I shouldn't read the Metro - it's like the Daily Mail but without the wit or depth of thoughtful prose. It's a commuter paper - and it's free... When Nas and I were both bussing to work the first year we lived here we used to compare Metro stories when we got home. But I did while on my break today.
I should stress - there are interesting and provocative slasher films out there. And as offended as I am by this director and his dubious 'political commentary' I will not call for any censorship of his material. Go ahead - watch it; write a credible, intelligent response about the analogy and deeper reading possible from both films. Just don't try, as this fellow does to pass off misogyny as an artistic or philosophical strategy.
Eli Roth, the 'director' of Hostel and Hostel II, was the '60-second interview' today. In his scintillating responses to the clever and provocative questions (I'm not being entirely sarcastic there - they were standard questions and he missed the boat badly on a few) was the following (paraphrased) response to MP Charles Walker's attempt to ban the sale of stills from Hostel II. Walker admitted that he had not personally seen the film - which earned him a sneer from the Roth (who by the way, was named by Men's Health as the most fit director in Hollywood (2006) - clearly the world is sitting up and taking notice of this 'artist'!). Walker reportedly called Hostel II "90 minutes of obscene misogyny". Roth's response?
'That's the greatest endorsement you can get.'
'If you're upsetting MPs, you're doing something right'. Right. Cause it's little ol' Hollywood - that last bastion of individual creativity - beset on all sides by censorious and fascistic governments. With heroes like this, who needs villains? Grow up, Mr. Roth. Hostel and Hostel II are about the 'wrong side of capitalism'? And what side is Mr. Roth representing? Who distributed these films? How much did it cost to film and produce? Did Roth donate any or all of his earnings to some worthy NGO?
And people tell me feminism is outdated...
How is chopping a woman's head off a metaphor for U.S. politics? You won't find the answer there.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
by any name
I don't have time to comment on this article now - but I've been meaning to gather my thoughts on this topic on teethbeforewords. Because it is so close to my heart and because it's taken as such a trivial matter by so many people.
Names do matter - childish rhymes aside. In the same issue of The Guardian, I find this article about Nas's (the rapper) apparently 'unspeakable' new album and this article from a woman I would love to meet.
Names do matter - childish rhymes aside. In the same issue of The Guardian, I find this article about Nas's (the rapper) apparently 'unspeakable' new album and this article from a woman I would love to meet.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
A Grand Day Out
Occasionally, I realise that we haven't been out of the city in ages. Usually when I start becoming frustrated for no apparent reason with my fellow Loiners; when I start cursing about the city council, the public transit system, the rubbish collection...taxes... - when I offer Nasser an uncomfortably clear picture of exactly how crotchety I'll be in fifty years. So yesterday, we had a grand day out. In spite of knowing about this day for well on four weeks, I still managed to get caught out on some details - bus schedules notably!
The greatest thing about not quite planning enough is the surprises. There was a festival on in York - of course, to balance that boon, it was half-term and the city centre was crawling with children. Obviously I was still suffering from urban-induced crabbiness cause the kiddies were alright really. It might have been the sunshine, my delicious cheese-leek-and-bacon pasty, or the thrill of being out and about but I could see, briefly, how children might be amusing - not to have around for any stretch of time but at least not constantly grating. We watched Jorvik Viking Centre's display of Celtic combat techniques and a group of singers from Zimbabwe; walked around looking at expensive boutiques and market stalls; cast our usual admiring eye over the Minster and then tried to find the bus...
I should have mentioned that the object of our travels was Coxwold - specifically, Shandy Hall, former home (obviously!) of Laurence Sterne and currently the temporary writing retreat of Kenneth Goldsmith, conceptual poet and performance artist. I should also add that our whole day was thanks to Nasser's supervisor, who gave Nasser his tickets to the day, which comprised poetry readings, a book-sale-cum-fundraiser for Shandy Hall with donated items from various artists, and the screening of Sucking on Words, a film by Simon Morris about Goldsmith's work.
I should also mention that Coxwold is very nearly impossible to get into and out of - especially on the weekends. Shandy Hall suggests that it is a 'value day out for the whole family'. If I budget in train fares, bus fares + the frustration of doing that with a child, let alone more than one, the only value would exist in leaving them all there while I ran, stark raving mad, over the moors back to the city. Of course, the bus driving straight through Coxwold NOT STOPPING until 1 and 1/2 miles past the village, was a bit of an unanticipated set-back.
