Real Reading

Noi is going with her sewing chums to Surabaya this week. I saw her off at the airport early this afternoon and jolly nice it was there, at Terminal 2. Her group of of four had already checked-in on line before we even got there, and it took less than ten minutes for them all to complete the automated stuff needed to get boarding passes and check-in their luggage with no queue in sight. In fact, the main business of the proceedings was to catch a bagel and chai latte at Starbucks and then say cheerio, which was all highly relaxing in its way.

I took the MRT back, with a cunning detour into the centre of town for a visit to the big Kinokuniya bookshop. Must say, the shelves were looking a lot healthier than the last time I was there which made me a little more sanguine about its future. And the place was absolutely packed, for the most part with young people who kept getting in my way around the Literature shelves. Which added considerably to my optimism about the future of reading on these shores.

Picked up a copy of Samantha Harvey's Orbital of which I've heard nothing but extremely good things. And on the evidence of the opening pages, it looks like those extremely good things were accurate. This is my replacement for Leila Aboulela's River Spirit which I finished yesterday, a novel of which I'd heard nothing until it landed on my desk, though it did win the Caine Prize for African writing. Which doesn't surprise me as it proved to be a deeply engaging read. Actually genuinely exciting in terms of the action therein, and genuinely insightful regarding Sudan and its people.

Looking forward to getting some real reading done in the last couple of weeks of term and the holiday week now the marking has scaled down to reasonable proportions.

In Theory

It's that Saturday at that time of year when I find myself serving as a 'Lit Critic' at the annual Lit Seminar that takes place on these shores. Last year I found myself a bit more uneasy than is my usual wont on account of the degree to which all of the kids' presentations, first-rate as they were, were heavily informed by my bête noire: Theory. And it was the same this year. Excellent presentations, but the insights afforded by the theories referenced struck me as not as insightful as the texts themselves and the experience of reading those texts.

Fortunately the students' sense of enthusiasm for the texts was palpable - for the most part. Oddly the most sophisticated of the presentations in terms of real intellectual firepower also struck me as being the most detached from any sense of the actual texts referenced being genuinely worth engaging with. Mind you, one of the texts under scrutiny was a recent Disney offering so the notion of real value was in doubt from the get-go.

I can't help but wonder if all this is related to something I've often been made painfully aware of over my years of teaching Lit here: the strange fact that the idea of the simple enjoyment of novels, plays & poems seems almost frowned upon, as if essentially frivolous. I suppose I should be rather more reticent than I am over letting people know that I basically have a good time teaching the stuff I teach and it's not exactly work in any sense. But let that be our little secret, Gentle Reader.

The Shallow End

Now complacently pleased with myself for getting to the gym this evening, keeping up a decent level of frequency for August. Got good numbers without really trying and thought I'd tell the world the good news. Really should aim for greater depth in my life, but just can't be bothered.

The Damage Done

Still thinking about Maureen today. Dwelling on the damage I saw, and wondering when that damage was done. You wouldn't have predicted her problems with alcohol when she was younger - say, in her thirties. Another mystery, but we're all mysteries, I suppose, not least to ourselves.

This time round teaching Williams' Streetcar I've been struck by the palpable sense of damage not just to the obvious case, Blanche, but to her sister, Stella, to Mitch. Even to Stanley. Brando gets that in the movie, somehow. Possibly allowing his own damage to peep through.

It strikes me that in all Williams' work we see the same hypersensitivity to the damage done to others, as well as to himself. 

Not Forgetting

Another birthday for Maureen. Cheryl texted us to say that our card arrived safely at her house and she passed it to her mum to open it today. She seems to think that my sister will know who it's from and that in some sense she remembers me. Not sure she remembers Noi, though she was entirely comfortable with her the December we saw my sister last. 

It occurs to me that even as I strive to remember the many, many good years we had as brother and sister, there are things I would rather like to forget about the misery of the darker times. But that would be cowardly. Any life has its ups and downs, as Mum would have most likely said, and for Maureen to survive those downs and get through to the other side is, in its way, a small triumph.

Inconsequentiality

I was chatting with a colleague in the late afternoon, at that special hour that sees most teachers weary with woe in an affable kind of way - basically looking forward to packing our bags and setting off to homesweethome. Not sure why, but I asked him about a meeting he'd attended an hour or so back and he told me he hadn't actually been present for the duration as he was, essentially, inconsequential.

