True Greatness

Now enmeshed in Book 8 of The Brothers Karamazov, with the focus on Mitya. There's still a way to go in the novel, which makes me very happy indeed as I don't really want it to end. Will FD sustain this level of brilliance? I'll be surprised if he doesn't as everything so far has had the air of effortless spontaneity, as if the book is simply an improvisation of sheer genius, which can't possibly go wrong as it doesn't quite know where it's going.

I've previously rated, for more than a few years, Anna Karenina and Madam Bovary as the two greatest novels of the 19C in any language but I suspect I'll soon be changing my mind.

Every episode of The Brothers K seems to achieve a kind of perfection, but I'd rate the Gold Mines chapter, in which Mitya tries to borrow 3000 roubles from Madame Khokhlakov the funniest pages of any prose I've ever read. Better than Dickens at his considerable best. And I'm not even sure that Dostoevsky intends to be funny.

By Moonlight

Exceptionally beautiful full moon last night, illuminating us as we made painfully slow progress along the North-South Highway to this Far Place. The irony was sweet and bitter all at once. Arrived late, but happily in one piece, ready to fight another day. That day being today. 

Not sure I actually won the fight, mind you. But another gorgeous moon this evening made all my struggles irrelevant. 

Side By Side

Conscious of the gaps, some quite substantial, in my exposure to the works of musicians I hugely admire, I've been experimenting of late with playing stuff in the background, usually via Spotify on my laptop, without trying too hard to take it in. In some ways this goes completely against my philosophy that it grossly undervalues music not to give it reasonably full attention, but consistency has never been my strong point. That's how I'd come to play the full three hours of Prince's (wonderful) Emancipation (which is now receiving the treatment for the second time even as I type this.)

Earlier today I happened upon a rather tasty commentary on George Harrison's 1974 album Dark Horse, which reminded me of just how good the ex-Beatle's solo stuff could be (obviously I'm thinking All Things Must Pass here) and just how little I really knew of it. So I interrupted my second run of Emancipation (getting hooked, obviously) and banged on George's third solo album.

The result of the juxtaposition was disorientating, to say the least. To say that initially I found Dark Horse plodding would be an understatement. Four tracks in and I thought it unlistenable and put a merciful, decisive halt to the proceedings. Every song from His Purple Majesty I'd felt as so casually funky that it was impossible to stop listening even when I wasn't actually listening - if you see what I mean. And that experience seemed to have coloured my consciouness.

But I felt a bit guilty over all this. The guy commenting on Dark Horse was very much a fan, yes, but a sensible, well-informed one, and he'd had some very positive things to say about most of the tracks. It felt necessary somehow, to resume playing the album through, and I did just that a couple of hours later. At which point it began to sound okay, if not downright promising. I still couldn't get on with the Xmas song Ding Dong, but charitably recalled that I'd quite liked it as a single when it came out. Indeed, I reckon I'm ready to give it all another listen in the near-ish future, though I don't feel compelled to do so (in contrast to my reactions to Prince's 3 CD epic.) 

Not sure what I've learnt from this, except being reminded not to rush too readily to judgement of any music that aspires to a degree of seriousness. Oh, and not to juxtapose anything less than brilliant next to Prince once seduced by his inimitable groove. 

Relaxing

Optimal relaxation achieved. Nodding off with brutal efficiency.

The house awash with food and noise and children. Not necessarily in that order. And not disturbed in the slightest.

Something Sweet

Rushing the finishing touches necessary to setting off having just come back from the stillness and  peace of Friday Prayers. Today's muezzin was possessed of an extraordinarily mellifluous voice. A practical call to worship combined with pointless beauty. The melody existing simply for its own sake.

Some time later (22.15): Just arrived after negotiating some pretty slow traffic on the highway and now at Wati & Aziz's place enjoying a happy plateful of roti prata telur bawang dua + teh tarik super gajah = satisfaction x 10 = optimal.

On Our Way, Again

We'll be making our way north tomorrow. Destination: the homestead in Melaka. Purpose: a pre-Ramadhan kenduri with as many of the family as can gather. All very jolly.

But a surprising amount of preparation & thinking ahead is required even for a short break. And I'm doing some of the necessary now.