But there is, in all things, something to balance, if we take the time to look. In this case, it was hard to miss. By driving straight through Coxwold, the bus-driver had unwittingly shown us Byland Abbey - something we would never have seen had we stopped, as planned, in Coxwold. We also saw the Kilburn White Horse (when we were walking back to Coxwold, we couldn't see it to get a picture, alas). Okay, so we've seen enough abbey ruins to become rather immune to them. But they are always good for a moment of reflection.
So we made it to Coxwold - I really can't recommend our way as something to emmulate. Grass verges are not meant for walkers. Shandy Hall is lovely and old and the poetry readings were very provoking. Kenneth Goldsmith - whom Nasser had had the pleasure of meeting during the week at York Uni - is charming and lovely; as are the scholars, poets, and interested/interesting folk who attended. Nasser was in his element - and it was so wonderful to see how excited and engaged academics and practioners are about the ideas and texts he is working on (which I knew was amazing - but I was always going to say that...).
The moors at night are dark and quiet - the kind of dark and quiet that I've quite forgotten living in Leeds. Coxwold is - literally - a crossroads, a church, and a village hall. As a writing retreat, it would be heaven. As a permanent home...well, I go back and forth on this one. I love the peace and quiet - but there are no amenities - and by that I mean anything (no newsagents!) - but I would hate to have to walk into the churchyard to get a signal on my mobile (it's true...). And I think Nasser might go mad or possibly go native and start wearing tweed and wellingtons and carrying a walking stick everywhere.
On the way home we managed to get a free ride from Thirsk to York and smoothly on home. Which was good and capped the day nicely. Pancakes for breakfast - and dinner at a friend's tonight - and we're pretty set up for the rest of the week...!
The greatest thing about not quite planning enough is the surprises. There was a festival on in York - of course, to balance that boon, it was half-term and the city centre was crawling with children. Obviously I was still suffering from urban-induced crabbiness cause the kiddies were alright really. It might have been the sunshine, my delicious cheese-leek-and-bacon pasty, or the thrill of being out and about but I could see, briefly, how children might be amusing - not to have around for any stretch of time but at least not constantly grating. We watched Jorvik Viking Centre's display of Celtic combat techniques and a group of singers from Zimbabwe; walked around looking at expensive boutiques and market stalls; cast our usual admiring eye over the Minster and then tried to find the bus...
I should have mentioned that the object of our travels was Coxwold - specifically, Shandy Hall, former home (obviously!) of Laurence Sterne and currently the temporary writing retreat of Kenneth Goldsmith, conceptual poet and performance artist. I should also add that our whole day was thanks to Nasser's supervisor, who gave Nasser his tickets to the day, which comprised poetry readings, a book-sale-cum-fundraiser for Shandy Hall with donated items from various artists, and the screening of Sucking on Words, a film by Simon Morris about Goldsmith's work.
I should also mention that Coxwold is very nearly impossible to get into and out of - especially on the weekends. Shandy Hall suggests that it is a 'value day out for the whole family'. If I budget in train fares, bus fares + the frustration of doing that with a child, let alone more than one, the only value would exist in leaving them all there while I ran, stark raving mad, over the moors back to the city. Of course, the bus driving straight through Coxwold NOT STOPPING until 1 and 1/2 miles past the village, was a bit of an unanticipated set-back.
But there is, in all things, something to balance, if we take the time to look. In this case, it was hard to miss. By driving straight through Coxwold, the bus-driver had unwittingly shown us Byland Abbey - something we would never have seen had we stopped, as planned, in Coxwold. We also saw the Kilburn White Horse (when we were walking back to Coxwold, we couldn't see it to get a picture, alas). Okay, so we've seen enough abbey ruins to become rather immune to them. But they are always good for a moment of reflection.
So we made it to Coxwold - I really can't recommend our way as something to emmulate. Grass verges are not meant for walkers. Shandy Hall is lovely and old and the poetry readings were very provoking. Kenneth Goldsmith - whom Nasser had had the pleasure of meeting during the week at York Uni - is charming and lovely; as are the scholars, poets, and interested/interesting folk who attended. Nasser was in his element - and it was so wonderful to see how excited and engaged academics and practioners are about the ideas and texts he is working on (which I knew was amazing - but I was always going to say that...).
