, a musical I didn't get to see but I fell in love with the soundtrack at first listen. 'Nobody' is sung by Sarah Lancashire's character, Joyce, and pretty much embodies the lift I need to give myself at times. Take a look at this live performance:

She's right - nobody gets the privilege of calling me nobody because they don't know the first thing about me. Any wonder this song is currently my favourite?

Juliet Barker

2011-10-12T08:04:00.000+01:00

Last night I was fortunate enough to attend a talk with Juliet Barker, historian and author of what's really the definitive book on the Bronte family from someone so immersed in the family and era that she's practically a walking encyclopaedia on them. The famous 1994 book was fully updated and revised last year and runs to almost 1000 pages. The talk was part of the Morley Literature Festival and was held at the Gildersome Conservative Club. It was packed out and the ticket came complete with pie and peas - how can you go wrong with that?

Barker certainly knows her subject. My father (I bribed him with the pie and peas to be my driver and companion) described the talk as an assassination of Mrs Gaskell's portrait of the Brontes which has endured since publication in 1857, particularly the representations of Patrick and Branwell Bronte. It's as interesting to note why Mrs Gaskell made her conclusions as discovering which elements of life she distorted. But as well as the critique of Mrs Gaskell, there were also little titbits that demonstrated the life in both the Parsonage and Haworth itself.

There were a few questions from the audience, one quite specifically asking about the school where Patrick and Maria Bronte met. I was impressed by Barker's ability to not only reel off an answer but to respond at length with barely any thought behind it. Such a knowledge can only be gained by thorough involvement in - and love for - your subject and her warmth towards it was more than evident in her voice.

I came away with a signed and dedicated copy of the new edition, although I was too timid to go up and talk to her so I got my father to do it (and he paid!). Alas, the book will have to wait its turn to be read but I can't help relishing the enjoyment that's ahead of me.

Book Review: Uncle Silas by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

2011-10-11T12:24:00.000+01:00

I blogged last week about the impact the first quarter of this book had on me. I have to say, the narrative didn't weaken. I was kept on the edge of my seat for the duration and it encouraged me to be both more scared and suspicious in everyday life! Essentially, the plot revolves around an orphaned young woman who is sent by her father's will to live with her uncle, Silas Ruthyn. This man has lived in strict seclusion since a stain attached itself to his character many years ago. Lady Monica Knollys, another relation, is extremely worried about protagonist Maud being sent to live with an uncle who will gain her money should she die before the age of twenty-one. It seems she has reason to be.

The plot itself is foreshadowed to the extent that knowing what Silas will eventually attempt is part of the delicious fear that pervades each page. But Le Fanu doesn't rely solely on a sensational plot. He also creates some memorable and vivid characters. My post last week talked about Madame de la Rougierre, Maud's governess, but Silas himself is a worthy creation. This is the first view we get of him:

A face like marble, with a fearful monumental look, and, for an old man, singularly vivid strange eyes, the singularity of which rather grew upon me as I looked; for his eyebrows were still black, though his hair descended from his temples in long locks of the purest silver and fine as silk, nearly to his shoulders. (p187)

A few lines later, Maud adds to herself:

I know I can't convey in words an idea of this apparition, drawn as it seemed in black and white, venerable, bloodless, fiery-eyed, with its singular look of power, and an expression so bewildering - was it derision, or anguish, or cruelty, or patience? (p188)

That's quite a question. More than that, it's quite a face. Le Fanu is adept at portraying figures so entirely memorable that they will stay with me for some time. Silas's children, Milly and Dudley, are identified by their 'country bumpkin' ways but are markedly different. Neighbour and worker, Meg Hawkes, is another outstanding character who assists the plot in unexpected ways. Lady Knollys always seems a lot younger than she is - which is Le Fanu's intention - and makes a welcome change from the darkness on occasion. Maud, however, seems to me the weakest character. Her rebellions against the fate her uncle has in mind are fairly weak and she fulfils the stereotype of the innocent young woman as victim. That's a typical sensation fiction plot device and shouldn't necessarily be seen to Le Fanu's detriment. Some of his other female characters - Madame de la Rougierre, Lady Knollys and Meg Hawkes - prove that he doesn't always place woman into this 'helpless' category. Maud had to be relatively helpless to facilitate the plot but she does have an underlying motivation in accepting her move to her uncle's property: she is staying true to her deceased father's wishes for her.

All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It's a spine-tingling read that doesn't entertain pretensions to grandeur. Since Amazon currently have a copy at less than three pounds I'd recommend anyone interested in creepy Victorian fiction to give it a go. And, even if you not, at that price it might be worth a shot!

Another London Trip

2011-10-10T16:08:00.000+01:00

Last week I toddled off down to London again. I'd had everything booked for months but I wasn't expecting to be in such a precarious state when the time arrived. However, when I managed to switch my brain off from PhD worrying, I found it was quite a tonic.

The point (and highlight) of the trip was to see the fabulous Idina Menzel at the Royal Albert Hall. If the pedigree of that Broadway star wasn't enough (Wicked, Rent and Glee) then the identity of her conductor would have sealed the deal - Broadway composer Marvin Hamlisch (A Chorus Line, They're Playing Our Song and innumerable film scores). There was such warmth between Idina and Marvin that it really impacted on the enjoyment of the evening. And, I have to say, the My Fair Lady suite that Marvin conducted during his warm-up was amazing. I can't think of a set of melodies I'd rather hear in the Royal Albert Hall.

Idina was absolutely excellent. Not a dud note as far as I'm concerned. There were so many outstanding songs that I can't list them all but my favourites were probably 'I'm Not That Girl', 'Look To The Rainbow', 'No Day But Today' and 'For Good'. The latter, from Wicked, was sung without a microphone and I can attest that she was perfectly audible from the furthest corners of the building. I'm not sure how many singers have got the vocal power for that these days. As beautiful as her singing was during that number, I was equally entranced by the stillness of the audience. Throughout the rest of the evening everyone was somewhat raucous but during that song everybody was straining to hear each note. I've never known so many people be so well-behaved at any given time. Overall, the evening was fantastic, although I was so tired that I was commenting on the corridor walls moving around as we went for the tube.

Right, what else did I get up to? Well, a little shopping, of course. I couldn't bypass the opportunity to go to the Dress Circle, my favourite London shop bar none. I did set myself a mental limit of £50 but remembered at the last minute that I hadn't got the album I went in there for - the Betty Blue Eyes cast recording. Along with that, I also bought cast albums of Fings Ain't Wot They Used T'be, Matilda and Merrily We Roll Along as well as the DVD of Liza With A "Z" (hugely and thankfully reduced). My favourite find of the day has to be a three disc set of songs by the marvellous Kay Thompson. For anyone who hasn't heard of her, watch Funny Face then do what I did and get absolutely obsessed with an extraordinary woman.

I went a little mad in Paperchase (two notebooks, a card, two bookmarks, a Renoir postcard and some stickers) and also made the mistake of going into Foyles. However, that was for my father's belated birthday present. The fact I walked out of there with Jackie Kay's Red Dust Road and Up and Down Stairs by Jeremy Musson is beside the point. Anyway, I think just the two books in a shop that size shows enormous self-restraint. Well, that and I got lost in there.

I also got to see the Atkinson Grimshaw exhibition at the Guildhall Art Gallery. For anyone unfamiliar with this Victorian artist, I can't recommend a better piece than this by @Amateur_Casual which gave me my introduction to an artist whose work I'd admired on the front cover of my copy of The Woman in White without knowing who he was. I have to thank my good friend Claire profusely for not only allowing me to drag her round there but for also not looking too bored while I did so. I talked myself into buying the catalogue of the exhibition and I can't wait for an opportunity to put my feet up and peruse it. However, knowing my luck, that chance will be some time coming!

So...that was London in October. Back in Wakefield I find the damp returning to my bedroom wall and the dog ecstatic to see me. At least I have good music, good books and good memories to keep me going!

Doggy Terror

2011-10-05T12:35:00.000+01:00

I've mentioned in the past that our terrier, Rosie, is having some stress problems. We put the last bout down to the death of the last cat but her symptoms have returned with a vengeance.

We've got her on some mild tranquillisers because she's been very nervous for the last few weeks. We've been very patient with her, rewarding her for good behaviour and just generally being affectionate towards her. However, yesterday things took a downward turn. My father leaves for work at 7:15. Twenty minutes after he left she started charging at the dining room door in fear. I called down to her which usually works but not this time - the insomniac was forced out of her bed and spent Tuesday in something of a daze.

Last night I spent half an hour downstairs with her after my father went to bed. When I came upstairs she started banging at the door almost immediately. I left it for a few minutes to see if she calmed of her own accord, but she didn't and - worse than that - she woke my father up. Now that is a cardinal sin in this house. I rushed downstairs, he came out of his room swearing and threatening. I politely told him to buzz off and settled downstairs for a little longer despite my fatigue. I've had to do this once before, on an occasion where I had work the next morning and didn't settle down till after three.

I sat and watched a film I'd recorded weeks ago - To Be Or Not To Be, an 1942 comedy/drama starring Carole Lombard and Jack Benny. It was probably a better film than I gave it credit for in the early hours of the morning but at the time I was going through the motions of sitting there and offering comfort to the dog. After almost two hours of sitting with her, I got up and switched the television off. Without a word, I left the dining room with just one slight alteration to the way I'd left it before - I decided to leave the light on for her. Now, I don't know if it made her feel safer or if she spent the entire night expecting me to appear at any moment. Still, she didn't kick off again.

I fell into bed close to two o'clock. However, I was completely on edge. I was listening out for the slightest noise because I knew I'd have to get there before my father if she started charging again. I estimate I fell to sleep between half-past three and four o'clock. Then I woke up when my father got up at half-past six. I couldn't get back to sleep while he was pottering about but hoped I would be able to once he had left for work. No such luck! He'd barely been gone five minutes before she went mental again.

I'm ashamed to admit I screamed at her. I was running on two hours sleep and, while I can cope with delaying rest, I can't usually cope with being woken from it or it being interrupted. I went downstairs in a zombie state, turned the television (Radio 4) and light on for her and left the room again. Must've worked. Not a sound till my alarm went off at half-past ten. Now, I don't know how much sleep I actually got in that time. It was probably only another hour to add to my two and a bit. I still feel like someone hit me with a golf club.

My big worry stems from the fact that tomorrow I'm heading off to London. That means I need a decent night's sleep because the travel is going to be stressful enough for me as it is. So I'm spending Thursday night in London. That leaves my petrified dog with my angry father and that's something I'm not happy about. When I get back from London I'm literally here for an hour before I flit off to Derby for the weekend. That leaves a total of four nights for the dog without me to sit up with her and try to calm her down. Not sure what I'll come back to. I know it's not her fault and, to be fair, so does my father. But his fuse is so damn short, especially when he's tired, that I'm anticipating a difficult couple of days.

As if I hadn't enough to worry about!

Imminent Failure

2011-10-03T13:50:00.000+01:00

Nobody likes to fail. I rarely set out to do something if I feel like I might hit a wall. That may make me a coward but it prevents situations that are intolerable to my own delicate constitution. So the news last week that I'm not ready to upgrade from MPhil to PhD level was not just a slap in the face - it came at me like a body blow. In terms of sensation fiction, I can explain it in this way: I was Walter Hartright happily trundling along an open road. Then Anne Catherick appeared and everything went a little mad.

My major problem in my day-to-day life is the same one I face when I visit a Toby Carvery. The inclination to pile my plate high just because I can is overwhelming. The difference with the meal, I suppose, is that I can stop eating when I want. When I take on lots of projects I'm compelled to continue with them, either through obligation or my own stubbornness. I thought it might be useful to list the tasks I'm undertaking at the moment to see where - if anywhere - I can cut before I collapse and fail at absolutely everything.

