Finishing, Sort Of

28 Ramadhan

It was with some small relief that, late last night, lying in bed, I completed The Ambassadors. Now I can move on to something a little more amenable to reading at a reasonable pace, something which I don't have to stop every third paragraph or so to find I haven't actually understood anything I've been reading on the page only to go back over it one more time (sometimes two more) in search of some kind of way in to at least the bare story line. And yet, it's not been an entirely negative experience. I think I did follow quite a lot of what was on offer and found myself wanting to know what was going to happen to characters who did develop some kind of genuine life for me. I think I grew accustomed to the rhythms of James's prose and found the last quarter or so of the novel something I wanted to read as opposed to something I was making myself get through.

Even then there were quite major things I simply didn't get. Strether's accidental meeting with Chad & Madam de Vionnet in the French countryside is obviously intended as a vital turning point of sorts in the novel in terms of Strether's assessment of the nature of their relationship, but I thought it was obvious to Strether that they were 'lovers' in the modern sense of the word. How could he have not realised this? (At least, I think he didn't realise it.) And why exactly does Strether turn down Maria Gostrey at the end? (At least, that's what he seems to be doing, if I've got it right that she's making some sort of proposal of marriage.)

So, satisfying at it was to finish the book, I'm aware that it was not really complete for me. But I don't think I'll put it on my to-read-again list. Having said that I'm drawn to the idea of having a go at one or two more of the big titles that James has (so abundantly) to offer. But not this year.

Fasting month is also drawing to an end and, like a good novel, will never really be completed. There's always some further layer of illumination to be attained to do the experience any real kind of justice. That's why, in something slightly less than a year, a version of the experience will be (God permitting) reenacted, refined, and, in its turn, remain unfinished. I hope it will be better than this year - a report card reading could do better is integral to the experience, but I'm aware of too much left undone.

Still Comical

27 Ramadhan

Today I discovered that Scott McCloud has published two other books related to comic art: Making Comics and Reinventing Comics - thanks to autolycus for pointing this out and wikipedia for filling in the details. I also spent a little while on Mr McCloud's rather tasty website which can be found here. (One of the joys of marking is finishing, and having time to do what one really wants to do. In fact, that is the sole joy of marking.)

Just a quick dip into McCloud's work is enough to get a sense of his burning enthusiasm for what he does. The rather cliched term for this in Singapore is 'passion' as we are continually being told to 'follow our passion' and all sorts of other positive-sounding but ultimately empty nonsense - nonsense because somewhere along the line the burning, dangerously radical nature of worthwhile enthusiasms gets extinguished and it all becomes rather safe, rather tepid, rather qualified, rather rathery.

And just the same quick dip into McCloud's work is more than enough to get an envious sense of how talented he is. It would be nice to be outstandingly good at something but I don't think it's necessary to be so to get a taste of the rewards of an enthusiasm for something that enhances life. That's been one of the (few) discoveries of my adult life. It's worthwhile making things, making art, if you like, even if you're not particularly good at it.

Blake: Energy is Eternal Delight. (Now there was a guy who knew something about making things, as opposed to marking them.)

I also read Gaiman & McKean's 'graphic novella' Violent Cases which I got from the library. I'm afraid I didn't particularly like it. A bit too clever for me.

Comical

26 Ramadhan

I picked up a few more comics-related books at the library on Saturday (the single exception to the theme being The Rough Guide to the Rolling Stones) and I've been idly browsing them in occasional breaks from Henry James. Well, I say idly browsing, but one of them, Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art, has proved a major attention grabber - almost unputdownable, except to make sure I don't rush to the extent of failing to sufficiently drag out the pleasure of reading, or to ensure I get a bit of time to digest the interestingly digestible ideas it explores with exemplary clarity.