The moors at night are dark and quiet - the kind of dark and quiet that I've quite forgotten living in Leeds. Coxwold is - literally - a crossroads, a church, and a village hall. As a writing retreat, it would be heaven. As a permanent home...well, I go back and forth on this one. I love the peace and quiet - but there are no amenities - and by that I mean anything (no newsagents!) - but I would hate to have to walk into the churchyard to get a signal on my mobile (it's true...). And I think Nasser might go mad or possibly go native and start wearing tweed and wellingtons and carrying a walking stick everywhere.
On the way home we managed to get a free ride from Thirsk to York and smoothly on home. Which was good and capped the day nicely. Pancakes for breakfast - and dinner at a friend's tonight - and we're pretty set up for the rest of the week...!
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Lazy Sunday
I haven't had a Sunday off, it seems, since sometime last spring - before the 'writing up' madness began. So I have one today. I think I've forgotten how to really enjoy doing nothing. I'm sure it will come back quickly enough. The days are noticeably shorter now and that fall smell is everywhere - it rained yesterday so the leaves have made a slick carpet of rot on the pavement. I prefer them crunchy and dry, for kicking about when walking. It was Eid last night as well - the end of Ramadan - and in our neighbourhood, it's a big night and the whole area smells of the most delicious food and you can feel the holiday cheer.
Last night, while out with friends, I picked up some maple syrup - the first I have ever bought here in Leeds. I paid £2.99 for 330mL. And that was at Tesco's (yes, I feel a bit dirty) - so I won't be buying it again in a hurry! But on pancakes this morning with fruit compote and our own bacon, it was totally worth it.
Nasser is at the library now and I'm roasting tomatoes for sauce. No matter what I do, I cannot make my sauce taste like hers. And I swear I'm doing exactly as I was taught! I think it has much more to do with everything else that I associate with the tomato sauce in my mind. I suppose it has never been about the food - just like I can't seem to get the flavour or texture exactly right when I try to make my mum's or grandmother's recipes. What I'm really after is everything else. I know when I'm eating that pasta that makes my mouth water just remembering it, that I'm surrounded by my extended family; that it's a celebration - if not of the calendar kind, at least of our own devising. Nothing tastes quite the same away from mum's kitchen - barbeques simply cannot be the same way from the cottage I grew up in. I'm not saying that barbeques aren't delicious - they're just not the same. Then again, it's also nice to make something that is so very much Nasser and I.
Aside from that, I've written a letter to my brother, listened to some music, and had some tea. Oh I've also read about my friend's new baby in Canada. Nas and I have no thought for children of our own right now, but I'm glad of other people's (especially my friends') happiness.
So generally, a pretty okay Sunday.
Last night, while out with friends, I picked up some maple syrup - the first I have ever bought here in Leeds. I paid £2.99 for 330mL. And that was at Tesco's (yes, I feel a bit dirty) - so I won't be buying it again in a hurry! But on pancakes this morning with fruit compote and our own bacon, it was totally worth it.
Nasser is at the library now and I'm roasting tomatoes for sauce. No matter what I do, I cannot make my sauce taste like hers. And I swear I'm doing exactly as I was taught! I think it has much more to do with everything else that I associate with the tomato sauce in my mind. I suppose it has never been about the food - just like I can't seem to get the flavour or texture exactly right when I try to make my mum's or grandmother's recipes. What I'm really after is everything else. I know when I'm eating that pasta that makes my mouth water just remembering it, that I'm surrounded by my extended family; that it's a celebration - if not of the calendar kind, at least of our own devising. Nothing tastes quite the same away from mum's kitchen - barbeques simply cannot be the same way from the cottage I grew up in. I'm not saying that barbeques aren't delicious - they're just not the same. Then again, it's also nice to make something that is so very much Nasser and I.
Aside from that, I've written a letter to my brother, listened to some music, and had some tea. Oh I've also read about my friend's new baby in Canada. Nas and I have no thought for children of our own right now, but I'm glad of other people's (especially my friends') happiness.
So generally, a pretty okay Sunday.