PhD - As I mentioned, this is going very badly. The advice was pretty much brutal in all respects: I need to sort out my structure, argument, themes and title amongst other things, and this is only for the upgrade chapter! In order to pass my upgrade I need to have an abstract ready for the rest of the thesis. Although I can flannel this to an extent, I have an innate fear of flannelling - boasting about a book I hadn't read nearly put paid to this PhD before I'd started it. Anyway, on any given day my PhD consists of: primary reading (usually via a computer screen as most of the novels I'm looking at have been out of print for a century), secondary reading (both library books and contemporary sources available online), novel analysis and actual writing. I'll be honest here - the reading overwhelms me. I simply can't go as quickly as I need to. Given the fact that I'm a fairly fast reader, as well, I honestly pity people doing this sort of research who don't have zippy eyes. As part of my PhD I'm also required to take part in the Doctorate Development Programme. So far...well, I haven't. It's teaching me how to do the things I already need to and not helping me with the things I do need help with. As you can probably tell, PhD stuff quickly piles up.
Original Writing - This is the major sap of my free time, I think. I try and keep to my boundaries - I only usually write on evenings and at weekends. However, that still means that my 'after proper work hours' are full to the brim. At last count I had: two novels of around 60,000 words which have been redrafted several times, three novels in progress (one of 44,000, one of just under 10,000 and one of around 4,000), two scripts in progress, twelve short stories I'm revising and trying to place and numerous ideas I'm desperately trying to keep track of. The fact is, I will not give up writing. Not only do I like doing it, I need to do it. I'm serious about being a writer and I don't see how giving up my dream now will help me in the long run. As the song goes, 'You've got to have a dream, if you don't have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?'. Quite! I'm aiming to build on the success of having my short play performed. And I will build on it.
Freelancing for Lesbilicious - The articles I write for the website are my only source of income but that's not really the reason I want to continue with them. I enjoy coming across things related to LGBT experiences that I wasn't aware of and I feel compelled to highlight injustices across the world. It's a fight we all need to recognise, whether we're gay, straight or anything else. As you can tell, it's a subject I feel passionately about. Therefore no giving up.
Work for 2020UK - Now, I'm very proud to be in on the ground floor of this group. We're aiming to promote discussion on how the UK should be governed. It's one hell of a wide topic but I don't tire of it. My obligations consist of a weekly blog (I do the Wednesday one) and articles as and when something crops up that I feel needs highlighting. I also visit the website to engage in discussion. This is another subject I feel passionately about. I don't think you can moan about the state of society if you're not engaged trying to find another path. So, again, no negotiation on this one - it's staying and I'm proud of that fact.
Family Commitments Etc - This incorporates my weekly meals with my grandmother, my visits to the other half every few weeks and my time spent with my three nieces and nephew. I have to say, I would give up everything else on this list before I relinquish my time with the little people. Nor am I willing to deprive my grandmother of the one person who always gives her a hug. So, once more, non-negotiable.
Fan Fiction - On the face of it this is one thing I should drop like a stone. However, I'm a little loathe to do that. I currently have two long pieces in progress. I restarted one a few months ago after a few years of stagnation and the response was overwhelming. I'm not prepared to mess around those readers again. This category also incorporates the Otalia Virtual Season that I'm a part of. As much as I want to be a part of it, I remember the pressure last year. Not sure if I can handle that again on top of everything else.
Blogging - Well, it had to be included! The blog stays. End of.
Piano Practice - I try to give myself half an hour each day to chill out and mess around on the piano I was given from my grandmother a few months ago. I'm steadily getting better and, as it serves as one of my only sources of relaxation, I think that luxury can stay.
Television Viewing - I don't watch much. My father records stuff for me and I watch it when I can. It usually consists of some BBC4 programmes, some crime shows and my guilty pleasures of Coronation Street and Downton Abbey. Since it doesn't sap too much time and is my second source of relaxation, I think it can stay.
Reading - As a writer, I think I have to read. It's in the large-print of the manual. More than that, I read last thing at night to distance myself from the work I've done during the day. Some of the stories may give me frightening dreams but at least I'm not planning the next chapter of my novel or asking myself questions about Edmund Yates or James Payn. Besides, I review books for this blog. It also fills in a lot of time when I'm travelling, both to university and elsewhere. I rarely sit doing nothing, as you can tell.

There it all is. What do you reckon?

Madame de la Rougierre

2011-09-28T13:21:00.001+01:00

I'm only a quarter of the way into Uncle Silas, the 1864 suspenseful and sensational work by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. I originally bought this as side-reading for my thesis but I've had so much primary and secondary reading to crack on with that I haven't had the chance to read it before now. I shunted it over to my TBR pile and picked it up yesterday.

So far I'm astounding by the creepiness. I blogged last year about Wilkie Collins's ability to perturb modern readers and I reviewed his particular success in The Haunted Hotel around the same time. However, Le Fanu's atmospheric and claustrophobic novel is so far surpassing that success. I'm petrified and we haven't even been introduced to the title character yet!

Madame de la Rougierre is the protagonist's governess. The reason she was initially engaged and her past are both mysterious at this point but what isn't mysterious is the impact she is supposed to have on the reader: we're not simply to think of her as unpleasant - she is evil and manipulative. Le Fanu adds more anxiety to the protagonist with almost every scene involving her and the governess. The suspense and mystery doesn't let up for a moment. It's disturbing enough reading this in the electric glow of a modern bedroom; I can't comprehend how unsettling it would've been being read by candlelight when it was first serialised in the Dublin University Magazine. It's interesting from a writer's perspective to watch how Le Fanu builds up the tension. From the first moment we meet Madame de la Rougierre we know the protagonist should be careful:

On a sudden, on the grass before me, stood an odd figure - a very tall woman in grey draperies, nearly white under the moon, courtesying extraordinarily low, and rather fantastically. I stared in something like a horror upon the large and rather hollow features which I did not know, smiling very unpleasantly on me; and the moment it was plain that I saw her, the grey woman began gobbling and cackling shrilly - I could not distinctly hear what through the window - and gesticulating oddly with her hands and arms. (Chapter Four)

That's a taster of the language used to describe Madame de la Rougierre throughout the portion of the novel I've read so far. It's creepy stuff and it only builds as time goes on. The combination of facial descriptions, adjectives used about her and her French accent all work to create a sensation of foreboding. This is Katina Paxinou portraying the character in the 1947 film adaptation which I'm now quite desperate to see:

Doesn't she look alarming?

I think I'd kill to be able to invoke the kind of feeling that Le Fanu does in Uncle Silas. And I'm looking forward to seeing how the character's evil personality impacts the rest of the novel. What I am not anticipating, however, is peaceful slumber, neither while I'm reading the book nor when I'm finished with it.

Book Review: Dani's Story by Diane & Bernie Lierow with Kay West

2011-09-27T13:47:00.000+01:00

Thank you to Penguin Books and @Francesca_PR who supplied this book to me for the purpose of reviewing.

Dani's Story documents the true tale of how a girl, desperately neglected in the first years of her life, came to find a place in a family when the odds were stacked against her. What could have been a run-of-the-mill human tragedy story was distinguished by the sheer despair of Dani's situation and the persistence of the Lierow family in continuing with their quest to adopt her. Also notable about this book is the fact that the Lierows shied away from media attention. When they were eventually approached by a magazine they only agreed because they were persuaded their story could encourage more people to adopt. As they write in the epilogue, "If we had not told Dani's story, then all of her suffering, all of her struggles, and all of the strength she somehow found to survive would have been for nothing. If telling her story helps other children in the foster care system find a home, then her ordeal may be the catalyst for a positive outcome."

Diane and Bernie Lierow had five children between them when they decided to add to their family and adopt. They saw a picture of Dani at an event and were instantly drawn to her case, an interest that wasn't extinguished by finding out that Dani had severe special needs. She had existed primarily on a mattress in a dark room surrounded by rubbish. She couldn't speak, she hadn't been toilet-trained and she evidently hadn't experienced a day of love in her life. Social workers didn't think it was possible that she could ever find a 'normal' home because of her problems. Enter the Lierows.

This book doesn't shy away from the grimness of Dani's early life. It isn't included to sensationalise; it serves to highlight the remarkable achievements in her later interactions with the Lierows. Many of the important moments in her development are documented but perhaps not as many as I expected. The book focuses on Dani but also on the impact she has on her new mother, father and brother Willie. I got the impression that very little was ironed out in the presentation of the family unit - they come across as a remarkable family though they would argue that they are nothing special.

A couple of final things about Dani's Story: it is a heart-warming read but it could also make you quite angry at the two opportunities that were passed up to remove Dani from her birth mother's care. It isn't any consolation to realise that child protection services can get it as badly wrong in America as they can here in the UK. My last point is highly personal to me and doesn't detract from the essence of the story the Lierows are telling: as an English atheist it was sometimes difficult to connect with, firstly, the American slang and, more importantly, the reliance on religion that permeates the book. It's sometimes tricky for me to comprehend the importance that God plays in this family's life and it isn't something I'm completely on board with.

Nevertheless, this book was an enlightening read that demonstrates the worst in human nature then combats it by showing the unconditional love human beings can offer. Find out more about Dani at this website.

Amusing Summaries

2011-09-23T13:10:00.000+01:00

As part of my PhD research I'm reading lots of sensation novels and trying to write a brief summary of events so that I don't get too muddled when trying to recall details of any particular book. Characters and plot melt into one mass of confusion if I'm not careful. It's just a document with a little about the progression of the plot and I include at the end quotations of contemporary reviews. However I just wrote a summary sentence for the past history of a character and snorted.

David Lloyd's Last Will, Hesba Stretton, 1870: "It’s mentioned that Mark lost a fiancé a decadeago when she fell off a cliff and he renounced marriage after that."

Is it just me or did anyone else snort? It makes it all sound so ridiculous. Yep, she fell off a cliff. In fairness to my summary, it sounds as stupid in the actual text. But, as a writer who struggles with writing synopses for her own work, I'm petrified of my plot sounding as contrived and melodramatic as that one. I've located a couple of these humorous summary sentences in my notes on other books.

Robin Gray, Charles Gibbon, 1869: "Twenty years earlier McWhapple had been signedover property from Hugh Sutherland who it was suddenly rumoured had joined aconspiracy to overthrow the government."

A Woman's Vengeance, James Payn, 1872: "Helen returns from the grave, confesses her sinsthen promptly dies."

If I ever write anything like that in a synopsis I want to hang up my writing cap immediately and retire to a life of solitude with cats. I may yet do that anyway, to be fair. One final unrelated note garnered from my novel notes: don't change the sex of a baby half-way through a book.

A Life's Assize, Charlotte Riddell, 1871: "Joy gives birth to a baby girl (text later suggestsit’s a boy)."

Book Review: Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham

2011-09-22T13:57:00.000+01:00

One warning before I kick off this review: Of Human Bondage is an exceptionally long book. The copy I've got (from the Vintage imprint) runs to exactly 700 pages and the type isn't exactly large either. However, I felt a unique sense of satisfaction when I finally closed it and I wouldn't say it was a monotonous chore to read.

The novel is known as Maugham's most autobiographical work. I don't know much about Maugham's life but a cursory glance at some biographical facts suggests much of the childhood portion of the book was based on his own experiences. In the novel the uncle who lives at Whitstable in real life becomes the vicar of Blackstable and the city where he received his education, Canterbury, becomes Tercanbury. I was aware of these similarities as I was reading and it helped create a sense of location. I don't think any knowledge of Maugham's early life is necessary to an enjoyment of this book, although it's interesting to see what things fit in and what is invention.

Of Human Bondage follows Philip Carey from his boyhood loss of his mother up to around the age of thirty. He packs quite a lot into life in this time. After the death of his mother he moves in with his uncle and aunt and goes to school in anticipation of becoming a clergyman. However, Philip was born with a club foot which makes integration at school difficult and, indeed, haunts him for much of his life. He frequently comments that whenever he is involved in a disagreement his disability is the one thing that people use as a low blow against him. It shapes the way he perceives the world and the way the world treats him.

Philip travels to Germany to finish his education and he also spends time in London then in Paris, looking for something he is suited to. He finally settles on his father's profession as a doctor for his career but this is beset with financial problems, primarily impacted by his relationship with a waitress called Mildred. I have to say, his dealings with this woman very nearly had me throwing the book against the wall. It occasionally defied belief that he took so much from her but, I suppose, seen through the eyes of his disability, it makes a little more sense. Still, Philip behaves in a somewhat pathetic manner and his self-sacrifices for the sake of Mildred are painful to read about. Each time she appeared I let out an audible sigh.

I don't think this novel is remarkable for character. Not only does Philip's character infuriate sense at times, other characters seem wooden on occasion. This could be symptomatic of the scope of the novel: so many people pass through the pages that fleshing them all out would be a difficult - and perhaps pointless - task. I found that some characters serve a purpose, or put across a point of view, before vanishing. Some, however, stuck in my memory a little more. Philip's aunt, Mrs Carey, struggles to demonstrate her affection for her nephew in the face of indifference from her husband. One of the most touching scenes of the book for me was the moment she pressed her life savings into his hands to make up for not being a 'proper' aunt to him during his youth. Another female character, the tragic Fanny Price, is notable for the end of her story. Perhaps it was that end which kept her in my mind but it could also have been the desperation to preserve appearances and self-belief which did it.