With luminaries such as Matt Groening, Art Spiegelman and Will Eisner saying extremely nice things about it on the jacket, I was fairly sure Understanding Comics was going to be a more than decent read, but both conceptually and in terms of execution it's top drawer stuff. Basically McCloud has created a comic book about the art of comics, and if that sounds a tad post-modern meta-something-or-other it's not because it works like a charm (which most post-modern texts, being far too pleased with themselves, don't.) In many ways the territory of Understanding Comics extends well beyond the confines of the genre - it has many worthwhile things to say about the nature of perception, about how stories and the language of stories work, about the bigger world of art - but it has all the strengths of the genre working for it: not least an engaging enthusiasm and desire to genuinely communicate with a wide audience. The stuff about the frames used in cartoons & comics and the representation of movement, indeed the play of the now of each frame against a wider sense of the passing of time almost convinced me of the possibility this might be the most important art-form of our time. (I know that's way over the top, but that's what these anoraky obsessions can do to you, especially to the callow sixteen-year-old part of one's personality.)

Anyway, I'm allowing myself another chapter tonight - I'm now on some fascinating bits on the combination of words and images - and then it will be back to Strether dealing with the redoubtable Sarah, in the final stretch of The Ambassadors.

Various Victories

25 Ramadhan

Marking resumed today since my back, though still smarting at times, has recovered sufficiently to let me sit up long enough to get through a script here and a script there. However, I did find time to watch a replay of United's second half against Wigan with a cracking four goals. I watched the first half at home last night before we set out for Arab Street and I had a feeling that the game could turn into a goal fest. I also watched France's victory over New Zealand in the Rugby World Cup, and I'd like to get to see England's win against Australia at some point.

We ate at the Victory Restaurant opposite Mesjid Sultan last night - something of an omen. After that it was just a matter of a gentle stroll around the area with Fi Fi sharing the camera duty, with some of the results thereof posted above.

Other Worlds

24 Ramadhan

Over a table filled with Ramadhan goodies, Noi is busy describing to Fi Fi and Fa Fa how she used to sell kueh along the corridors of the flats where she lived when she was a little girl, in primary school. There was a tune she used to sing about epok epok and goreng pisang and the like to attract custom and she has been regaling the girls with it. In turn they are making memories of this for themselves, reaching back to a world largely swept away. In turn I'm remembering stories Mum used to tell of working on the buses when I was a kid eating dinner. this is the way we connect with other worlds, sometimes strangely richer than our own.

I'm pleased to report that my back seems to be on the mend, though still painful enough to make me aware of the need to move extremely gingerly. I haven't been able to manage the bowing position when standing for prayers all day, but I was able to walk to the library this morning and drive up to Woodlands to pick up the girls this afternoon. We took them to Darul Arqam where I paid my zakat for this year.

At the library I returned The Sandman Companion (a fan book, I suppose, but, since I am a fan, very rewarding), The Far Side Gallery (cartoons - funny, very), The Road To Perdition (a sort of noirish gangster graphic novel - bleak, but easy to read) and a compilation of Krazy Kat comics from the 1930's (very fashionable among the intelligensia of the period, but did little for me, though I quite liked the style of drawing.) The common theme here being that everything was related to comics one way or another, and was easy to read. This was a good thing as the serious bit of my brain, or what's left of it, has been focused on The Ambassadors, and will remain so for at least another week at the pace at which I'm moving. The Pococks have arrived in Paris, Strether's mission having been, presumably, seen as a failure, and I'm enjoying the gentle comedy at their expense.

We're off to Arab Street in a little while to soak up the atmosphere and eat yet more goodies, so I'm going to miss the United game which has an early kick off.

All Laid Out

23 Ramadhan

I've just spent the last twenty minutes or so laid flat out on the carpet trying to iron out a painful kink in the left side of my back, just above the hip, that suddenly sprung to ugly prominence just after I broke the fast. It's been lurking all day, I think brought on by bending forward when marking. I've cleared a lot of scripts in the last five days, going at it remorselessly and concentratedly, and that's when these problems tend to manifest themselves. Looking on the bright side of things, I think this is the first big problem I've had with my back in the whole year and that's something I wouldn't have dared to hope for in January. Ironically, I had been planning to go for a bit of a run tonight, alone, as Noi is on biscuit-making duty, trying to catch up on the days she missed going to Melaka. We got down to the fitness centre last Tuesday and I was hoping to keep the momentum going - but at this point in time, when even typing this is quite painful, the idea of any kind of physical exercise seems entirely out of the question. Oh hum.