Friday, October 12, 2007
on not being disappointed
The staff at Special Collections (aka paradise) are really quite amazing. I made a completely newbie error and didn't take down the bibliographic details of an eighteenth-century text I used for my research on the Marriage Act of 1753. With nothing more than the title I thought was correct - History of Parliamentary Debates and a page reference, they found it for me. Stellar. Of course, my thesis being handed in, I'll have to add the reference (which I had to remove) before it's hardbound - after I pass of course (please please please!!!).
Last night, being thoroughly bored with telly's meager offerings, we watched Solaris - the Soderbergh version, yes - I know - not the original Russian version (we'll get to it!). I remember this film being advertised and thought it looked absolutely rubbish. Turns out, the PR team for the film were absolutely rubbish. I recall it being billed as a kind of romance-suspense-(quasi) space horror - kind of Alien but clearly not. I feel rather cheated now because this is one of the best science fiction films I've ever seen - in fact, I'll dare to remove that stigmatizing genre category and just say this is one of the best films I've ever seen. I'm not overly fond of Soderbergh and I thought Traffic was pedantic and tortured; nor have I joined Hollywood's left wing activists on the Clooney bandwagon. I can't stand E.R. - never could and unfortunately, I have let that taint my opinion of Clooney's acting skills and artistic choices. Nasser has recently been reading Stanislaw Lem (The Cyberiad) and as I was shelving in the library earlier in the week, I stumbled on Solaris, and did some research - it's based (loosely) on Lem's story - which, intriguingly, still does not have an official English translation. Soderbergh and others are working from an English version of the French translation of the Polish. Having watched it, even this detail - this layering and distancing of the (English) audience is provocative and resonant.
This film is stunning in all respects - it is beautifully shot and directed; the roles are unbelievably difficult and carried off with aplomb by every actor. In spite of being connected to The Abyss, the special effects are minimal. The music is incredible. But - a warning if you are tempted to rush out and rent this - it isn't like anything you are expecting. More like 2001: A Space Odyssey than anything else I can think of, it did badly on general release - little wonder there: the dialogue is minimal, there is no explanation - no resolution - no conclusion; the acting is subdued and there is rarely more than one person on screen at a time. There are scenes with almost no background sound - unnerving and perfectly orchestrated. It is confusing ('challenging' claims one description of the film), non-linear, and not for a casual viewing experience.
BUT it repays thought and rewatching and leaves that lovely lingering sense of new ideas and larger horizons - in my mind at least.
Last night, being thoroughly bored with telly's meager offerings, we watched Solaris - the Soderbergh version, yes - I know - not the original Russian version (we'll get to it!). I remember this film being advertised and thought it looked absolutely rubbish. Turns out, the PR team for the film were absolutely rubbish. I recall it being billed as a kind of romance-suspense-(quasi) space horror - kind of Alien but clearly not. I feel rather cheated now because this is one of the best science fiction films I've ever seen - in fact, I'll dare to remove that stigmatizing genre category and just say this is one of the best films I've ever seen. I'm not overly fond of Soderbergh and I thought Traffic was pedantic and tortured; nor have I joined Hollywood's left wing activists on the Clooney bandwagon. I can't stand E.R. - never could and unfortunately, I have let that taint my opinion of Clooney's acting skills and artistic choices. Nasser has recently been reading Stanislaw Lem (The Cyberiad) and as I was shelving in the library earlier in the week, I stumbled on Solaris, and did some research - it's based (loosely) on Lem's story - which, intriguingly, still does not have an official English translation. Soderbergh and others are working from an English version of the French translation of the Polish. Having watched it, even this detail - this layering and distancing of the (English) audience is provocative and resonant.
This film is stunning in all respects - it is beautifully shot and directed; the roles are unbelievably difficult and carried off with aplomb by every actor. In spite of being connected to The Abyss, the special effects are minimal. The music is incredible. But - a warning if you are tempted to rush out and rent this - it isn't like anything you are expecting. More like 2001: A Space Odyssey than anything else I can think of, it did badly on general release - little wonder there: the dialogue is minimal, there is no explanation - no resolution - no conclusion; the acting is subdued and there is rarely more than one person on screen at a time. There are scenes with almost no background sound - unnerving and perfectly orchestrated. It is confusing ('challenging' claims one description of the film), non-linear, and not for a casual viewing experience.
