Gripped

Got started on The Dark Is Rising and found myself instantly hooked. Great opening with a genuine uncanny power. What exactly is happening to Will that makes the animals so afraid of him? Susan Cooper has gone up a notch or three on the earlier novel, and seems to be writing for a more mature audience. At least three years senior to the assumed readership of Over Sea, Under Stone, as far as I can tell. But why the inconsistency in the sequence? Was it planned?

Oh, and I should add that, contrary to the impression I may have given in my previous post about my reading of fiction falling flat, I was completely knocked out by two novels recently read (well, re-re-re-read) for teaching purposes: Kawabata's Snow Country and Solzhenitsyn's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. And to think that I get paid for this! Hah!

Kids' Stuff

Still struggling with my reading of Lowell's History sonnet sequence, and my reading of fiction hasn't been going all that much better. In early December it struck me that it might be a good idea to read Susan Cooper's fantasy sequence The Dark is Rising once again. I'd read a particularly enthusiastic article somewhere about the title novel of the five-novel sequence (actually the second) and it brought back some fond memories of my first reading of the saga back in the late 70s - early 80s in my early years as a teacher.

At that time I'd acquired the five individual paperbacks published by Penguin, with their very funky-looking covers, but those sort of disappeared when I shipped stuff over here. However, I picked up a single-volume compendium, in Borders, I think, some fifteen or so years back just for the sake of possessing it I suppose and vaguely thinking that I'd read it all again one day. And it seemed that day had arrived in the final month of 2023, so I picked it up from the shelves in Maison KL to accompany me back here.

Sadly it took me until yesterday to finish the first short novel Over Sea, Under Stone. Why so? Well, the opening of the sequence is by far the most 'childish' of the novels in terms of being obviously aimed at a younger readership. It's basically a sort of 'summer adventure' featuring an archetypally middle class family on holiday, in Cornwall, in a mysterious sort of house, with a mysterious sort of uncle and three precocious kids who are left to their own devices and end up on a mysterious sort of quest. It's easy enough to read and written with real craft and the twenty-something-year-old me enjoyed it in an easy-going manner, happily replaying some of the pleasures of what the even younger me had enjoyed reading in terms of other 'summer adventures' in primary school.

But the old, crabby version of me just couldn't surrender to the spell at all. It all felt so long ago and far away. So the easy reading seemed a bit too much like hard work since I felt little or no compulsion to turn each page. Which now leaves me with the question as to whether to carry on with the other four novels. Oddly the answer seems to be I will, but I'm not entirely sure why. (A bit like persevering with Lowell's later poetry, I suppose, but can't be for the same reasons.)

Two Questions

What I want to know is who thought it would be a good idea to make people try and solve those weird 'CAPTCHA' puzzles that pop up when you're rushing to get into a website to enact pressing business? The ones involving stairs, motorbikes, cars, traffic lights, fire hydrants and the like in badly rendered photographs. And why do I always mess up on them? Especially the ones with stairs.

And why would anyone think I was a robot? Do I look like one?

(I know that's more than two questions, but I think I've made my point.)

Words And Music

I am never merry when I hear sweet music, says Jessica in the fifth act of The Merchant of Venice, in the bit where the rather self-satisfied young nobles of Venice are chatting about music. Must say I agree with her. I suppose we all do.

For example, listening to VW's wonderful Serenade to Music does not instill cheerfulness, though doing so brightens doleful days in other ways. And discovering that I was wrong in assuming the music in question is a purely orchestral piece was a dolefully cheering reminder that my ignorance of stuff I might be thought to know about has few bounds. I posted a link to a lovely orchestral version back on the second day of the year only to discover the very next day that the original version was intended for orchestra and voices (sixteen of them) and that the first recording is easily available on-line. The 'lyrics' are essentially a neatly edited lift from the Act 5 'music' of the Merchant, from which I quote above.