Just to add something to yesterday's brief comments on religion (which seemed to come out of nowhere.) A thought experiment: consider it absolutely proved, no God, no meaning in any form of religion whatsoever, and everyone accepting that as the way things are - a kind of atheistic nirvana. Would it be worth while continuing doing the things one does as part of religious practice? If the answer is yes, and I suspect that would be so for a surprising number of practitioners, that would suggest a certain degree of soundness in one's practice.

Journeying

22 Ramadhan

I'm still Noi-less, but she's on her way back. Breaking the fast without her is very strange. Nenek remains the same.

I took a taxi to work (very expensive) and took a bus back home (a long but interesting journey. I'd expected to read but found myself enjoying just staring out of the window.)

People tend to associate religion with belief. I don't think this is very useful. Religion is more sensibly associated with practice. It's something you do. In this light carrying out the fast is making a journey into the self. Making sense of the journey is the tricky part, not arriving at a destination (which is nowhere and never, anyway.)

Ambassadorial

21 Ramadhan

Noi left for Melaka with Hakim & Rozita in tow earlier this afternoon. Nenek is extremely ill and most of the family are gathering. I put one or two people at work on alert for a possible absence from myself, but this would seem unlikely - it's difficult to figure out how, and for how long, I could get myself to Melaka, logistically speaking. Noi took the car which means I'll be finding other means of getting in to work tomorrow. So here at home it's just me and Henry James.

There's a wonderfully angry bit in Stephen King's Salem's Lot where he has a bit of a go at old Henry, or rather the kind of readers he attracts. The parents of the boy involved, the one who confronts the main vampire eventually, are avid Jamesians and King takes immoderate delight, or so it appeared to me, in having the vampire arrange their demise with more than usual Kingian ferocity (and believe me, that's a lot!) This is particularly striking in that King is nearly always unusually generous in his assessments of other writers. Henry James must have really bugged him somewhere along the line. In fact, now I come to think of it, I don't think I've ever read anything by King related to The Turn of the Screw and that's very odd since he's written profusely on ghost stories and horror writers of pretty much every ilk.

Anyway, I have to say that halfway through The Ambassadors (yes, it's taking me that long) I don't feel particularly vengeful, though, I must add, I've not been converted to fan-boy status either. As with previous attempts to read James I find some passages almost impenetrable, even on a re-reading, but these have been fairly occasional and haven't really interfered with the onward momentum of my reading. I feel comfortable with Strether as the central consciousness of the novel, so that helps, though a few of his finer discriminations escape me completely. Most of all it helps that I don't have much idea of what's to come plot-wise and I'm looking forward to finding out what all these dastardly Europeans are really up to.

In the meantime I'm praying for Nenek and all in extremis.

Not Such Good News

20 Ramadhan

Two-thirds of the way through the fast and a certain routine has been established. It will feel strange and slightly wonderful, when Hari Raya comes, to be eating and drinking during the day. That sense of wonder is an echo of the privilege of the well-being we're granted (if we are lucky, and so far I have been) on a daily basis. Sad news of illness of two people we know makes the privilege all the more stark. It can only be a matter of time for Nenek and perhaps it's better that the time is short given the discomfort she is in.

Meantime some dark places just get darker. The news out of Burma - in a sense there is hardly any news - is entirely bleak. It will soon fade from the news pages, I fear. There are some 1500 unaccounted for (I'm using a number postulated in a report in The Straits Times), disappeared into the regime's darkest places. Let's hope they get out alive, in one piece.

Children's Day

19 Ramadhan

The main events of the day: At work - the exams have started for Year 5, the year I teach, with their English papers. This means I have a pile of marking to go at for the next few days. Tomorrow the teachers marking with me will be doing a standardisation exercise so I've just been looking through and marking the scripts selected. At home - the girls broke their fast with us and I'll be taking them back to their Ibu and Ayah in a few minutes; it's school as usual for them tomorrow, today being their Children's Day holiday. They have been 'assisting' their Mak Ndak in the manufacture of Hari Raya goodies and watching lots of television - not a bad way to spend a holiday. (I'm a heretic when it comes to the idea of kids at primary school 'studying'. Let them have a childhood, please.) We now have a substantial number of biscuits (chocolate chip cookies and the little ones with the cashew nut on top) all over the house and this is only the beginning.