BUT it repays thought and rewatching and leaves that lovely lingering sense of new ideas and larger horizons - in my mind at least.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Eating the animate alphabet
In the world of dull dinners - and I've fallen into a funk, creatively; meaning I'll have to go through my immense collection of cookbooks for inspiration soon - this intrigues me. His project, as he says, is to eat his way through the alphabet - in a carnivorous fashion (apologies to my vegetarian friends). Of course, for a vegetarian, this would be far too easy - but, off the top of my head, I would stall out after beef, chicken, fish, and lamb (sheep?) - unless I got to count different breeds (Angus, Highland...um...bantam chickens? mutton and lamb?). He starts with 'ants'. I'll keep reading.
And of course, in my daily trawl of the online newspapers, I couldn't resist clicking here. It's the new exhibit at the Barbican and I will definitely be checking it out - with much glee - next time I'm in London...
newspapers...sometimes, aside from the news-like bits, they're okay.
And of course, in my daily trawl of the online newspapers, I couldn't resist clicking here. It's the new exhibit at the Barbican and I will definitely be checking it out - with much glee - next time I'm in London...
newspapers...sometimes, aside from the news-like bits, they're okay.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
To give thanks
It's Thanksgiving again - not that there is any sign of it here in Leeds: no children still out, relishing the prospect of a day off school, no television specials, no national shortage of brightly coloured construction paper - nor any flocks of paper turkeys, or inedible but lush paper cornucopias. I don't think my neighbours have given much thought to the pilgrims; there aren't many leaves scattered artistically about the streets - but when I was walking home from work tonight, I caught that smoky, earthy tang in the air and remembered - it's Thanksgiving!
Okay, that might have been mostly for dramatic effect. I might have remembered it before the poetic moment of the gloaming. Betraying my preparation, behind me in the kitchen, we have a most beautiful fore-rib of beef from the best butcher in Leeds - fresh from the farmers' market. Not to mention sprouts still on the stalk - potatoes roasting in the oven - huge flat mushrooms...It's not very traditional - but it'll do. Finding turkey in England anytime before Christmas is a chore anyway.
I'm reading about the Early Modern Period right now - a fantastic book by Julian Yates called Object Lessons from the English Renaissance. I'm thinking of it right now because it opens with a reflection on Derrida - "or was it Rabbi Hillel" - who says that the only true giving must be done in isolation, without announcement or acknowledgment. 'Thank you' or the reciprocated exchange we're so used to isn't real giving at all - it's just that: exchange. True giving must be an end - not a circle or a ripple or any other corny Hollywood plot engine. So what about giving thanks? What does that mean? - Aside from screwing up my face like a kid's - concentrating fiercely on somehow manifesting that source of all my happiness in order that I might present my thanks like so many heartfelt art-class projects.
I don't know the answer to this. But I like to think that there is something deliberate in the thanks given in homes all over Canada today. And maybe that is what I like about Thanksgiving - the only holiday named with a verb - and a gerund! It's lovely and continuous - everything about it resonates: why does everyone sit down for dinner? Thanksgiving! Why do we get a day extra of rest? Thanksgiving! Perhaps, in a genius bit of soft propaganda, whoever came up with it realised that if you say something enough - repeat it enough times - it can be true (a positive spin on it can become meaningless). The sheer number of times 'thanks' must be repeated on telly, and radio, in print and in conversation all building up to some grand and polyphonic grace.
So I give thanks alone and quietly and loudly and in company. Giving without acknowledgment is too cold and martyr-like for me. I'd rather the exchange - it feels messier and more real. And it's time for dinner.
Okay, that might have been mostly for dramatic effect. I might have remembered it before the poetic moment of the gloaming. Betraying my preparation, behind me in the kitchen, we have a most beautiful fore-rib of beef from the best butcher in Leeds - fresh from the farmers' market. Not to mention sprouts still on the stalk - potatoes roasting in the oven - huge flat mushrooms...It's not very traditional - but it'll do. Finding turkey in England anytime before Christmas is a chore anyway.