Must say, though, it took me a couple of listens before I warmed up to the version with voices (even though I was listening to the actual individual singers VW had in mind when he wrote the serenade.) My usual prejudice regarding 'fruity' sounding voices initially got in the way. What helped me overcome this was when I realised it would be a good idea to put the actual words from the play in front of me as I listened and then it all came together. 

A potent mix. 

Contrasts

I was re-reading Solzhenitsyn's One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich this afternoon, ahead of teaching the great novella, and, as with each reading, feeling its extraordinary concerted condensed power. And then Noi provided a lovely tea of freshly baked scones and coffee.

The contrast was disconcerting to say the least. But it didn't stop me relishing the scones. And I had the oddest feeling that Solzhenitsyn might just have approved of that. Offhand of all the truly great writers he seems to me the most in touch with the day to day simple pleasures of existence - I suppose because he was so entirely deprived of them for so many years.

Finishing

A bit of a relief to get the end of the first working week of the year. And to do so in one piece. I think.

Of course, I'm ignoring the fact I've got a fair amount of work-related stuff to do over the weekend. Sometimes living in denial is a fruitful strategy.

Getting Started

Talked to two colleagues today who joined the school at the beginning of the year. Both are finding things overwhelming. It's not the teaching, because neither have started actual lessons; it's the sheer amount of information they need to take on board and the number of things that are going on outside the classroom with which they are already involved.

The only consolation I could give was that despite my being around for quite a few years I was feeling challenged in a similar fashion. It comes with the territory. Cold comfort, I'm afraid, but the way things are.

Great Audiences

Yesterday's article in the Graun about poor etiquette in relation to theatre audiences in the UK struck me as being depressingly typical of what I've been reading in the last two or three years about poor behaviour in audiences in my home nation. How things change. I don't recall ever seeing such behaviour in the theatre when I was in my native country. Quite the opposite in fact. Indeed, when I came to this Far Place I was struck by how Singaporean audiences sometimes didn't quite seem all that aware of how live theatre worked and felt vaguely proud of this aspect of British culture.

But here's the thing. I can't remember the last time I felt critical of a Singaporean audience. In recent years my experience of such has been uniformly positive as they seem to have somehow grown in sophistication. And this has been especially true with regard to audiences for school shows. This evening I was thinking back to our performances of As You Like It back in July. Our audiences were small but happily engaged & responsive. Being out on stage myself really brought that home to me.

There is no magic in theatre. Unless a directly shared understanding of human experience is magical. Which it is.

Sad that some people choose to wreck this. And a bit sad for me that I'll not be involved in any kind of production this year.

Serenaded

Not sure why but until today I thought that Ralph Vaughan Williams's Serenade to Music was one of his somewhat lightweight early works, knitting together a few good tunes a la the lovely Norfolk Rhapsodies, but not of any deeper consequence. Finally listened to it in a break at work today and discovered how fabulously wrong I'd been. Composed in the late 1930s this is mature mystical VW, as exquisite as anything from Job or the 5th Symphony. Just wonderful.

And the accompanying visuals from the Victorian artist John Atkinson Grimshaw, of whom I'd never heard before, in the version I chanced upon on YouTube, further helped soothe whatever parts of my soul the music failed to reach. Not that there were many.

Ahead

I'm happy to say that I accomplished my resolution for 2023. I had no real choice but to be resolute, of course, but enjoyed being so and managed to get back to what I regard as good health, which I didn't really expect. So I'm resolved to stay resolved, but that's a given I suppose, so can't really qualify as my resolution for 2024.

What can qualify is something based on what I posted on 21 December in relation to diet. My fighting weight seems to have been definitely reduced from what it used to be by a good 2 kg. So it isn't a matter of eating less. But I think I can tweak my intake to eat a bit better in terms of fruit and vegetables. In the year ahead I'll seek to enjoy the fruits abundantly available in the world I've been blessed to exist in. And to keep up with the exercise.

This is drearily practical and sensible, and that's just what I need at this point in time.