What Of Human Bondage seems to do best is impart ideas an philosophy. In Germany, for instance, Philip finds the religious doctrines he has followed all his life being challenged as he examines the differences between the Protestant religion he knows and the Catholic religion practised in Europe. When you consider this book was published in 1915, the conclusions are a little startling:

The fact was that he had ceased to believe not for this reason or the other, but because he had not the religious temperament. Faith had been forced upon him from the outside. He put off the faith of his childhood quite simply, like a cloak that he no longer needed. At first life seemed strange and lonely without the belief which, though he never realised it, had been an unfailing support. He felt like a man who has leaned on a stick and finds herself forced suddenly to walk without assistance. It really seemed as though the days were colder and the nights more solitary. But he was upheld by the excitement; it seemed to make life a more thrilling adventure; and in a little while the stick which he had thrown aside, the cloak which had fallen from his shoulders, seemed an intolerable burden of which he had been eased. (p130)

What Maugham does very well throughout the novel is examine the ideas of religion and morality, along with the meaning of life. It's interesting to see Philip's uncle, the vicar, struggling towards the end of his life with a painful thought that he may not be in for eternal peace after all. Along with religion, Maugham uses Philip's time in Paris to discuss art and philosophy. Many of the characters Philip encounters there become merely mouthpieces for ideas Maugham wants to impart.

I enjoyed this book, although I wanted to hit Philip. I think it's worth reading for the ruminations on humanity but don't go to it for character. Go to it for the sheer ease of storytelling or go to it for the intricate scenes Maugham depicts throughout the pages. It may not be an enthralling read but I did come away with knowledge I'm not sure I recognised before.

I Like Bonnets

2011-09-20T14:03:00.001+01:00

I was listening to a little debate on the Radio 2 Jeremy Vine show yesterday. It basically asked whether people were fed up of 'bonnet dramas' and suggested that we need to stop living in the past. Some of the discussion was sensible but some of it was hostile in a way that rather infuriated me. People just wanted to ditch Downton Abbey and things of that ilk, never mind the fact that almost 10 million people tuned in to watch the opening episode of series two on Sunday. Those viewing figures, in today's television climate, are astronomical. If something is that popular why would you get rid of it just because it's a 'bonnet drama'?

Some of the criticisms were pretty spot-on. They ran a spoof of clichés usually encountered in period dramas; they questioned the sentimentalisation of history that prompts more sympathetic characterisation in situations which otherwise would reflect badly on them by modern standards. A Downton Abbey example of this would be Mrs Patmore's failing eyesight which is benevolently rectified by the Earl of Grantham in the first series. There is a danger that we're imposing our values on a society that wouldn't recognise them because we feel uncomfortable with the reality of our past. Nevertheless, I think the inaccuracies are overwhelmed by the sheer quality of the drama.

I wrote a piece last year about why Downton Abbey is a master-class in story-telling. I stick by that wholeheartedly. It doesn't matter what period a television series is set in: what matters is how the story is told and who the characters are. Downton Abbey had excellent scripts, an exceptional production team and a cast perfectly suited to their roles. Critics may sneer at the success but isn't it all a matter of taste?

Some commentators in the discussion yesterday claimed that there is too much of the 'bonnet drama' on television. Well, I'm sorry but that irritates me. There is plenty on television for people who don't enjoy drama: reality television viewers, soap addicts, chat show devotees are all catered for. Drama, if anything, is woeful in this country at the moment.We commission small runs of things, therefore leaving huge gaps in the schedules which is - in my own personal opinion - filled with dross. Saturday nights have become the home of reality television. I'm sorry but what about the rest of us who would only watch it if you tied us up and nailed our eyelids open? I'm forever frustrated by the pandering to reality television that channels do. The BBC is considering taking an axe to sections of their best channel BBC4 but are happy to shell out millions on a new reality import about choirs. What am I missing?

People who complain about the abundance of 'bonnet dramas' are within their rights to complain, of course. However, their criticism that we should focus more on modern society misses the richness of our heritage. I am happy to watch modern drama, I thoroughly enjoy some of it. But I don't appreciate the implication that just because a drama is about something old it's nothing to be interested in. That kind of mentality has thrown us into a fame-solves-all mentality where much of the youth in this country believes that if they get famous then they can live comfortably without having to do much. Watch some period drama; have your interest in a historical time or event piqued and go research it for yourself. We have precious few ways of connecting ourselves with our past but period dramas can become that connection.

But, most of all, I would ask people not to criticise something that is obviously filling a vacuum in British society. We like 'bonnet dramas'. So what? Your nectar may be my poison but I have to suffer. If you don't like it, don't watch. It's simple.

Performance Time

2011-09-16T14:41:00.000+01:00

Last night I attended a showcase of work by writers, directors and actors which celebrated work in this region. I was lucky enough to have a piece included: a ten-minute play called 'Shards' which revolved around a woman's inability to communicate with her dementia-suffering mother following the death of her father. The problem is exacerbated by the woman she deems responsible for her father's death becoming friends with her mother. Honestly, it takes longer to explain the piece than to watch it!

I was pleased with the way mine looked on stage. I don't think there's anything that quite matches the sensation of hearing words you've written come out of other people's mouths. The three actresses involved in my piece were excellent. I saw a rehearsal on Wednesday evening and the first thing I said afterwards was that the actress playing Eliza was scary. The director pointed out that I'd written her that way but words on a page can sometimes be so subdued and the effect has to be seen to be enjoyed. Judging from the audience reaction, I think my play went down quite well and - when I remembered to breathe - I found I enjoyed it too.

The other twelve pieces were very varied. However, my father did point out afterwards that a running motif seemed to be death. That probably says a lot about the preoccupation of writers at the moment, feeding off the gloomy atmosphere and worrisome news stories. The comedies were very good though and provided some much-needed laughter in the midst of all the death and pain.

It was an excellent night all round and I'd like to thank my family for coming to support the hyperventilating writer and the various friends who have kept me calm over the last few weeks - Claire, Sal, Laura and Nicola included! Well done to everyone involved in the performances and I hope I get to work with some of them again in the future.

Some Words On Satisfaction From W. Somerset Maugham

2011-09-12T14:02:00.000+01:00

In the foreword to Of Human Bondage I found some words from Maugham which seem to sum up the writer's predicament:

Though authors are touchy about their productions and inclined to resent unfavourable criticism they are seldom self-satisfied. They are conscious how far the work on which they have spent much time and trouble comes short of their conception, and when they consider it are much more vexed with their failure to express this in its completeness than pleased with the passages here and there that they can regard with complacency. Their aim is perfection and they are wretchedly aware that they have not attained it.

We strive for an excellence we'll never achieve but where do you draw the line? When do you give up on perfecting something and settle for what it actually is on the page? Anybody who's serious about their craft knows that the first draft contains a myriad of errors. You have to resolve these to your satisfaction. But then you may think that your second draft is as incomplete as your first. So you try it again and again. You could spend your life trying to perfect one manuscript but if you manage to get it up to your exacting standards on one draft you'll become disillusioned with it on the next.

You have to let go. I'm terrible at this. I have two manuscripts I've redrafted four times apiece. I'll concede that they are a lot more coherent and structured than they were in the first draft. I'll admit they make me smile, want to cry and also ache in appropriate sections. My characters are much more rounded and realistic than when I first started and, for the most part, I think they sound more individual too. Yet I'm still not happy. I'll never be happy. I want to rework them a million times. If I allow myself that luxury there's no chance they'll see the light of day.

A good way of fighting this is passing your writing onto other people who will give you relatively honest criticism. If you let go long enough to allow one person to take a peek then you might be ready to face the hurdle of submission. I'm almost there. Actually, I am there. Maugham reminded me that absolute perfection is unattainable and you have to compromise with yourself sometimes.

Book Review: Flick by Geraldine Meade

2011-09-09T14:03:00.001+01:00

First off, may I say thank you to Little Island and the Book After Book blog for this book, which I received free as a winner in the LGBT Book Challenge 2011. I'd urge anyone interested in LGBT fiction of any genre to go take a look and participate. Details can be found on the sidebar.

Flick isn't the type of book I would've picked out for myself, primarily because it isn't the kind I would stumble across in my searches. It's aimed at young adults, in the 15+ category, and this is backed up by the extremely difficult themes and, occasionally, language used in the novel. The blurb describes it as a 'searingly honest depiction of teenage life as it is lived today', and I'd say it lives up to that label. The novel deals with Flick (Felicity) who is struggling to be 'normal' when she feels anything but. Along the way she makes some huge errors but is finally forced to confront the underlying issue about her sexuality.

This book was very readable. As suits the audience, it's not very long and it's cut up into bite-sized chapters. This interrupts the flow a couple of times but it suits the tone and style of the book. The narration of Flick feels very realistic and honest. I'd say that perhaps the interactions with some of the adults in the novel are slightly patronising but perhaps realistically so. I love the portrayal of Flick's father, along with that of her brother Kev. Meade portrays a family with differences but one which is built on a base of love. As far as structure goes, it doesn't waste time before pushing you into the action. It also isn't predictable. I found myself more than once surprised at where we were going.

I liked this book, especially the depiction of family life as the flawed and difficult thing it is. Give it to a teenager struggling with being different in any aspect of their lives or read it as a parent to understand a little more about the psyche of a teenage girl.

This book was read as part of the LGBT Book Challenge 2011. Learn about the author here.

Book Review: The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford

2011-09-07T16:34:00.000+01:00

The Good Soldier, published in 1915, is one of the most powerful Modernist texts I have come across. It's fairly short at under two hundred pages but I would urge anybody reading it to digest in as few sittings as possible. It's one of those novels where every word matters and you're expected to analyse every action dictated to you.

The novel tells the tale of an English gentlemen, Edward Ashburnham, and his wife (Leonara) as seen from the perspective of narrator John Dowell. The Ashburnhams seem like the perfect couple, the traditional concept of 'good people', but their marriage is a lot more complex than at first sight. Slowly, as you progress through the novel, you discover that Dowell himself in the most interesting of characters, the unreliable narrator who frequently contradicts himself. The narrative flow means the reader is trapped in Dowell's head, travelling back and forth in time with him as he sees fit. It may make the text difficult to follow at times but it is certainly reminiscent of a person searching their own memories - recollections rarely occur in a linear manner. Dowell explains his predicament at the beginning of Part Four (there are five sections to the novel):

I have, I am aware, told this story in a very rambling way so that it may be difficult for anyone to find their path through what may be a sort of maze. I cannot help it. I have stuck to my idea of being in a country cottage with a silent listener, hearing between the gusts of the wind and amidst the noises of the distant sea, the story as it comes. And, when one discusses an affair - a long, sad affair - one goes back, one goes forward. One remembers points that one has forgotten and one explains them all the more minutely since one recognises that one has forgotten to mention them in their proper places and that one may have given, by omitting them, a false impression. I console myself with thinking that this is a real story and that, after all, real stories are probably told in the best way a person telling a story would tell them. They will them seem most real.

That last line sums up the danger of the novel: things seem real but, with Dowell as your only portal, they may very well not be. It's up to the reader to analyse Dowell's motives as best they can. It might make reading the novel a little challenging, but no one ever said Modernist texts were easy to read. I enjoyed the book. It reminded me of my love for Modernism, prompted by an unit on my undergraduate degree. Although The Good Soldier is considered to be Ford Madox Ford's greatest work, I certainly plan to read more of his books in the future.

My Heart - Doris Day

2011-09-06T15:06:00.000+01:00

There are so few women still around who represent what I consider to be the best of old Hollywood. These women had voices and talent beyond the realms of modern experience. They could act, they could sing and they could dance - compare that to some of the lifeless performers of modern cinema these days and see where it gets you. The likes of Debbie Reynolds, Angela Lansbury and Mitzi Gaynor are fortunately still with us. However, until the last few months, everybody who didn't know otherwise believed Doris Day had left us. Doris has actually spent her years out of the spotlight caring for animals in a small town in California. This new CD of songs includes some beautiful unreleased tracks which she mainly recorded in the 80s. They include some more modern standards: 'Daydream', 'Disney Girls' and 'You Are So Beautiful', along with other songs that she picked because they demonstrate her love for her late son, Terry Melcher, and her passion for animals.

It's an outstanding CD. The whole thing melts together so perfectly that it's very difficult to pick favourite songs from it. Every track is so wonderfully Doris, the smile that's evident in many of her recordings is more than evident here. Her version of 'Daydream' beats most others for me - it's a finger-clicking smile-fest, perfectly suited to her smooth voice. Equally, 'Disney Girls' is gentle and wistful and 'You Are So Beautiful' is - there's no other way to say it - absolutely beautiful itself. The album includes a tracked called 'Happy Endings', sung by Terry but introduced, quite bravely I think, by Doris herself. 'My Buddy' is probably the most painful recording to listen to if you know anything about her close relationship with her son. 'Life Is Just a Bowl of Cherries' is included on the album because it was Terry's favourite song of hers, and it truly is gorgeous.