Is it all worth it? Oh yes, emphatically so. (But do wish us luck with the traffic, if you get the chance.)

Not Entirely Integrated

I'm frequently puzzled by people who consider themselves people of integrity. So often they are entirely sincere about this without a trace of hypocrisy. But it seems so obvious to me that you'd need to be a remarkable person not to live without compromising your moral certainties at least some of the time. I'm painfully aware of the extent to which this is true for myself.

Case in point: Earlier in the evening Noi was talking about electric and hybrid cars in relation to the policy being rolled out by the government in the direction of moving car-owners towards owning such. Now I came to the conclusion quite a while ago that it was ethically the right thing for me to buy such a vehicle. But I've never taken action on this, for a variety of fairly good practical reasons; unfortunately none of these genuinely takes priority over what I see as the essential 'rightness' of acquiring one.

So here I am, still causing more damage to the environment than strictly necessary, but, typically, compromising as I so often do on key questions. 

Ouch.

Something Funny

I've manfully resisted posting anything at all about the recent revival of the Mighty Reds. The triumphs over City & the Goners were sweet, and sweeter still was the sense of release in finally being able to childishly taunt their supporters. But going public on all this so early might just be a step too far, so I won't.

But I can't resist linking to a typically brilliant cartoon by David Squires on the weekend's victory. This made me laugh immoderately, as did much of the stuff BTL. Enjoy, if you can. (Arsenal supporters are exempt from the invitation.)

Strong Stuff

Was knocked sideways today by a very powerful article in the Graun. The big interview, featuring Ian Russell, the father of the poor girl, Milly, who took her own life back in 2017 in large part due to the darker influences on social media, opens with a heartbreaking paragraph and then veers into some of the sanest commentary on the dangers of social media and what we might do about them that I've ever read. Mr Russell strikes me as an extraordinary man, admirable in every way. 

And a devastating contrast to those who control social media platforms and make lots of cash from doing so. I thought I loathed them prior to reading the article, but some of the details related by Milly's dad turned that loathing into something quite disturbing. A kind of rage. Fortunately it's the eminently sane Mr Russell who's a key figure in the fight against their pernicious influence and not myself.

I wish him well. We all should. In a world of noise, we need his voice.

A Bit More Ranting

So here goes with an attempt to expand a little on Tuesday's comments. What went wrong with IT in Education, apart from pretty much everything? (Yes, I'm exaggerating, but, honestly, not all that much.)

Let's start with a sort of foundational truism that everyone I know takes for granted: the new technology hugely facilitates communication at every level. The problem is that I'm convinced it doesn't. I reckon it hinders real communication.

How so? Well before I attempt a quick explanation let me explain where my sense of certainty comes from. I started teaching a good decade and a half or so before all the IT stuff really kicked in (which I'd date from roughly 1994. I think emailing in schools here started around 1995.) And teachers had few if any problems communicating with each other and with students. As far as I recall schools were organised such that they managed to do all the things back then that they do now, the obvious exceptions being holding classes and meeting parents online - but that only really started as a result of the pandemic and can't honestly be seen as necessary. You could easily phone parents back in 1978. And I'm inclined to think it's more effective teaching kids in a classroom than through a screen.

Particularly relevant to my own experience is the fact that I directed a number of quite 'big' dramatic/musical productions for schools in those early years. Now I'd say that of anything I've encountered in school life doing a big show (even a 'small' one) is the most dauntingly complex exercise in terms of the need to communicate effectively with lots of people at lots of levels. But it was do-able, without emails and messaging through various platforms.

And here comes the counter-intuitive thing. Communication was easier then. Any messaging had to be clear and kept to a minimum because (joyfully) all the platforms we now take for granted did not exist, so the capacity for last-minute changes of mind just wasn't there. These days it's by no means unusual to find out that a fairly important meeting has been postponed or rescheduled close to the last minute, often in the name of so-called flexibility. 

Someone, somewhere, forgot that fixity & predictability are valuable, indeed necessary, qualities in the general run of things and even when attempting genuinely creative exercises.

I don't know of any colleague these days who doesn't complain about the burden created by the sheer amount of 'information' out there - the tsunami of 'messages'. To adopt a quasi-scientific metaphor, the signal-to-noise ratio no longer favours clarity.

So much noise!