A Parting Of The Ways

I'm now approaching the end of the Third Part of Zarathustra and have decided to part company with Herr Nietzsche for a short while. Probably just a day. His work is never less than fascinating and he makes for intense company - but a little bit too intense on occasions, if you know what I mean. He's like that friend who gets just that bit too demanding, who sees a bit too much significance in just about everything and is just a bit too angry for his own good too much of the time.

I keep thinking it would have done him good to read some P.G. Wodehouse. In fact, I've got a feeling he's name-checked by Bertie Wooster somewhere, probably in relation to one of Bertie's horrendous girlfriends. Possibly Honoria Glossop. Now I come to think of it, it would probably do me good to read a bit of Wodehouse as a sort of corrective.

Nothing To Report

Now very happily installed in Maison KL after the best kind of journey. And what kind of journey might that be? you ask. One entirely without incident, I answer wisely.

The Right Place

We picked up niece Zahira this afternoon as she'll be accompanying us on our trip up to KL for the week's holiday - as she did at this time last year. We took her to Kinokuniya to 'spend' the book tokens I gave her (the ones I got at the Literature Seminar for services rendered. I split the spoils between herself, Fi Fi and Fa Fa.)

She picked up a sci-fi trilogy by some Chinese writer I've vaguely heard of - quite recently - and I must say it looked intriguing. If it proves too adult for her sensibilities I might just borrow the books myself. Actually she had a chance to change her mind over her choice as she picked up the books in question at the adult section before finding the shelves designated for Young Adult Fiction. I watched her there as she stood dazed and delighted at the sheer range of what was on offer, feeling something of the excitement of my younger self when first exposed to the possibilities of good bookshops.

To be honest, I feel pretty much the same excitement even now in the right place at the right time. Even a good library does it for me.

Real Numbers

There's something weirdly reassuring about the fact that we know the figures for the number of dead in the Bahamas following the devastation resulting from the terrible hurricane of recent days will inevitably climb. It will confirm the reality of the horror that's taken place, even if we're learning what at some level we already know. (Everyone seeing the film of that devastation will know what I mean.) In contrast, the lies about levels of casualties following Chernobyl, or those incurred in the invasion of Iraq in the early days of reporting, simply added another level of awfulness to the horror involved.

Having said that, the word unimaginable got thrown about on the news just now, so we'd better prepare ourselves for something deeply shocking. What we can't possibly imagine is the suffering of the victims, not at the reality of its intensity. We never can, no matter what the numbers.

Danger Ahead

Kaufmann's Portable Nietzsche is remarkably generous in terms of just how much of the philosopher it packs into its pages. The whole of Thus Spake Zarathustra being rightfully the centrepiece. I'm now having a good time being battered about the brain with the First Part. Bracing stuff and wonderfully poetic, even in translation. (Must say, I suspect Kaufmann's is brilliant given the fact that others I've encountered over the years didn't sound remotely like actual English.)

My big problem with reading Nietzsche isn't his fault, I suspect. I guess History is to blame. It's just that when I read stuff like Aphorism 283 from The Gay Science - I welcome all signs that a more manly, a warlike, age is about to begin, an age which, above all, will give honor to valor once again - I find myself becoming quite unreasonably angry with FN and sort of wish he'd never written this nonsense. Of course, nobody could know what dangerous nonsense this would prove to be circa 1882, and I've taken the words out of context. But that's the point: it's so fatally easy to strip away the context from a thinker who's discovered that the secret of the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment of existence is: to live dangerously.

I suspect that most of those souls who find themselves living dangerously in a quite involuntary manner - sadly, so many of them - would readily settle for a peaceful, comfortable existence.

At Present

Reading my own words from some five years ago - and somehow failing to connect. 

Listening to Noi's laughter, a sound with which I am happily familiar and always happy to renew acquaintance.

Wondering how my nation came to this, and what shape it might take another five years hence.

Hoping to get a good lie-in tomorrow but suspecting I'll wake early and get up anyway.

Praying for those in adversity, and in thanks that no real adversity has been visited upon me.

Writing this.

Worrying about nothing in particular but everything in general.

Not Too Likeable

I suppose this is true for everyone, but I get the oddest emails sometimes. Today I was invited to attend a course going by the unlikely title: Increasing Your Likeability Quotient For Success.

One paragraph read:

Increasing our Likeability Quotient is one of the most essential skill (sic) we should develop because it helps us in developing relationships with our friends, colleagues, bosses, business associates and even with our customers.


Now it's true there's room for me to be a lot more likeable, but I must confess to being somewhat doubtful that some kind of skill is involved. And I must further confess that I'm not terribly keen on being universally liked. I'm more than happy to have most people I know prepared to put up with me despite everything.

Sadly, I won't be attending the course, so I won't be able to:

Apply the Mehrabian 7-38-55 rule to create lasting and powerful first impression.

A pity really. I have the feeling I'm missing out on material of glorious comic potential.

Reality Check

When the world shrinks to the size of you and the elliptical trainer and ten minutes to go, then you find out exactly what you're made of. Unfortunately the ingredients are not always as impressive as you hope they might be.

Cause For Concern

Last Saturday I found myself largely home alone as Noi went off for the day to a wedding in Malaysia. Fortunately she was back by the late evening, so life wasn't entirely bleak for the day - and I did manage to spin Marquee Moon at a highly satisfactory volume (as noted in an appropriate post) to take the edge off the marking which dominated my hours alone. I also toddled up to Holland Village to stretch my legs and quaff the cup that cheers once the marking was done, taking the opportunity to buy the latest Mekong Review and the August edition of The New York Review of Books at the nifty magazine shop on the corner.

Once established with my cuppa, happily gazing out upon the various passers-by, I thought I'd get acquainted with the opening article in the latter publication only to realise I'd read it already in NYRB's on-line version. And whatever sense of post-marking contentment I was feeling abruptly vanished as I remembered my original perusal of Alan Weisman's Burning Down the House, his review of two hard-hitting tomes related to climate change, had left me mildly depressed. For reasons I'm hesitant to fathom I read the piece again, with even greater attention than the first time round, and considerably darkened my afternoon.

Just lately I've noticed how real these environmental concerns have become for me. That's a spectacularly dumb thing to say, I know, but I also know it's true. They're beginning to leak into everyday conversations and I'm a bit worried that I'll start to sound like I think I have a right to preach on such matters. It's a minor saving grace that I'm aware my track record has established no such right.

I'm trying to think of something real and positive I might do in relation to all this. And I'm worried that I just might not be able to.

A Fresh Start

1 Muharram, 1441

We began the new year at the wedding of our former neighbour Nooraini's eldest son, Irfan. I suppose the young man and his bride will consider today in some sense the start of a new life for themselves. If the happy vibes of the occasion are anything to go by it will be a fulfilling one, insya'allah.

The funny thing about fresh starts is that it's possible to make them on pretty much any day of any year we choose.