That struck me as pretty much the perfect state for anyone to aspire to in my line of work. Almost worth taking on board as a personal mission statement: To strive for inconsequentiality. 

Reading On

I'm a bit irritated at myself for not getting more sustained personal reading done. I have reasonable excuses - being close to overwhelmed on the work front; finding a lot of genuinely worthy stuff to read online + genuinely interesting podcasts to listen to relating to some key issues on my mind - but the fact remains that fundamentally I'm a reader of longer-form texts in old-fashioned hard-copy books and nothing should take priority over that variety of reading.

Most of all I really should have zoomed through Leila Aboulela's River Spirit, my current novel-on-the-go, because it's a fine and gripping work and spinning it out doesn't do justice to its impact & pace. Now halfway through and enjoying it immensely.

Intend to finish it by the weekend; and if I don't I have no excuses.

A Very Different Moment

Glancing back just now at what I was getting up to in August 2023 I was startled to hit upon a brief reference I made then to the Lucy Letby case; specifically to her sentencing for the murders of seven babies and the appalling malice involved in her deeds. Strange to think I've come to entirely change my mind over this. Indeed, from being extremely doubtful of her guilt in July I would now place myself in the 'convinced she's innocent' camp and feel certain that a major miscarriage of justice has taken place.

The change in my way of thinking on this has been very gradual, but the final pieces of the puzzle, as I perceived it, fell into place on watching again the 'Botched' series of films on YouTube put together by Guy Rowland. I'd viewed Part 1 and Part 2 in our sojourn in KL in June and been impressed by the many insights provided and the depth of analysis involved, but I'd not really put the whole critique of the investigation together since so many parts were involved. But watching again with a greater sense of the whole deeply sorry tale, followed by seeing Part 3 for the first time, having also listened to Mr Rowland in conversation with Christopher Morris, the guy who's written what I suspect might turn out to be the definitive book on the case, served to seal the deal on my certainty.

The thing is that it's only by accepting the young lady's innocence and the simple fact that there were no murders at all that all the parts make sense. And once you accept that, a deep anger over the extraordinary injustice involved takes over.

Bad News

It's sad to say this, but the news of Jason Arday's death can't have come as a complete surprise to anyone who's been following the story of the accusations made against him and the very public humiliation that followed. One of the disturbing features of the whole sorry saga was the sheer weight of the online pile-on that followed the breaking of the news and his subsequent resignation. I think it's a fair guess that this was a contributing factor to the breaking of the man. Even if you'd reached the conclusion that he was a fabulist on the grand scale - which I had - it was puzzling that so many online commentators seemed to think it was incumbent upon them to state the obvious without adding much in the way of insight, except for their own tiresome outrage.

I'd been thinking of posting something about the dangers of celebrity in relation to his story, particularly in relation to actively courting such celebrity, but this morning's news has put a stopper on any enthusiasm I felt for doing so. So I'll just state the obvious. If, like me, you've successfully hung on to being a complete non-entity for the span of your tenure in this world, be deeply thankful for what must be among the top five blessings of a good life. I'll certainly be keeping my head even lower behind whatever parapet I can find.

Oh, and I'd gently suggest that it's best to keep your outrage to yourself unless you're quite sure you have nothing to gain from unleashing it (especially in the way of 'views' and the like) and sharing it might just lead to some benefit for folks in general.

Falling Apart

For reasons best known to itself my trusty school laptop decided to fall apart just before I conducted a couple of online lessons this morning. It's a bit tricky to maintain one's cool when one's laptop screen is visibly breaking off from the body with the keyboard, but one sort of managed this as one delivered the necessary lessons. And then went into the necessary panic.

By an extraordinarily providential coincidence it was only yesterday that I'd booked an appointment with our ever-helpful IT guys to receive a brand new device as the not terribly trustworthy old trusty computer had been in my possession long enough to mean I deserved an upgrade. Unfortunately said appointment was several weeks ahead. Anyway, throwing caution to the wind I managed to charm one of our IT-support honchos into doing the swop in the afternoon, once I got back from prayers, on the grounds that by the end of the day I was likely not to be able to function as an IT-enabled sort of chap.

And the result of all this is that I'm happily typing these words on a rather spiffy brand-new laptop which has already drawn an admiring 'oooh' from The Missus. Which is all very well, but said device is missing all my old documents which for some reason didn't manage to transfer. So I'm manfully not panicking and trusting that the gods of IT know where they've gone and I'll get them back come Monday.