If I had to pick one song that stands out a little above the rest it would be the song that has been picked as the UK single and was consequently played quite a bit in the build-up to the release - 'Heaven Tonight'. It's an easy-going love song that snared me at first hearing. But, to be perfectly honest, there isn't a dud track in the bunch. I know Doris fans will be delighted with this album and if, Doris has any further inclination to check her archives for unreleased material, I can guarantee there will be several million people interested.

Climbing Back to Progress

2011-09-05T14:32:00.000+01:00

The other week I went indoor climbing for the first time in six months. Prior to that, I hadn't been for about eight months. So I was somewhat out of practice. Add to that the fact that my fear heights usually consumes me each time I manage to get a few feet off the floor and you'll understand why I was apprehensive. However, after conquering my first (very high) wall by nervously singing songs from Sweeney Todd under my breath, I did something I'd never done before - literally threw myself into climbing until everything hurt and I was dangling precariously on a rope while reaching for a hold I could never get. Previously, I wouldn't go for anything remotely out of reach, my fear of slipping and bashing myself was too vivid. But I actually did slip and bruise my knee quite badly. The worst sort of happened and I was still climbing.

This past weekend I opened up a WIP I abandoned a few weeks ago when my PhD schedule became all-consuming. I'd left it at around 28,000 words. I'd finished Part One (of three) and faltered as I couldn't fathom how to progress. Taking a leaf out of climber-me's book, I just started writing. I knew my characters pretty well; I had a vague idea of where I wanted to go - why shouldn't I write? Well, on Saturday I added 3,500 to my word count and at least another 1,000 on Sunday. By forcing myself to begin writing, much as I forced myself to begin climbing, I found that I soon got into the swing of it.

One final note: after climbing I was in agony for two days. My forearms burned to the extent that reading a book was painful. When I awoke one morning I thought I was fine, then I moved and pretty much started crying. I've experienced something similar with the writing: by devoting my weekend to this novel I woke up on Monday utterly drained and lacking a weekend break. My head feels like sawdust and, I suspect, my PhD work thus far is demonstrating that. Still, progress in one area is better than progress in none...

Book Review: Women Who Did ed. Angelique Richardson

2011-09-02T14:12:00.000+01:00

The full title of this collection is Women Who Did: Stories by Men and Women 1890-1914. The individual stories by authors such as Katherine Mansfield, Thomas Hardy and Kate Chopin examine the 'new woman', the turn of the century female who was beginning to demand and expect equality with men. The introduction by Angelique Richardson is well worth a read as it sets up the context nicely. There are also short biographical notes at the end of the book for the twenty-five authors included.

Most - if not all - of the stories in this collection can be described as exquisite. Even the satirical 'She-Notes' by Borgia Smudgiton (Owen Seaman) was charming because of, rather than instead of, its satire. Many of the stories have a didactic tone and the occasional lighter moments offset that quite nicely. Some of the stories I'd encountered in other collections but as a whole they point to one huge shift in the way women viewed themselves and were viewed by others.

I didn't dislike any one particular story but there were some I enjoyed more than others. 'The Yellow Drawing Room' by Mona Caird tells of a woman who has painted a room this disgusting shade of yellow but is nevertheless attractive to the male narrator who wants to marry her and change her. He courts her sister to make her jealous, something which the object of his affections could never forgive him for. A couple of the stories deal with race and the 'taint' of black blood. The most striking of these for me was 'Desiree's Baby' by Kate Chopin. A man rejects his wife on the basis of their baby obviously having a black ancestor, prompting her to walk into a river with her son. Thomas Hardy's 'An Imaginative Woman' was a story I was already familiar with but fitted into the collection perfectly. It tells of a aspiring female poet who develops an attachment to a man she has never met and the grief this causes both her and, later, her family. George Egerton (Mary Chavelita Dunne) supplies several stories, my favourite being 'Virgin Soil' where a young married woman condemns her mother for hiding from her the truth about married life.

My absolute favourites from the collection are two of the shortest. Kate Chopin's 'The Story of an Hour' tells of the reaction of a woman when learning of her husband's death. It was so potent that it stayed with me long after I'd finished the two pages it covered. My second favourite was Katherine Mansfield's 'Leves Amores', primarily because of the lesbian content and Mansfield's intense use of imagery, despite the small space in which to do so. I'd read this before, in relation to Claire Tomalin's biography of Mansfield, but included in this collection it certainly had a new resonance for me.

The most famous piece included in this book is probably Charlotte Perkins Gilman's 'The Yellow Wallpaper'. I have to say, that story never bores me. To be honest, I think that sums up my view of this entire collection - none of the stories bored me and all I would want to read again.

The twenty-five authors included in this book are: Mona Caird, Willa Cather, Kate Chopin, Gertrude Colmore, Mary Samuel Daniel, Ella D'Arcy, Rudolph Dircks, George Egerton, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, George Gissing, Sarah Grand, Thomas Hardy, Pauline Elizabeth Hopkins, Katherine Mansfield, Alice Meynell, George Moore, Clarence Rook, Saki, Olive Schreiner, Evelyn Sharp, Borgia Smudgiton, Edith Wharton, Oscar Wilde, Virginia Woolf and Zitkala-Sa.

A Little Friendly Inspiration

2011-09-01T11:41:00.002+01:00

I was reminded recently how much speaking face to face with other writers can give your lagging enthusiasm a kick up the behind. Oh, I know that the Internet is a fantastic tool and allows you to interact with people you've never met. It can open so many doors. But it can also leave you feeling a little solitary on one side of a computer screen while the writing world trundles on somewhere else.

During my MA I was thrown together with some very vivid personalities. Some I liked and some were creepy. I remember many an evening sitting with people and talking about our work, talking about the rest of the world and our lives, even talking surreptitiously about which tutors we thought were talking out of their...well, you get the picture. While discussing your writing with sympathetic family members is something of a solution, they can become a bit vacant half way through an explanation. They might appreciate what you're trying to do but they may not understand the driving force behind your work.

On Saturday, as Sal and I (she won't mind me mentioning her name) were chatting over coffee, I suddenly felt a rush of enthusiasm for the stories that either I'd abandoned or I was trudging through like an obligation. I wanted to get home and get writing. As it happened, I couldn't do that due to other circumstances, but the feeling lasted. I want to write. That's a sensation I may have been lacking recently.

I wish I saw my writing friends more often. However, in the meantime I'll enjoy it when I get the chance and always keep a notebook handy when I do.

Oh, and Sal (@Bamdaph on Twitter) has recently started a blog about learning how to drive. It's going to be funny so you may want to take a look!

Progress For Progress's Sake

2011-08-25T17:58:00.004+01:00

Why do I suddenly feel like Dolores Umbridge? I suppose I bear a passing resemblance to her at the moment as I turn bright red and begin to implode with my strength of emotion. I'm also beginning to sound as deranged as her so I'd better explain.

At lunchtime I signed onto the British Periodicals website to locate reviews of a particularly bad novel I'd just finished reading. Part of my ritual; part of my PhD. I read the reviews and left. Then I tried to sign on a few hours later to help me with details of novels by some other novelists - Mrs Hungerford and Mrs Alexander to name but two - however, the site seemed to be taking an age to load. And that's saying something. The site has always been slow but this hit exceptional levels. Then, as the page appeared, I realised why. ProQuest had overhauled the site (along with their entire range of sites) and had given it a brand new gloss and feel.

I know, I know. I can almost hear you rolling your eyes. The fact is, though, that this upgrade has done nothing to the accessibility of the site. It is more difficult to search and find the results you were actually looking for. It takes longer to load (and, boy, is that saying something), the display may be shinier but IT DID NOT NEED TO BE SHINY. It was a functional site before and that was why, although it annoyed me frequently, I enjoyed using it overall. I don't go into it for an 'experience'. I go there to find information that is unavailable elsewhere on the web. I go there because I can't spend day after day in Boston Spa.

It actually reduced me to tears as I sat mumbling incoherently to myself about not being able to find the information I wanted. So, well done, ProQuest. You've made the lives of some researchers that little bit more difficult. And next time you do a drastic and ridiculous overhaul - tell us first. That way we can rescue the lists of saved articles we wanted to read and which we can't now log into because the site's being idiotic.

So what has this progress achieved? Well, it's progress, isn't it? Therefore it must be fine. Excuse me while I find a quiet corner to sob in.

Book Review: South Riding by Winifred Holtby

2011-08-24T17:14:00.002+01:00

I decided to buy this book after watching the BBC adaptation staring Anna Maxwell Martin. Although I loved the adaptation, I had hopes that the book would be better. I was right.

In his introduction to my copy, Andrew Davies compares Winifred Holtby to George Eliot in terms of her scope. This was something that couldn't come across in the television series because of time restrictions. However, the sheer number of characters Holtby manages to portray in her novel is impressive. She shows all sides of humanity from the lower rungs of the Holly family up to Robert Carne of Maythorpe and everything in between. The catalyst for the novel South Riding is Sarah Burton, a young and somewhat idealistic yet firm headteacher, taking over the local girls high school. She encounters problems in the school itself and with the wider community, including Robert Carne himself. Carne is completely at odds with Sarah's view of the world, yet she finds herself falling in love with him as he faces financial ruin.

Going to the book with pictures in my head of the characters from the adaptation certainly made reading this an enjoyable experience. However, the book also added plausibility to the characters. Sarah's turmoil in relation to Carne is raw in the novel and something little more than hinted at in the adaptation. Carne himself came across as a very worthy and honest man, if a little inarticulate and stern. Mrs Beddows was by far my favourite character in both book and adaptation. This probably has something to do with her excellent portrayal by Penelope Wilton but it also has a lot to do with the layers of the character. She loves Carne deeply, she's dissatisfied with her family, she wants to do what she can for the community. She is a female face on the county council and by far the most energetic of the council members portrayed. Councillor Huggins, merely a hypocrite and a fool in the adaptation, has more to him than that and the belief in God and himself he extols throughout make his actions believable. There is one beautiful scene in the book which I don't think was covered in the series (please correct me if I'm wrong): Huggins labouring to the top of a cliff to see Carne at Maythorpe. If it was shown on screen then the image in my head conjured by Holtby's excellent description has surpassed it.

All of her characters are well-sketched and events follow a logical pattern. One thing I found tiresome was the rather long epilogue and the sections prior to that which seemed long-winded. I did appreciate the different ending to the adaptation as it was much less melodramatic and suited the characters. However, I feel as though the ending lingered a little too long, as though Holtby had difficulty letting go of the characters - as I myself did, to be fair.

Holtby wrote three other novels before her death at the age of 37. I certainly plan to read more of her work.

When Real Life Is Farcical

2011-08-23T13:56:00.003+01:00

I spent yesterday with my sister, two small nieces and my brother's one year-old. It was a pretty enjoyable, if exhausting, day but one little incident sticks out. It's the one where I made a complete idiot of myself - which tends to happen on a regular basis. This, however, was You've Been Framed hilarious.

Picture it: we're waving off my nephew and sister-in-law when a wasp begins prowling around the little girls. I waft it away, try and get the girls away from it. Then it lands on my nose. I panicked. I mean, who wouldn't panic?! I jumped backwards but hadn't considered my proximity to the large family car behind me. To cut a humiliating story short, I hopped back and went flying onto the floor after bouncing from the bonnet. Did hurt a bit. But the more painful aspect was the enjoyment my delightful sister got out of it! I wouldn't have laughed in a similar situation... Ahem.

Anyway, if I wrote that into a novel or - more likely, as it's a very visual scene - a script, I'd probably get accused of farce, of describing something that would happen to no normal person. I blogged last year about the coincidence of chance encounters and how the audience would probably sigh at the contrivance. This is a similar thing: how do you do little more than document a real life occurrence without sounding like you're reaching into the depths of farce for your inspiration?

The only solution I can think of at the moment is this: make it feel real. Logical solutions spring from logical occurrences. I was fighting with that damn wasp because we were five feet away from a bin. Now I seem like less of a maniac and the plausibility of falling backwards over a car escaping from a wasp is increased.

Am I going to write this into a story? Possibly, but only after the hand I landed on stops hurting.

