Falling Short

At the beginning of my working life I devised a dictum of sorts that struck me, callow as I was, as reasonably wise and useful. It went like this: Be hard on yourself; be easy on others. Thinking about it today I must say it sounds even wiser than it did some thirty-odd years ago, and even more useful. In that light, I offer it to the world.

I wish I were able to say I'd lived up to it over those thirty-plus years. But I haven't. Still it's something to aspire to, especially following those rueful moments of reflection on the damage done.

Sad

Saw a little girl at Geylang yesterday, about three I'd guess, wearing a complete little Liverpool replica kit, the shirt being that of one Fernando Torres. Found this almost as bleakly sad as the ending of Madame Bovary, and almost as darkly comic.

The Fullness of Things

Finished Flaubert's masterpiece yesterday and immediately wanted to read it again knowing that I would discover a different novel next time round. The first time I ever read it I remember being stunned by just how much he seemed to take us into the dying Emma's consciousness. This time round it was the idiotic nobility of Charles at the end that skewered me. Next time, who knows what secret places of the heart he will make me weep (metaphorically! - I think) over?

In Totality

It's amazing how intelligent hard-working students can contrive to miss the point of a poem or passage set as an 'unseen' exercise. I've always known this, I mean as a teacher, but it's useful to be reminded of this law of the universe in another set of marking. I suppose it relates to the fact that the tone of a piece emerges as a result of everything else, like consciousness as a mysteriously emergent quality of biological processes, and if you don't quite get the everything else you'll have little grasp of the tone.

When I'm reading a cheerfully extrovert relaxed sort of work it seems obvious to me that that's what it is. There may be other shadings usefully colouring the fabric, adding variety, and you come to expect these, but they don't generally confuse the main issue. It all seems to me a matter of common sense. But I know that to others, some of whom I teach, it constitutes a sometimes impenetrable mystery. My job is to de-mystify, but I'm not at all sure how this might be done despite having spent over thirty years worrying at the problem.

Oddly, when you ask students to read something out loud they often get it right, even down to the subtleties. Perhaps the answer is to find ways of by-passing the intellect, to avoid over-thinking?

Flying Away

Popped into Hamzah and Sharifah's house at Shah Alam on the way back to Melaka this evening both to see them and to bid the fondest of farewells to niece Aziqah who sets off for Tasmania tomorrow for a course in architecture. Unbeknowst to Aziqah her doting father murmured mournfully to me about just how much he was going to miss her at least three times in the short space of our visit. I don't think you ever quite realise when you're young just what a wrench it is for your elders when you're ready to fly the nest. I'm pretty sure Hamzah rightly has protected his daughter from this dispiriting information and the attendant melancholy.

I'm reminded, as I often am these days for some reason, of that line from Linda Loman in the greatest and most real and relevant of all American tragedies (and I hope I'm quoting it correctly as this is purely from (a bad) memory): Life is a taking leave. Yes, it is, isn't it?

At Its Best

This house is at its best when we have visitors. So today, with Rohana and Osman staying overnight, and Fajar and family popping in this evening, was a very good day.

Pain

I’m back to reading Madame Bovary again after something of a hiatus. I sort of broke off when we were in the throes of moving apartment, partly as a result of Boon lending me The Fry Chronicles which became my default reading for a week or so, partly because it slipped down so easily. This is not to say that Bovary is a difficult read, far from it I think, but it makes some curious demands on the reader at times which means that it doesn’t necessarily slip down without a fight.

I was reminded of this today when starting to read Chapter 9 of Part 2, the one in which Charles operates to disastrous effect on Hippolyte’s club foot. As I realised what was coming, and remembered how uncomfortable I’d felt in the past when reading the chapter, I felt very inclined to skip the sequence. I don’t think there’s ever been a better description (if that’s what it is – evocation might be a better word) of utterly pointless, miserable, dreadfully almost comic, suffering in literature.

I suppose what makes it so painful, so powerful, is that the poor guy’s pains are almost off-stage, as it were. In the spotlight instead we have the folly of Homais, the incompetence amounting to idiocy of Bovary and the utterly self-centred machinations of Emma. And the attendant sense of horror that this is the way the world is. We know of the very real distress that’s everywhere around us, but to which we cannot choose but shut ourselves away – until it becomes our own, I suppose.

Power

One of life’s great puzzles for me has always been that desire for power that is so obviously embedded in some people. I don’t seem to have even a trace of this. I don’t mind taking charge when something needs to be done, but once done no one could be happier to relinquish whatever status or influence or position that has been unfortunately acquired in the process.

So why the major and minor dictators of this world find it almost impossible to give up even a shred of whatever it is that presses their buttons remains an intriguing curiosity. But it’s nothing like as intriguing as what it is that motivates so many to put everything on the line for the good of others. On one side a distressing pettiness; on the other a life-expanding nobility.

Something of this is being played out, methinks, on the streets of Cairo and Alexandria and other fabled places. If we are fortunate new myths will emerge.

Making Room

With yet another new year to welcome in, with that of the Rabbit (or the Hare, not too sure of this) fast approaching, we're loading up the car with yet more stuff to create a little more elbow room for ourselves in the Hall. Various bits and pieces (mainly electrical) are destined for a new home in Melaka, and the rest can fill up Maison KL. We're not too sure what customs will make of our not-so-little load, so let's hope they'll be too busy to bother to stop us.

20.40

And here we are in the Malaysian capital having shed half a car load at Melaka – in terms of goods picked up by Yasser & Wan, destined for a good home in Alor Gajah. Travelling up on the afternoon of the Lunar New Year is to be recommended, by the way. Remarkably, thankfully jam-less. (I suppose a good half of the population are already at their reunion dinners.) And no hassle at customs!

Sadly lots of signs of flooding along the way though. Noi says that Rozaidah’s rented place at Alor Gajah suffered a bit. Compared to the mess some folks are dealing with the tribulations of our recent change of address weren’t even close to tribulating (assuming there were such a state.)

Reality Shows

Gripped by events in Tunisia and Egypt. Noi's comment on Mubarak: Why not just have an election and get rid of him? The kind of good sense that people sometimes have to lose their lives to make real.

Pleased we are able to get BBC World in the Hall. Their coverage has conveyed both the excitement and complexity of the situation. Took some time out earlier to watch a bit of Fox News that actually attempted to cover what was going on. Jaw dropping stuff, and I don't mean that in a good way. One commentator referred to riots on the streets of France, Greece and Egypt as evidence of Obama's support of corrupt regimes. Quite entertaining in a scary sort of way.

Interesting question - Why would anyone, anywhere assume it was a good idea for them personally to remain unchallenged in power for thirty years?