I'm reading about the Early Modern Period right now - a fantastic book by Julian Yates called Object Lessons from the English Renaissance. I'm thinking of it right now because it opens with a reflection on Derrida - "or was it Rabbi Hillel" - who says that the only true giving must be done in isolation, without announcement or acknowledgment. 'Thank you' or the reciprocated exchange we're so used to isn't real giving at all - it's just that: exchange. True giving must be an end - not a circle or a ripple or any other corny Hollywood plot engine. So what about giving thanks? What does that mean? - Aside from screwing up my face like a kid's - concentrating fiercely on somehow manifesting that source of all my happiness in order that I might present my thanks like so many heartfelt art-class projects.
I don't know the answer to this. But I like to think that there is something deliberate in the thanks given in homes all over Canada today. And maybe that is what I like about Thanksgiving - the only holiday named with a verb - and a gerund! It's lovely and continuous - everything about it resonates: why does everyone sit down for dinner? Thanksgiving! Why do we get a day extra of rest? Thanksgiving! Perhaps, in a genius bit of soft propaganda, whoever came up with it realised that if you say something enough - repeat it enough times - it can be true (a positive spin on it can become meaningless). The sheer number of times 'thanks' must be repeated on telly, and radio, in print and in conversation all building up to some grand and polyphonic grace.
So I give thanks alone and quietly and loudly and in company. Giving without acknowledgment is too cold and martyr-like for me. I'd rather the exchange - it feels messier and more real. And it's time for dinner.
Friday, October 05, 2007
It's good to be king
At least, if you are Jonathan Rhys Meyers and only playing Henry VIII in BBC 2's new costume drama, The Tudors. It's a Friday night - I'm not going out - I'm hooked. Bowl of popcorn, soda pop, what Nasser lovingly (I'm sure) refers to as my 'ghetto pants' - bright blue velour leisure pants (that's the North American use of 'pants' BTW)... I may or may not have tea and biscuits.
Telly remains distressingly black or white in terms of quality. Even the siren calls (literally) of Law & Order hold little allure anymore...oh sure, they're always on but more often than not I'll flip through books with more interest. It's more background drama than captivating, must-see TV. Particuarly as the new series features a depressingly thick-set, older and grittier but no more humourous Chris Noth. And his sidekick? Annabella Sciorra - looking far too good to really be a cop. Oh Briscoe... we hardly knew you.
Of course, then there is Heroes.
Oh golden hours of telly watching in the true spirit of children! Bums to the edge of the seats - no talking during ad-breaks - mad dashes for the loo before and after that tell-tale eclipse flashes across the screen...Heated debates over motivations, twists, who has the best power (Hiro, obviously). Even my friend who swears up and down that she doesn't like sci-fi/fantasy is a fan.
I love it.
***
The Tudors was interesting - more for the (as my friend writes) smouldering!JRM action than any particular plot twists. Pretty boys in pretty clothes. Good enough for my Friday night in!
I made very late dinner - we went for a monthly shop and found our store stocked with Porkinson's sausages - aside from our farmers' market and the local Co-op range of British certified sausages, Porkinson's are the only brand-name bangers we'll buy. I'm disappointed that they mainly supply Tesco's.
Work this weekend - but the farmers' market to look forward to on Sunday. Our new project is cassoulet for Christmas. We have the confit makings; now need an astonishing array of pig products. Nasser is accusing me of returning to my 'sandwich blog'...
***
The Tudors was interesting - more for the (as my friend writes) smouldering!JRM action than any particular plot twists. Pretty boys in pretty clothes. Good enough for my Friday night in!
I made very late dinner - we went for a monthly shop and found our store stocked with Porkinson's sausages - aside from our farmers' market and the local Co-op range of British certified sausages, Porkinson's are the only brand-name bangers we'll buy. I'm disappointed that they mainly supply Tesco's.
Work this weekend - but the farmers' market to look forward to on Sunday. Our new project is cassoulet for Christmas. We have the confit makings; now need an astonishing array of pig products. Nasser is accusing me of returning to my 'sandwich blog'...
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Hello Blog-world!
I shouldn't jinx myself: my thesis is handed in - not finished. My viva (defense) isn't until December. While leaves me loads of time to freak out, become super-stressed, and decide to go into middle-management at the bank.