Recluses

2011-08-19T14:20:00.003+01:00

I was listening to a short interview with Doris Day on BBC Radio 4 yesterday. She's doing a little promotion for her new collection of songs which will be released in September. I'm looking forward to it immensely and I'm loving the renewed attention Doris is getting as a result of this release. Beautiful voice, wonderful actress, altogether adorable woman. Watch her performance in Love Me Or Leave Me if you think she's only a singing star. Anyway, that isn't the point of this post.

In the interview, Doris said something that I think relates to me. She was asked whether her reputation for being a recluse was all it seemed. This was her response: "The town is so crowded now, you know, we have so many people. And I don't really like to get in crowds, that's just not for me." That sums up my feelings almost entirely.

I don't hate socialisation; I just dislike the pressures of it. I like people; I just have a hard time communicating with them face to face. I think a lot of writers have this in them. It happens that I'm a more articulate writer than speaker and my strength lies in my ability to put words on a page - possibly with the intention of then having them spoken by someone else. Other people may get fed up with my reticence to meet (and I get fed up with my own reticence) but I battle down my insecurities and do it more than I'm comfortable with. While I accept that life is not supposed to be easy, I don't accept that I constantly have to put myself in situations which increase my stress levels in order to 'prove' I'm normal. Sometimes, you know, you're allowed to be selfish to the point that if you want to stay in and hide behind a computer screen, you're perfectly within your rights to.

Of course, I do get out of the house. I have a select few friends who command my attention every now and then (and I love them for it). I have a boyfriend who insists on 'taking me out of my comfort zone'. I have a family who drag me to smelly monkey houses in order to give the kids a day out. I like all that. Perhaps what I don't like are the stressful meetings with my PhD supervisors, or the interactions in the doctor's surgery, or the prospect of going to see my little play performed in a few weeks.

How I'll cope with that one is yet to be seen. But at least Doris has made me feel a little better about myself this week. I'm allowed to want to stay away from crowds of people. I'm allowed to put it into practice. However, due to my own exacting standards, I'm not allowed to hide from people indefinitely.

Some Rather Exciting News

2011-08-16T22:19:00.004+01:00

Well, I found this out a week ago but only told a select few people because I was convinced I'd get an email saying they'd re-read the submission and actually they hadn't meant to send anything but a curt 'thanks but no thanks' to little me. You know what? That didn't happen. Therefore I feel secure enough to be able to squeak this to you all: I'm having a short (ten minute) play performed on the 15th September.

I'm very excited. I first found about the NSC Theatre Awards 2011 four days before the deadline. Luckily, I had a short play all prepared but it was touch and go as to whether I could get an entry form emailed over and get the thing posted before the deadline. Fortunately, all worked out! Nothing for a few weeks. Then an email popped into my inbox last weekend and I prepared myself for another rejection to top off an altogether-unpleasant week. Amazingly, though, it wasn't a rejection.

As a finalist I get to have my play performed in front of a panel of judges and any members of the public who want to come along and see what I'd imagine is going to be a diverse selection of pieces. The awards are being held at the Northern Ballet in Leeds on 15th September (as I think I mentioned before!) and you can find out more about them on the NSC site.

Meanwhile, this about suits my mood. Substitute the pillow Audrey hugs at the end for an Eeyore and I swear it's me!

Book Review: Girl Reading by Katie Ward

2011-08-16T17:13:00.002+01:00

One of the first things you'd notice if you picked this book up in a shop and flicked through it is that it has a distinct lack of speech marks. It could be a bit perturbing but I'd advise you to roll with it for a little while. The disappearance of those markers allows a fluidity of prose without diluting the effect of the words themselves. Actually, I thought the book as a whole was outstanding.

Ward takes seven portraits of women reading as her starting point. In seven chapters she goes inside each of them, delving into the life of the sitter and imagining the story around the portrait. For me, the best part of reading this book was the delightful surprise of, having declared the previous chapter my favourite, discovering it was matched in quality by the next one. The years of the portraits are wide-ranging: 1333, 1668, 1775, 1864, 1916, 2008 and 2060. The differing periods inevitably requires a different tone, a different style. Ward manages this without trouble. At no point was I jolted out of the period I was supposed to be in.

Looking back after I've let the book simmer in my memory for a while, I can probably discern a couple of chapters I liked a tiny bit more than the others. 1668 takes "Woman Reading" by Pieter Janssens Elinga as its starting point. It revolves around a deaf girl, Esther, following her to her position as a maid and the voyeuristic way the idea for the painting is obtained. Part of the reason I found this chapter so attractive were the descriptions of Amsterdam close to the beginning. Very evocative, even though they only take up a short space. Other than that, Esther is wonderfully developed and she is one of the characters who sticks in my mind most.

Another is the bereaved Maria in 1775, stemming from "Portrait of a Lady" by Angelica Kauffman. She has lost her lover, Frances, and Kauffman is finishing the portrait she started while Frances was alive. I think the beauty of this chapter in particular is the interaction between the characters, all drawn impeccably. Even Frances makes her appearance in one form. The conversations between Maria and the artist are exquisite.

I could easily talk about each of the chapters and what I loved about them. It probably comes as no surprise that I'm wholeheartedly recommending this book but just to reiterate - in my opinion, it's excellent. One of my favourite books of the year thus far.

Visit Katie Ward's website for more information about her and Girl Reading.

Venturing Into Victorian Tone

2011-08-15T12:24:00.006+01:00

There's a huge difference between reading Victorian fiction religiously (or methodically, as my PhD has dictacted I do) and attempting to write fiction set in the period. For numerous reasons, I have avoided it. Historical fiction scares me. I'm something of a perfectionist. I would want to get as little as possible inaccurate and my usual sore point about "getting it wrong" would probably be turned into a gaping wound. That explains why I haven't attempted it in the past. So what explains my sudden enthusiasm for a project I started months ago, worked at for a day, then discarded to rest with the dozens of "bad" ideas your average writer has?

I've read many enjoyable pieces of authentic Victorian fiction in recent years. I'm referring to Wilkie Collins, Elizabeth Gaskell, Emily Bronte and Edmund Yates. I've also come across less well-written but equally enjoyable novels by other authors such as Mary Elizabeth Braddon, Ellen Wood and Charlotte Riddell. However, I'm now venturing into the depths of Victorian sensation literature. I'm learning precisely why posterity has not treated James Payn or Charles Gibbon with much kindness. I know what it's like to read a "bad" novel so, it stands to reason, I should know what areas need to be avoided.

Well, perhaps. What was "good" about the novel in the Victorian period cannot wholly be replicated in contemporary fiction. I think our readers are impatient: they want the illusion of Victorianism without the boring bits. I think the extended boat trip in Payn's A Woman's Vengeance would have to be cut out of any novel written today. It is clever in places, yes, but it's dreary and fails to further the plot as much as it could. In a rapidly-moving world we want our fiction to move as well: whatever era it's set in.

When I think of historical fiction set in the Victorian era, the first name that springs to mind is Sarah Waters. Perhaps because she was the first I read - and is still my favourite after all this time. What comes across in her work is a sense of knowledge: she isn't blagging, she's done the research and it shows. For potential writers this seems to be the biggest problem. You don't have to get everything right but you need to be right a lot more than you're wrong. Some readers might not care about historical inaccuracy but some will. Here's the more important point: if I was the author of such a work then I'd care.

Developing a voice that's Victorian enough to pass the test but still appealing to a modern reader is possibly the scariest part. I reread the 1500 words I'd written during my enthusiastic spurt and realised that, actually, they weren't that bad. I could definitely picture them in one of the musty books I'm currently perusing for my PhD. Individual words will need to be checked for authenticity later on, but my extensive Victorian reading has already given me a headstart in that department.

There is so much research to be done but, if I am to continue with these scribblings, I know it's important not to get too bogged down with it all before I start. If I did that I'd hate the thing before I even started writing. As long as my over-arching plot is plausibly Victorian (which I hope it is) then I know that everything else can be fixed in the redrafting stage. That gives me hope.

Book Review: Wilde's Last Stand by Philip Hoare

2011-08-10T11:51:00.003+01:00

I was lucky enough to win this book as part of the LGBT Book Challenge 2011, courtesy of Duckworth Publishers and Book After Book. Since I probably wouldn't have found this book on my own I'm extremely grateful to them for an enjoyable and informative read.

Wilde's Last Stand documents a trial in 1918 which, although taking place eighteen years after his death, was intrinsically linked with the decadence and so-called deviance inspired by Oscar Wilde in the late 19th century. In short, the situation was this: a newspaper claimed that the German Secret Service had a list of 47,000 names of the British Establishment who were sexual deviants and were compromising the war effort because they were being blackmailed. The paper was then sued for libel. Hoare covers the events leading up to the trial and gives biographies of the main players where necessary. The result is a story that resonates with a modern reader, not least because we can be proud of the progress made in the last ninety years.

A key thing to remember when reading this book is the clash between decadence and the ordinary citizen; how much of a chasm there was between the two sides. Although Edwardian society doesn't feel altogether far away, the differences between now and then are truly huge. Hoare doesn't shy away from depicting the underground aspects of London and there are numerous titbits in this book that serve as eye-openers about parts of Edwardian Britain that perhaps were unknown to the reader.

The tone of the book is just right I feel. While it is obviously easy for the modern reader (and author) to look back at the events with a disbelieving and somewhat condescending attitude, Hoare does a good job of illuminating the characters of the people on the 'wrong' side of the argument. I would advise anybody to read the short introduction though. While some introductions fail to help you read the book, this one certainly assists.

If I had a few criticisms I can easily explain why the 'problems' occurred. It felt as though it took quite a long time to get to the trial portion of the book. However, the build-up was necessary and served to explain the themes and reasons behind the libel trial. Also, sometimes the potted biographies of major players seemed to be slotted into the middle of the narrative, jarring on the reader a little. However, they were introduced when they were needed and certainly a list of biographies at the beginning would've made for boring reading. So, with all that said, I think the choices Hoare made for the layout and organisation of his book were justifiable.

Hoare's fluid narrative style go a long way to making this book readable; his subject matter does the rest. It's spurred me on to investigate and read more around this period of which I know very little and to read more of Hoare's work. All in all, I'm exceptionally grateful for having the opportunity to read this book.

I read this as part of the LGBT Book Challenge 2011 (see sidebar for details).

An Eccentric Burial Request

2011-08-08T16:40:00.003+01:00

I'm on a nineteenth-century journal splurge at the moment as part of my PhD. I came across this and thought it warranted a little post. The article is entitled "Burial Vagaries" and covers a multitude of odd burial requests. This was both my favourite and the most absurd. I can't guarantee the truth of it but I've found several references to it dating back to the 1820s.

"The Rev. Langton Freeman, rector of Bilton, Northamptonshire, was eccentric in so many ways, that none who knew the man were surprised at his leaving peculiar directions for his burial. He ordained that his corpse should be left undisturbed until it grew offensive; when that came about, it was to be carried, bed and all, decently and privately, to the summer-house in his garden at Whilton; laid therein upon the bed, wrapped in a strong double winding-sheet, and in all respects, the description given in the Holy Scriptures of our Saviour's burial to be followed as nearly as might be. The doors and windows of the summer-house were then to be secured, and the building planted round with evergreens, and fenced with dark-blue palings of oak or iron. These instructions were carried out to the letter; and there the reverent eccentric lies still, although fence and trees have disappeared, and the summer-house itself is in ruins. A few years back, an entrance was effected through a hole in the roof, and the curious intruders beheld a dried-up figure, a veritable mummy without any wrappers, lying with one arm across the chest, and the other hanging down the body."

"Burial Vagaries", Chambers Journal, 26th October 1872

"So confident was he of animation returning, after an apparent death, that he directed himself to be laid in a bed [in the summer-house], as though merely reposing in ordinary sleep. His wearing apparel he requested might be hung up in the room, and his hat and even walking-stick placed ready for use. He anticipated rising so refreshed from his slumber, that he should be able, on the instant, to quit the place, and walk out, as it had been his custom to do."

"Tales, Romances, &c", Kaleidoscope, 23rd June 1829

I fear the reverend's hopes of resurrection never came to pass...

Hospital Visiting

2011-08-05T12:16:00.003+01:00

Back in January I wrote a post about going to the shiny new Pinderfields Hospital in Wakefield to pick up my grandmother's prescription. It was interesting to observe people in that atmosphere. My grandmother's currently hospitalised and the opportunities for people-study have been numerous in the last week. While it's easy to see humanity sometimes as an inconsiderate mass intent on getting in your way, something like sitting in a four-bed hospital room reminds you of the personal stories behind the mass.

I'm fortunate that my grandmother's a bit of a gossip. However, she's also rather deaf, meaning that her attempts to repeat things in a whisper usually end up being louder than she anticipated. Nevertheless, she has imparted some interesting things. The woman in the bed across seems friendly enough to me; always has a load of visitors around her, more than she's probably supposed to have. However, earlier this week she was apparently in tears during afternoon visiting because nobody turned up to see her. My grandmother comforted her and relayed all this to me in a loud whisper when I went to see her. I don't know if a phone call had been made from the patient but, by the time evening visiting rolled around, she was surrounded with half the extended family. Maybe the woman was insecure and lonely on her own, maybe she was afraid of abandonment. Maybe she's a cow that the rest of the family want shut away in the hospital for a while. Who knows? I want to - but I won't get to.

There are a couple of other notable stories I've picked up on. The woman in the bed diagonal to my grandmother has a neurotic son who concedes to her every selfish whim. The woman in the final bed is a chatterbox who tries to monopolise everyone else's visitors because she doesn't seem to get any of her own. Last night a man tried to go to the toilet behind the nurse's station. On Wednesday night I witnessed a nurse leading another elderly man back into the lobby and making him empty his pockets. It looked like he was making a break for it.

Hopefully, my grandmother won't be in for much longer. However, I have to admit, I'll miss the intriguing aspects of visiting her. There are hundreds of stories waiting for discovery around that hospital.

A Little About Edmund Yates

2011-08-04T12:39:00.005+01:00

I've been mentioning him in passing for months now. Yates is one of the authors I'm looking at for my thesis, although you can be forgiven for not knowing his fiction. Posterity - if it has remembered him at all - has placed him (justifiably) in the category of journalist. He is better known as a friend of Dickens and enemy of Thackeray than as a writer. Yet he wrote around nineteen novels between 1864 and 1875, serialising them in prominent journals of the day, such as Temple Bar, All the Year Round and Tinsley's Magazine. His first novel, Broken to Harness (1864), was described by Mary Elizabeth Braddon as a domestic novel but from Black Sheep (1867) onwards he was firmly a sensation writer.

His literary connections with people like Dickens were formed partly because of his parents. He was the son of Frederick and Elizabeth Yates, successful and very popular actors. They were on tour in Scotland when he was born. However, his parents were eager that he should not follow them into the theatre life and tried to prevent him getting too involved in that life. Consequently, he started work at the Post Office before his sixteenth birthday. This work would bring him into contact with Trollope, who became a bitter enemy later in life. Yates was also admitted to the Garrick Club aged only seventeen as a mark of respect for his parents. This ended badly when he offended (probably deliberately) Thackeray in a journal and was excluded from the prestigious club. It was likely that the publication of this unflattering article was deliberately timed to coincide with Dickens's announcement of his divorce - as a great friend of Dickens, Yates was probably trying to dilute the public gossip on that day. Thackeray, like Trollope, became a lifelong enemy, all the more upsetting for Yates because he had particularly admired Thackeray in his youth. Yates may have cultivated friendships with many literary powerhouses of the period but he was also prone to arguments with them. This led to a rumour after his death, perpetuated by Trollope and William Tinsley, that Yates was not responsible for writing some of his best novels. Yates's bibliographer, P.D. Edwards, has investigated this to the best of his ability, concluding that, while nothing can be confirmed, it is unlikely that the allegations are true.

The list of journals Yates contributed to - and, in some cases, edited - is almost never-ending. To name a few: Court Journal, Leader, Daily News, Illustrated Times, Morning Star, Comic Times (editor), Temple Bar (editor) and Tinsley's Magazine. He was a prolific journalist but it's also interesting to note that he continued working at the Post Office for twenty-five years. Where he found the time to write his articles and novels is difficult to comprehend. His first completed novel, Broken to Harness, was written out of desperation to fill a hole within Temple Bar after another contributor let him down. It would be followed by popular novels such as Black Sheep, Land at Last (1866) and Wrecked in Port (1869). As was usual with the period, anything remotely sensational was panned by the critics and gobbled up by the public.

To date I've read six of Yates's novel: Broken to Harness, Black Sheep, The Rock Ahead (1868), A Righted Wrong (1870), The Impending Sword (1874) and The Silent Witness (1875). His plots are sometimes flimsy and rely on coincidence and suspension of disbelief. But, then again, so did Wilkie Collins's sensation novels and they have been defined as classics. Yates utilises his journalistic tendency of observation in character sketches and humorous asides and, generally, I find him to be an enjoyable read. What has struck me most in his works is the treatment of so-called 'villains' in a way that inverts the expected conventions. Although allowing the reader to 'live dangerously' by enjoying the exploits of villains was a staple of sensation fiction, Yates took it further by making these villains sympathetic. One character who has stayed with me is that of Harriet Routh from Black Sheep. Her devotion to her husband is the heart of the plot and Yates effectively portrays her as a 'good' woman because of this devotion.

I'd recommend Yates's novels to anyone interested in sensation fiction. Unlike some writers I've come across, I was rarely bored reading his novels. Some are rushed, of course, and some were written in response to publisher demands. But, on the whole, he was very enjoyable to read and his journalistic endeavours are as interesting as his novels. There are plenty of little anecdotes out there about him for anyone willing to look. I'll leave you with a quote from a review of A Righted Wrong, written in the Saturday Review in 1870. Criticisms like this usually mean the novel lacks taste and literary merit but is a decent read nonetheless:

"We cannot honestly congratulate Mr. Yates on the appropriateness of his title, for novels like this are wrongs which there is no righting. The reader slips down in blank boredom between a couple of stools. There is nothing to interest, and there is just as little to amuse... It is simply colourless, and totally devoid of all marked characteristics. It reminds us of nothing so much as an excursion train of badly-coupled carriages, jolting among, without any apparent object, by badly-made loop-lines. The train has a destination certainly, known, we may presume, to the persons who despatch it; and you turn up somehow at the journey's end. But in the meantime the slowness of the pace, the frequent stoppages, and the general uncertainty make the travel martyrdom. Readers of course get tired of it, and get out as they please; but the conscientious critic must yawn and resign himself."

Well... I liked it!

My Favourite Judy Garland Story

2011-07-31T12:40:00.005+01:00

This extract is taken from the wonderful biography of Judy, Get Happy by Gerald Clarke. I reviewed it last month and I'd wholeheartedly recommend it to any fan. This extract takes place during one of her hospital stays prior to her final fracture with MGM. Judy has been going regularly to visit children at their hospital next door and has been most drawn to a frightened girl who hasn't spoken for two days because her family has been so cruel to her. Judy spends a lot of time with her, talking about her life to the girl and not minding that she didn't answer back.

By the end of August Judy had recovered her weight and energy, and it was time to say good-bye. On her last day in Boston, she paid her final visit to the children's hospital, where each of the patients, scrubbed and smiling, held a tiny bouquet of flowers in her honour. "Well, my friend, I'm going now," she said to the girl who refused to speak, "and I want to thank you for all you've done for me. I'm going to miss you." As Judy leaned over to kiss her, the girl reached out and clasped her as tightly as she could, and all the words she had not uttered for so many months poured out in a seemingly endless torrent. "Judy!" she screamed. "I love you! I love you! Don't leave! Don't leave!"

Watching that poignant drama, the rest of the ward was all but awash in tears: the nurses cried, the other children cried, Alsop cried and so, of course, did Judy. When Alsop warned her that they would miss their train, Judy waved him away. "Well, we'll just have to miss it," she said. "I'm not going to leave this child right now while she's talking." And there she remained for the next two hours, listening to her little friend's excited babble and bringing the nurses over, one by one, so that the girl would continue to speak even after Judy herself had returned to California. There had been other gratifying moments in her life, Judy later said, but nothing approached that one. "I didn't give a goddamn how many pictures I'd been fired from. I had done a human being some good. She had helped to make me well, and I had helped her."

Book Review: The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter

2011-07-29T14:35:00.003+01:00

I bought this collection of short stories for one of my undergraduate modules. I promptly read the requisite story (the title piece) and left the rest to be completed at a later date. I'm rather glad I did. After my first real experience of Angela Carter in the form of Nights at the Circus I learned to appreciate her in a way I don't think I would've been able to five years ago. One of the best things about Carter are the layers she injects into her stories. Read them on the literal level, read them on the figurative, then drift into the abyss between and see what you find there. The Bloody Chamber was an enchanting, if quite disturbing, read.

Carter takes traditional fairy tales and legends as her base for this series of compelling short stories. The results are usually darker than the originals but they retain the essence of them. Carter's tales seem to compliment the fairy tales rather than detract from them. She merely demonstrates another strand, another interpretation.

There are ten stories in this collection, the longest being the title piece. I have to say, that is one of my favourites, probably because of the gruesome imagery that runs rampant throughout it. It takes Bluebeard as it's underlying tale but is very much an excellent tale in its own right. My other favourites were "The Courtship of Mr Lyon", mainly due to the Beauty and the Beast base, and "The Lady of the House of Love". The latter was bewitching, particularly the language of decay that permeates the narrative.

I'd highly recommend this collection but I would add a caveat - don't read it just before you go to sleep!

Book Review: A Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe

2011-07-27T14:20:00.003+01:00

This book featured in my recent list of books I couldn't read for whatever reason. I was nudged towards reading it by The Amateur Casual, someone whose opinion I trust. While I'm glad I've read Journal, I can't pretend it didn't feel like a chore at times.

A Journal of the Plague Year is essentially what it claims to be - with one important caveat. The year it documents is 1665 but the book was first published in 1722. Also, since Defoe was a small child at the time, it must be taken that - however accurate his sources - it is a work of speculation in parts. That said, though, the initials at the end of the text suggest that many of the tales within the pages came from Henry Foe, Daniel Defoe's uncle. This adds legitimacy to the book, as does the fact that Anthony Burgess in the introduction included in my Penguin Classics edition states that Defoe immersed himself in contemporary sources to produce a work of significant journalistic merit.

There is no doubt that Journal is a landmark in British journalism. Defoe's devotion to his subject means that, as well as presenting overviews of situation, he hones in on the personal stories which the plague left in its wake. How truthful these personal tales were it is, of course, impossible to ascertain but the use of them accentuates the truthfulness of Defoe's over-arching narrative. If he makes a statement he tries to back it up with a personal story. This is the crux of modern journalism really.

The language in the book is very difficult to get used to. As a student of later fiction, my main forays in eighteenth-century literature has been through novels such as Defoe's Moll Flanders and Fielding's Tom Jones. Somehow the grammatical differences of those texts were overshadowed by the on-going excellent story. It was a lot easier to ignore the capitalisation of words and punctuation differences in those novels because I was eager to find out what happened next. In the case of Journal, because of its fragmented nature (slipping from one digression to another), I found myself constantly noticing the layout and order of the text. It became distracting and was part of why I was happy to reach the end of the book.

Journal does offer us lessons for our own time. The idea that differing religions were put aside in order for people to survive is quite a poignant one. It's difficult to stifle the irritation when, inevitably, the religious divisions are some of the first to return when the crisis begins to abate. Also, in reading the book, I became aware how desensitised they were - and we are - towards mass death. Just as the figures of the reported dead were gigantic, we deal with terrible figures of those touched by earthquakes, tsunamis and famine today. Our reaction seems to be similar to that of eighteenth-century dwellers: the enormity of the figures are too much to comprehend so they focus on the local and the personal; their neighbours and their families.

Did I enjoy Journal? I don't think 'enjoy' is the word. It was certainly an educational experience. It informed me about a period of history I was sketchy about and did so by introducing me to a few personal tales which may or may not have been based on fact. However, Defoe's repetition of facts seemed to demonstrate a distrust in his audience to retain information for more than a few pages at a time. While it added to the overall feel of the Journal, it became irritating to be told things four or five times. I also feel his frequent digressions were unnecessary and fragmented an already-difficult text. At one point he returned to talking about two brothers, having left them many many pages earlier. I'd actually forgotten we were going to return to them because he went off on such a tangent.

I'm glad I've read Journal but I don't think it's something I'll rush to re-read. I would recommend it as a semi-historical source but perhaps not as fun reading material.

Some Television Renewals

2011-07-26T14:29:00.003+01:00

I was a little anxious about whether ITV would recommission some of the excellent dramas they've shown this year. The channel don't have a great track record for sticking with things (aside from soap and reality television, of course) and I don't think the viewing figures were as high as executives hoped. However, I was proven pleasantly wrong today as Case Sensitive, Scott & Bailey and Vera were all renewed.

Case Sensitive will be another two-parter centring around DS Charlie Zailer and DC Simon Waterhouse. According to Sophie Hannah's Twitter feed, it will take her novel The Other Half Lives as its story. That was the first of Hannah's books I read so I'm eager to see how it will translate onto screen. Olivia Williams and Darren Boyd were fantastic in the lead roles last time around and I suspect they'll be as riveting this time. Read my review of the first Case Sensitive here.