Or I could make a start on the stack of reading on my desk - things that I mentioned briefly in the thesis, or in my bibliography that I really should read before defending! Particularly a book by my internal examiner and an article by my external examiner. Plus, teaching has started and I'm tutoring two hours of Renaissance Literature - luckily for me, my groups are sharp - the sharpest I've had. Or do I say that every year? Well, it's better than the news we get every year that kids are getting stupider and uni easier (or am I lowering my expectations already?!).
Today, they were bang-on. A blessing as I'm a bit poorly with a horrid cold - I knew I'd get ill as soon as I handed in. Work was lovely - I've never had a job where I actually get sick leave. It's all very grown up. Anyway - my classes - tackled formal crit and thematic discussions like pros. Next week - Hamlet. I'm really looking forward to teaching it - particularly as one of my students has never read it or seen it before. Imagine. I wish I was in her position in some ways. One thing about finishing a truly great book - you never get that same feeling again. Not that Hamlet is my favourite - and that reminds me that I want them to read some of Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Gildenstern Are Dead - my personal favourite is King Lear or MacBeth. But I think Hamlet fits the module - they knocked off The Spanish Tragedy today - and maybe the age. Hamlet is a young person's tragedy in many ways. MacBeth the middle-aged tragedy and Lear the old-age tragedy. I'm sure I've not just come up with that!
My friend, who is a Renaissance scholar, and I were discussing the Renaissance at a party on the weekend. It's a facinating period of study - seriously. Not, of course, as facinating as the Enlightenment but a close second. I might even put it before the late Victorian on my list. I'm trying to get my students to appreciate how Renaissance we still are. Religious strife, global warfare, suspicion at home, security, individual versus society... violence, duplicity, forgery... It's all there.
September flew by. It really did. I can't believe I've submitted my final student project. It is scary - a lot scary. And terrifyingly, amazingly, exciting. I've already got my next project bubbling away - it'll start with a paper at BSECS (assuming I am accepted). I have to start and finish a research assistant application tomorrow - at the National Archives in London. It sounds amazing - tho it is with a History Department rather than English. But must start playing the game I suppose. Then I've got chopping up my thesis into articles for publishing...and undoubtedly something else will come along. Life is busy - and very very good.
Or I could make a start on the stack of reading on my desk - things that I mentioned briefly in the thesis, or in my bibliography that I really should read before defending! Particularly a book by my internal examiner and an article by my external examiner. Plus, teaching has started and I'm tutoring two hours of Renaissance Literature - luckily for me, my groups are sharp - the sharpest I've had. Or do I say that every year? Well, it's better than the news we get every year that kids are getting stupider and uni easier (or am I lowering my expectations already?!).
Today, they were bang-on. A blessing as I'm a bit poorly with a horrid cold - I knew I'd get ill as soon as I handed in. Work was lovely - I've never had a job where I actually get sick leave. It's all very grown up. Anyway - my classes - tackled formal crit and thematic discussions like pros. Next week - Hamlet. I'm really looking forward to teaching it - particularly as one of my students has never read it or seen it before. Imagine. I wish I was in her position in some ways. One thing about finishing a truly great book - you never get that same feeling again. Not that Hamlet is my favourite - and that reminds me that I want them to read some of Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Gildenstern Are Dead - my personal favourite is King Lear or MacBeth. But I think Hamlet fits the module - they knocked off The Spanish Tragedy today - and maybe the age. Hamlet is a young person's tragedy in many ways. MacBeth the middle-aged tragedy and Lear the old-age tragedy. I'm sure I've not just come up with that!
My friend, who is a Renaissance scholar, and I were discussing the Renaissance at a party on the weekend. It's a facinating period of study - seriously. Not, of course, as facinating as the Enlightenment but a close second. I might even put it before the late Victorian on my list. I'm trying to get my students to appreciate how Renaissance we still are. Religious strife, global warfare, suspicion at home, security, individual versus society... violence, duplicity, forgery... It's all there.
September flew by. It really did. I can't believe I've submitted my final student project. It is scary - a lot scary. And terrifyingly, amazingly, exciting. I've already got my next project bubbling away - it'll start with a paper at BSECS (assuming I am accepted). I have to start and finish a research assistant application tomorrow - at the National Archives in London. It sounds amazing - tho it is with a History Department rather than English. But must start playing the game I suppose. Then I've got chopping up my thesis into articles for publishing...and undoubtedly something else will come along. Life is busy - and very very good.