Scott & Bailey was the series I was most concerned about. Despite having a stellar cast, it struggled to maintain a decent balance between crime and the personal stories in each episode. I commented at the time that it was most likely because the run was so short at only six episodes. Well, ITV have upped that this time to eight episodes which is a show of faith - but perhaps not enough. Now both actors and writers have got a proper feel for the characters I think this should work very well. Interestingly, this is the only programme out of the three which wasn't adapted from a book. Read my review of series one of Scott & Bailey here.

I never got round to reviewing Vera because I watched it so long after it was broadcast. However, I really enjoyed it. Brenda Blethyn was excellent as the tough-skinned, abrasive detective and the supporting cast came into their own as the episodes progressed. It was beautifully shot as well, utilising the North East landscape to make it as much of a character as Vera herself. Filming has already started on the four two-hour episodes and I look forward to seeing and - hopefully - reviewing them.

Any thoughts on the recommissions?

July - How Things Stand

2011-07-22T18:40:00.005+01:00

We've reached that time of year when I re-evaluate everything. It's probably something to do with my birthday next week; growing a bit older panics me as much as it does many people. But looking at my current situation makes me feel a little queasy. So much to do, no time to do it. So what am I up to?

Well, I'm battling towards my MPhil upgrade to PhD level. I'm confident my opening chapter on the novelist Edmund Yates (I'll tell you all about him soon, I promise) is decent enough but it's the abstract for the rest of the thesis that I'm struggling with. After all, I've been burned in the past by making assumptions about novelists I've barely read. I don't want to make a fool of myself so I'm trying to do as much reading as possible. The four authors I'm hoping to look at - James Payn, Charlotte Riddell, Charles Gibbon and Annie Thomas - have over forty books available on Archive.org alone. Most of these are three-volume whoppers; it's understandable why working through them is taking time. I've only managed two so far but I'm trying to keep up the pace. Failing at this stage is one of my worst fears.

What about the writing? I'm highly disappointed with myself to be honest. I've got two completed and redrafted manuscripts which I'm sitting on because...well, who knows why? Because I don't think they're good enough? They've each been submitted to competitions but I'm a little reticent about submitting them directly to agents. Maybe that's just fear striking again but something needs to happen. Aside from those I've got the beginnings of three other novels sat on my hard-drive and various short stories I'm trying to finish. Looking at my diary I find that I've got one short story and one short play out on submission - and I've had no success this year. Well, apart from the BBC long-listing but February feels so long ago now. I haven't written properly in weeks and I know the longer I leave it the worse I'll feel. But how do you combat your own sense of inadequacy when you're trying to keep your head above water in so many other areas?

My 'fun' reading is also suffering at the moment. I'm drowning so much in PhD reading that I'm not allowing myself the time I should to relax and read something I want to. I've got eighteen books on my TBR pile including some I'm desperate to read - Girl Reading by Katie Ward, The Somnambullist by Essie Fox, South Riding by Winifred Holtby to name but three. I need the release of being able to read for enjoyment in order to make the other stuff worthwhile.

There are some things I'm determined to keep up with. I'm Welfare Moderator for a new group 2020UK, writing articles about the state of our welfare system and debating ways for the country to progress. I'd definitely recommend you check out the site if you've got a minute. Along with that, I'm writing articles for Lesbilicious. As is this is my only source of income I certainly can't give that up. I'm dabbling in some old fan fiction, mainly to keep my writing muscles flexed while I ponder what the future holds for my original stuff.

What else is happening? The dog's going round the twist. She's hiding biscuits around the dining room (at least she thinks she's hiding them) and behaving very oddly when challenged. The builders have allegedly fixed the roof and the scaffolding should vanish soon, although the redecoration of my room to fix the damp patch is unlikely to happen...ever. Aside from occasional jaunts, my social life is barren and I'm desperate for intellectual conversation that doesn't happen via a computer screen. Oh, well, I suppose sometimes we want too much!

But this is how my life stands at the moment. I have to remind myself that I wanted this, I wanted the PhD. Giving up on my dreams now would plunge me into a deeper difficulty than even the great Wilkie Collins could conjure up. So...onwards?

Musings on Sensation

2011-07-19T19:04:00.004+01:00

A few weeks ago there was an article on the Jeremy Vine Radio 2 programme asking whether relatives of the gunman Raoul Moat should be allowed to place flowers at the place he died. For those who don't recall, Moat is the man who sparked a manhunt in Northumbria last year after seriously wounding his ex-girlfriend, killing her new partner and blinding a police officer. He committed suicide after a stand-off with police in the village of Rothbury. A terrible case indeed. However, what was striking about the item Jeremy Vine covered was the fact that it came out that people go to the scene of Moat's suicide to recreate his death. Some visitors even use children as young as five to rest on the ground as Moat reportedly did.

I'd imagine most of us feel a sense of disbelief at that. After all, Moat committed some vile acts. It's one thing to allow his family to grieve for him if they so wish; it's quite another to glorify him in death. It strikes me as very nineteenth-century in nature. As much as we criticise the spectacle the Victorians made of crime and murder, we follow the exact same path as they did. Sensation means newspaper sales, webpage hits. More importantly, sensation means attention. For the media outlet, for the reporter, for the little old blogger having their say. I do, by the way, realise the idiocy of me writing a blog post to protest about blog posts.

I'm currently working my way through The Invention of Murder by Judith Flanders. So far it's a book I'd heartily recommend; I only wish I could devote more time to reading it at the moment. One particular case she mentions is the 1823 murder of William Weare. Flanders draws attention to the 'murder tourists' who plucked the hedges where the murdered man may have been dragged almost clean of their leaves. Everybody wanted a sovenir: even Walter Scott recorded going on such a sightseeing excursion.

Nothing's really changed, has it? The murdered dead still hold a fascination for us, as do the names of their killers. I can name many people, criminal and victim, who will be forever linked in the public consciousness. I won't go into them here; I think the sickening cases of the last decade speak for themselves. We will remember them though and perhaps some of us will indulge in these macabre activities to pay homage to them. The moral outrage that's erupted in recent weeks over the phone-hacking scandal is one significant burst of humanity against a tide of ugliness. But, as has been mentioned, if there wasn't an appetite for this ugliness then the News of the World wouldn't have been selling 2.8 million copies a week, would it?

Personally, I feel revulsion towards the Murdoch empire and everyone potentially involved in the hacking. I also cannot understand the motivations of those adults using their children as Raoul Moat substitutes in Rothbury. It seems like we're teaching the next generation to glorify death. I don't want to imagine where that one might lead.

Last year I blogged about the shootings in Cumbria and the ruthlessness of the journalists hounding the public - on the behest of the rest of the public. Somehow we need a balance. What is it within the 'public interest' to know? And what simply provides titilation for the masses? Can we make stuff up to fill that latter criteria so that innocent people aren't caught in the crossfire? Or did I miss a trick - do we just do that already?

Keys

2011-07-15T17:52:00.003+01:00

I've left my keys outside the door on occasion. It might make me a little scatty but I've always realised pretty quickly. My grandmother did it a few times, leaving her solitary key with a picture of Mike Baldwin attached hanging limply from the lock. In the area she lived in we were lucky it didn't end badly.

The street I live in at the moment has a bit of a bad record. A few months ago my friend commented on the blackened letterbox half way up the road and we've been the victim of two car break-ins, one burglary and one theft from the back garden in the decade we've lived here. Still, it's definitely not as bad as it could it. Nonetheless, a couple of weeks ago it was pointed out to me that the neighbours next-door-but-one, who I can't recall ever seeing let alone speaking to, had left the keys in the front door. What to do?

Well, my conscience wouldn't allow me to walk on by. I knocked twice but there was no response. My assumption had been that they'd left the keys outside when they'd gone in but it was equally as possible they'd been distracted and walked off leaving them in the lock. Surely, in a high crime area, it wasn't a deliberate decision to leave them there... Well, people are odd but perhaps not that odd. So, again, what to do?

Without thinking, I posted them back through. After all, the chances of someone else not having a set were slim - if the keyholder didn't happen to be home. And, I weighed it up, if I were in their shoes would I prefer to have to pay for a new lock or new contents for my house? Easy choice. There hasn't been any comeback on it so I'm assuming things worked out all right. I did wonder, though, if the shoe had been on the other foot whether someone on our street would have covered up our stupidity or simply taken advantage of it? I'd better not attempt to find out.

EDIT 03/08/11: Well, I'm an idiot. In the middle of extremely heavy rain yesterday I rushed inside and...yep, I left my keys on the outside. Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door with some kind Asian chap (who may actually come from the house next-door-but-one!) pointing out the fact my keys were on the outside. Looks like my honesty was replicated. Not that I intend to do this again, you understand! As I said, I'm an idiot.

Television Review: The Night Watch

2011-07-14T18:26:00.004+01:00

I love Sarah Waters. I've watched the adaptations of Tipping the Velvet, Fingersmith and Affinity and enjoyed them all. In the case of Affinity I think I preferred the adaptation to the book. However, The Night Watch struck me as a completely different animal. How do you dramatise a book that begins at the end and works backwards? Thankfully, the concept worked better than I thought it would on screen and a good story was backed up by some outstanding performances.

Credit has to go to Paula Milne for a terrific script and to director Richard Laxton. They brought a difficult novel to life and the bomb scenes in particular were haunting. The barest dialogue in those was enough. Of course, an excellent script and direction only count if you've got a great cast and The Night Watch certainly had that.

Anna Maxwell-Martin was known to me for her recent role in South Riding. I have to say, I wasn't sure she was right for the role of ambulance driver Kay but she fit the part very well. I couldn't warm to her immediately but - as with most characters - as we moved backwards I understood her more. It's difficult to pick my favourite Kay scene but her breaking down in the rubble when she thought her beloved Helen was dead was painful to watch - along with what happened directly after that.

Claire Foy as Helen did very well with a character whose motivations aren't as clear-cut as those of other characters. Equally, Anna Wilson-Jones as Julia was alluring, manipulative and guarded - sometimes all in the same scene. As for Jodie Whittaker playing Viv...well, I think I've found one of my favourite actresses for years to come. She was by far my favourite character in the adaptation when I felt indifferent to her during the novel at times. Harry Treadway as Duncan, Viv's brother, was something of a revelation to me since I wasn't expecting to like him. Duncan's a pretty complex character but, to my surprise, the layers were there without the necessary explanation. I particularly liked the prison scenes, especially when he started crying in the visiting room. That was another of those haunting scenes this adaptation did so well.

I could list almost every scene if I began talking about the ones I liked but I'll settle for a select few: Julia and Helen's conversation in the rain; Viv's first encounter with Reggie on the train; Kay's decision to lie for Viv as they travelled to hospital; the bombs falling on the prison... Honestly, the list goes on and on.

As with the book, you really need to watch this again to get the full effect of it. Did I like it? Yes. More than the book? No. But I think that's true of most adaptations. It certainly stands on its own feet though.

The Book Depository & Competition

2011-07-13T13:02:00.004+01:00

As the world debates one issue of competition (News Corp's bid for full ownership of BSkyB) it's worth remembering, as writers and readers, that another stifling of competition is happening right under our noses. It's been announced recently that Amazon have aquired The Book Depository, probably the fastest-growing bookseller in Europe. Now, I can see why this looks good for Amazon but just hold on a minute - Amazon already had 70% of the UK online book sales. 70%! Its largest rivals? Well, The Book Depository and Play.com. It's sorted out one of those problems with this acquisition, hasn't it?

Amazon has been blamed for a lot in the UK in recent years. Their online bookselling has decimated the book trade in our cities, muscling many independent book shops out of business and pushing big chains to the edge (and sometimes over the edge). Along with Play.com it is one of the companies responsible for HMV's current struggles as they monopolise the film and music market. We all know why - Amazon are cheap. They offer an attractive prospect to consumers struggling with the economic downturn and wanting to maintain their level of purchasing without actually spending the same amount of money. I think we're all guilty of bowing down to them on this point. I'm trying to implement a set of rules for my own Amazon purchases but my bank balance isn't too keen on it. I take a hit while trying to stick to my ethics.

I can think of no better illustration for how Amazon mercilessly attacks the profits of small publishers than this blog by Linen Press. I'm pretty sure this is the third time I've quoted this article but it is well worth reading - every time someone buys a Linen Press book through Amazon it actually costs the publisher £2. That's right: it costs the publisher because Amazon takes 60% of the RRP. Go look at the figures in the article; it makes for lousy reading.

The beauty of The Book Depository is that it maintains a list otherwise not available to the public. On their website they proudly state that they're seeking to make available the widest selection of titles possible and they aim to republish those no longer available through their Dodo Press imprint. How much will this be squashed by the profit-hungry Amazon, who cut things down to the bone in order to protect their profits? The Book Depository is also famous for their free delivery. Amazon do this on orders over a certain amount; is this something which will pass along to their recent acquisition?

There's absolutely nothing we can do about Amazon's ethics - or lack thereof. However, when a company monopolises 70% of the market and then acquires some more, surely questions have to be asked? The Office of Fair Trading haven't announced whether there is something for them to look into here. I'm a cynic: whether it is or isn't a strangulation of competition the OFT will wave it through because they're dealing with Amazon.

What will that mean for consumers? Well, we get cheaper prices. But, at some point, when Amazon hold 100% of the market and can push smaller companies into the abyss with barely a nudge, we'll come to regret saving a bit of money now and then. Choice will shrink. Good books will be muscled out in favour of profitable books. What will we do then?

This Guardian blog is also enlightening.

Happy 80th Jerry Herman

2011-07-10T14:14:00.005+01:00

It just came to my attention that Jerry Herman is 80 today. Wow. I probably shouldn't be surprised at his age, considering how many fantastic musicals he's been responsible for. It's quite a roll-call: Hello, Dolly!, Mame, Mack & Mabel, Dear World, La Cage aux Folles to name the most famous. How many amazing melodies have come from those? His songs have been interpreted by such luminaries as Angela Lansbury, Barbra Streisand, George Hearn and Bernadette Peters, to name a select few. His lyrics are both funny and poignant - and no one does a showstopper like Jerry. He's guaranteed to leave a song revolving in your head for days on end, not a bad thing when the songs are as good as his. So, without further preamble, here are a few of my favourites of his:

'Bosom Buddies'
It's a well-known crime that Angela Lansbury wasn't chosen to play the role of Auntie Mame in the screen version of Mame. She would've been truly amazing. Nevertheless, we still have her on the Broadway cast recording and this neat little performance with Bea Arthur gives a glimpse of what a wonderful film it could've been:

'I Won't Send Roses'
From Mack & Mabel, this is just a perfect song, one of the most unconventional and heartbreaking love songs you could imagine. Although the show was not a commercial success, the concert performances of it proved very popular and the remarkable score is still one of my favourites. Robert Preston's version of this song is probably my favourite but Howard Keel is almost as good here:

'I Am What I Am'
What can you say about this song except that it completely transcends the original musical. It's an anthem in its own right and George Hearn is one of many artists to perform it to perfection:

'I Don't Want To Know'
Even though Dear World was a flop, the score remains fresh and relevant. So many people have recorded this track - Angela Lansbury's version is beautiful but we won't make this post an Angela appreciation session - but Liza Minnelli's is pretty special:

'Whistle'
We will end with Angela though! The television movie Mrs Santa Claus is Herman at his light and breezy best as the title character accidentally lands in New York and begins fighting for employee rights. It may be aimed at kids, but I still love it! Here's my favourite song:

There are so many fabulous songs I'd love to mention. Jerry Herman - you are a genius of musical theatre. Thank you!

Book Review: All Passion Spent by Vita Sackville-West

2011-07-08T17:52:00.002+01:00

It's with a tinge of embarassment that I admit this was my first foray into the works of Vita Sackville-West. Fortunately, I enjoyed it so much that it certainly won't be my last.

All Passion Spent is a short novel at around 170 pages. Sackville-West apparently intended it as a fictional companion to her friend and lover Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own, and the similarities are certainly evident. However, it stands alone as a thoroughly enjoyable piece of prose equally relevant today as it was on publication in 1931.

Lady Slane's husband has just died. Having watched her spend her life in deference to other people, her children are confident she'll accept the arrangement to live with them each in turn as they do their 'duty' looking after her. However, Lady Slane rebels and rents a small house in Hampstead with her faithful servant Genoux. Four of her children are mortified while the other two (the only ones she has any affection for) accept her decision without argument. While living at Hampstead, Lady Slane makes friends with two elderly men and also Mr FitzGeorge, an acquaintance from early in her marriage. It's no spoiler to say, as Lady Slane is eighty-eight, that the novel ends with a death as well as beginning with one.

I loved this book. In a time of debate in modern society about care costs for the elderly and the consequences of longer living, the scenarios depicted in All Passion Spent really struck home. What do you do when your children regard you as a burden to be shared amongst them? What do you do when they expect your wealth to be given straight to them? And (though this one is rather unique to Lady Slane) what do you do with a very large bequest that has your children seeing pound signs at every turn? The relationship between a mother and her children is explored subtley and without criticism. As we learn more about Lady Slane's youth - and her 'beneficial marriage' - we come to understand why perhaps she feels as though she should finally take control of her own destiny.

The messages in this book are pretty universal and it should be read by young and old alike. Can you take control of something you feel is out of your control and enjoy your life a little more? Even if, in Lady Slane's case, that change only seems to give her visits from friends and walks upon Hampstead Heath. The little freedoms, Sackville-West implies, are as important as the big ones.

The most touching scene for me was one of the last, when Lady Slane receives a visit from her great-grandaughter Deborah. The similarities between the two are blindingly obvious but it's Lady Slane's melding of past and present, her life and her great-grandaughter's, that make this scene poignant. By following her own desires, Lady Slane has spurred Deborah on to do the same. And, in the end, that is a very comforting thought for an elderly woman.

As Vita Sackville-West's bisexuality is well-documented, this book can be considered part of the LGBT Reading Challenge 2011 (see sidebar for details).

Seconds of Serenity

2011-07-07T18:34:00.004+01:00

Almost two years ago I was in Austria for my 22nd birthday. The day after we arrived we were due to go on a canyoning trip. Due to a head-splitting migraine the previous night (which had me running around the resort in my pyjamas begging tourists for pills) I'd had next to no sleep. I managed the canyon pretty well considering everything but as we were walking up the hill at the end I felt myself floating backwards. Floating soon turned into rolling and, well, I collided face-first with a rock. I'd better make this an advert for Specsavers because if I hadn't been wearing my glasses I think my nose would've broken. As it was, I was lucky the rock was there since the alternative would've been a dip in a fast-flowing river. This is what I looked like afterwards anyway:

Last night I fell down the stairs. I was going to get a cup of fruity tea to drink while working on a character bio and my head was obviously more in the story than it was in my footing. I took off about two thirds of the way up, thumped down eight or so stairs and - miraculously - landed on my feet. Though that isn't to say I didn't wake up with a few bruises this morning.

What struck me on both occasions, though, was the feeling of relief I got in the seconds I was falling. I remember thinking in Austria 'oh, well' as I began rolling in an undignified manner. It was as if because the worst had happened I no longer cared about anything. It was bliss. And last night, in the two or three seconds before I hit the bottom, I was intensely content. There was nothing I could do to stop my tumble so everything switched off and left me to it.

I'm in constant danger of thinking too much. I'm always doing something, even when I'm doing something else. When I go out into town I have my headphones on and I'm plotting a chapter in my head. When I'm watching a film I usually have a notebook on my lap. If I'm watching one at the cinema I feel bereft without something else to do. I don't sleep well, I don't even eat without something on the screen in front of me to concentrate on.

Those two falls gave me an overwhelming sense of peace, even for just a few seconds. I don't think chucking myself down a set of stairs at every opportunity is the correct course of action (I know people who would severely frown on that) but I need to find something that switches my mind off completely. A sport maybe? When I jog my mind is active, when I swim as well. If sport won't do the trick can I have a volunteer to throw me down stairs in a controlled environment, perhaps once a month? Don't all shout at once.

Television Review: Scott & Bailey

2011-07-05T21:27:00.004+01:00

I had high hopes for this series. After all, it's a detective programme centred around female police officers working in Manchester. It has Lesley Sharp and Suranne Jones in it and was co-created by the wonderful Sally Wainwright, a woman I'd admire even if she wasn't Yorkshire born and bred. However, I have to admit that several episodes of the six episode series left me a little ambivalent.

The series was touted as a show about two colleagues who were friends first and foremost. This really didn't come across in the first episode. Janet Scott(Lesley Sharp) seemed to know less about Rachel Bailey (Suranne Jones) than the audience did. That ruined the concept somewhat. I will concede, though, that as the series ran on the friendship between them solidified and actually contributed to the detective aspect of things. One criticism my father had (which I agree with) was that the show should really have been called Scott, Bailey and Murray since DCI Gill Murray was as much a part of this series as Scott and Bailey were. Not that I didn't appreciate three women taking the lead on murder investigations for a change.

Some of the crime stories were a little predictable. However, I do think they made up for some of that predictability with the grittiness promised prior to transmission. There was a particularly gruesome scene in episode four where a man was filmed being hacked to pieces. Although we didn't see much I still can't get that scene out of my head. To a seasoned crime pro like my father the plots were average. I liked them, even if it did feel like they were a sideline to whatever personal drama was going on during that episode.

Which brings me to my main criticism - and it isn't even completely the fault of the individual programme. I don't believe that in the UK we commission decent runs of shows. Scott & Bailey was only six episodes long, hardly enough time to engross your audience in the lives of two particular officers and do justice to the crime stories as well. If the personal condundrums had been spread over, say, twelve episodes or perhaps fifteen then each episode wouldn't have felt quite so cluttered. Eight months apparently passed between episode one and episode six - I would've loved to slow down a bit and experience a little more of those months while having more of the individual episodes devoted to the crime story.

The two storylines running throughout the series were Rachel's relationship with slimy barrister Nick Savage and Janet's quest to find the killer of her childhood friend. Overall these worked, although it took suspension of belief to comprehend than a detective as smart as Rachel would be taken in by such a man.

I can't criticise any of the cast. The regulars alongside an excellent supporting cast were enjoyable to watch (or disturbing as the case may be). On balance, I would welcome a recommission by ITV but I'm not certain how the ratings were (and that returns me to an argument about deliberate broadcasting clashes which I won't bore you with). ITV don't have a great record on giving things another try but with such a cast and no doubt some positive intentions for a second series I hope they fight against their history. We need quality drama in this country and not all great dramas have flourished after the first series.

Liza and London

2011-07-04T19:18:00.007+01:00

For a person who sometimes goes into epic panics debating whether to leave the house on any given day going to our splendid yet petrifying capital city is something of a mission. However, I endured it last week for one fabulous reason - Miss Liza Minnelli.

Seeing her at the Royal Albert Hall was literally a dream come true and not something I ever expected to happen. If you're interested in a good and proper review the concert was covered by the Telegraph (here) and the Guardian (here). I'm still in the gushing and babbling about the fact I actually saw her stage of proceedings so sense may be lacking around here. Still, she was amazing. After a bit of a nervous start she relaxed and realised we were going to adore her whether she paused to take a long breath, sat down or - once, quite memorably - halted half-way through a song so she could throw down some water and then do the final notes of a song justice. My favourite numbers of the night were probably 'Liza with a Z' (try getting that out of your head once you've listened to it, I dare ya), 'New York, New York' and 'Maybe This Time'. Then again, I also loved 'What Makes a Man a Man' and 'Cabaret', not to mention her encore - 'I'll Be Seeing You' sung without accompaniment because the band had packed up. I'm grinning like an idiot just thinking about it all. Most definitely one of the most memorable evenings of my life. Now go get this stuck in your head...

And what else did I get up in London? Well, I visited my favourite shop for starters. I used the opportunity to feed my recently-acquired Stephen Sondheim obsession, buying cast recordings of Do I Hear a Waltz? and Sunday in the Park with George along with A Stephen Sondheim Evening which featured, amongst others, Angela Lansbury and George Hearn. I also bought on DVD Sondheim: A Celebration at Carnegie Hall. I was dithering about it but then spotted it had Liza in it (alongside Patti LuPone and Bernadette Peters) so it was a done deal. My other music purchases were a Jane Russell album and the famous Judy and Liza concert recording at the London Palladium from 1964. I didn't have it. I'm ashamed. But I've rectified the problem so shush. Oh, I also made a new friend.

Wandered around various other shops while I was down there but made sure to nip into the brilliant Quinto Books on Charing Cross Road. By restricting myself to the literary criticism section I managed to buy just the two books - one of which wasn't in that section but caught my eye as I passed. Yes, I know. Just imagine what would've happened if I'd examined every shelf in there...

So that was my Wednesday and Thursday. Very good days. Smiling even happened. Though don't tell @clairemjc about that because I'll never hear the end of it.