I've had these lyrics floating through my mind for two days. It's beautiful but sad.
I wrote my name in your book
Only God knows why
And I bet you that he cracked a smile.
And I'm clearing all the stuff out of my room
Trying desperately to figure out what is that makes me blue.
And I wrote an epic letter to you - and it's twenty-two pages front and back
But it's too good to be used.
And I try to be a girl who likes to be used
I'm too good for that; there's a mind under this hat.
I love literature. Anyone who knows me is aware that, like a lot of people, I'll always have three or four (or twelve) books by my bed. They're roughly divided into books I've just read and need to put away, library/borrowed books that I've read and need to return, books I've started reading, but am having a break from, books I've yet to start reading and books I'm currently reading. That's quite a list and a never-ending cycle.
It's not uncommon to read consistently and devour book after book but it's probably less common to have to tell your eight or nine year old child that you're worried she's addicted to Enid Blyton. Sorry Mother. But addicted I wasn't, as the slightly dramatic packing of Blyton into a box (that I never saw again) demonstrated. It may be considered strange that a woman so quick to defend 'modern' women in discussions about many 'feminist' ideas (both words have very subjective definitions) grew up reading such dated novels (and some of them are incredibly dated). However, that was a lot of my early childhood. I don't think that all Blyton is dated - I bet some children in the twenty-first century will enjoy reading about the adventures toys and dolls had in the nursery (Toy Story, anyone?), but her writing style is very much of its time. I digress.
Any excuse
A few weeks ago, I remembered a fantasy trilogy I'd read in 2006. I stumbled across it through someone named Kit, who was part of my team volunteering in Australia. Kit had the second book of the Tyrants and Kings trilogy with him that week and, having started that one, I quickly moved on to the first as soon as we were back in our Port Macquarie lodgings. I don't think the books were that successful in this country -it took me weeks to track down the third once I returned to the UK- but I really enjoyed them. Amazon describes Richius Vantran as a 'complicted' hero: 'brave yet sensitive'. I remember having a big 'crush' on him. His unyielding love for Dyana and their daughter probably had an impact on my view of him, yet I struggle to find a word to describe it. 'Crush' is such an Americanism and has little meaning to me, yet anything like 'love', 'lust' or 'fancy' doesn't sound quite right either. More to the point, what do I mean when I say I had feelings for him? I know several people who would laugh if I said I fell in love with a character from a book but I became very interested in the idea, the more I thought about other books I'd read.
Being in love (and that is how I'm going to refer to it) with a character from a book is, I think, often confused with liking an actor who portrayed the character in an adaptation. When I started asking friends about this, I felt the need to justify: 'I don't mean from a film or television adaptation: do you remember Mr Darcy before Colin Firth? Did you realise he existed before Colin Firth?'. I first read Pride and Prejudice when I was fourteen and I can't remember whether I'd seen the BBC adaptation already. I don't think I had but it makes little difference, as I can't remember whether I loved Mr Darcy or not. I feel the need to post 'the lake scene', purely to clarify that my thoughts are related to pages not screen.
Purely for clarification, you do understand.
Tyrants and Kings has not been adapted as far as I know. I adored Richius because of his passion, his bravery, his loyalty and his love. But it's not just him. I've fallen in love with a number of characters from books, and my friends and sisters have too.
Many of the characters are the heroes of our beloved heroines. Sense and Sensibility is, it seems, far less read than Pride and Prejudice and Elinor and Edward understated when compared to Elizabeth and Darcy. Yet I loved Edward. Handsome, shy, steadfastly true to his word and noble, I think I cried when Elinor and he finally got engaged. I was gutted to find out that Hugh Grant played him in the 1990s film. To me, that is not Edward.
A couple of my friends named Heathcliff. I think if you love Heathcliff (and here I feel the need to confess that I've still not read Wuthering Heights), you have to accept Cathy too. Without reading the book I can't comment on their relationship fully, but it seems you cannot have one without the other. Dramatic, bitter, painful, passionate and tragic, I think there's a lot to be read about the fact their relationship is so idolised. I think it very likely I'd fall in love with him.
Naturally some of us fell in lust with the characters as well as in love. Maybe it's partly because he teased Jane and was at times rather unkind to her that we loved Mr Rochester. As my friend Jen said, he's the 'kind of guy who'd throw you down rather than daintily kiss your hand'. But there was more to him than the dark, dangerous, slightly bad boy (although, naturally, he's humbled, almost tamed, by Jane and the fire at the end of the novel). He's loyal, protective and damaged too. Very different to many of the gentlemen we come across in other novels of the time.
Another tragic couple were Robbie and Cecilia in Atonement. I don't have space to elaborate on their many years and the web spun by that moment but my friend Cath summarised one reason for desiring Robbie rather eloquently: with the word 'library'. Yes!
One of the reasons I'm pleased I asked the question on Facebook was the range of response I got. After a little nudging, I found out that various male friends loved TessD'urbiville (yet another tragic character), Dorian Gray (Harry also liked Rebecca, apparently - falling in love with this all-powerful, haunting yet absent character's something only he would do), Hermione Granger (I can see it: brave, strong, intelligent and keeps two rather useless males in line) and Lolita (yes, that is disturbing, Stephen).
I was both amused and amazed to read that friends Charlie and Chloe were in loved with Dickon (The Secret Garden) and Dick (The Famous Five) - I thought I was the only one! My sister Sophie also reminded me of a long-lost love in Laurie from Little Women. Now that is a book that needs re-reading (and a film that needs re-watching, with a box of tissues and some waterproof mascara).
Ladies, you can get a badge of his face from a site named RS Collect. Wow!
My question and the answers I received entertained and intrigued me. I'm very pleased to have some new characters to meet. Chloe also named Giles Winterbourne from Thomas Hardy's The Woodlanders, and Emma named Tea Cake from Their Eyes Were Watching God and Marion (a man) in Cutting For Stone - none of whom I've yet come across.
I've just noticed the names 'Stanley Crandall' and 'Sappho' at the bottom of my page. I'll have to come back to those two. Literature, it seems, is bursting with characters to fall in with. It's the fantasy, I think. Gaps are filled in by the imagination and an ideal is created. Who really cares, though? They're hot and we heart them.
Sometimes, when it's hard, when it's sneaked up on me and caught me, I wish I were brainless and soulless. I could just eat and fuck and sleep and preen and shit.
It's somehow somewhere between the Moody Blues and Holly Golightly's Mean Reds.
I now call them the Harsh Yellows.
And I just want to put that film on and pull the covers over my head.
And that's what I'm going to do tonight.
I seem to have made several resolutions subconsciously this year. I've never tried to give anything up or make huge changes to my life, but a few little things seem to have slipped in:
I don't want to waste my time in ways I did in 2010 and 2011. Essentially, this means thinking about the ways my efforts and energy are being spent. I want to be more proactive, and I've found myself nipping a couple of things in the bud (gosh, I just typed that phrase without thinking) already. Fair-weathered friends need not apply. I don't want to waste my time on you.
I really couldn't resist posting this, just for the line
'I don't want to waste my time..'
2. Already I seem to be making good use of my weekends. Five days' work and just two day weekends has always seemed a slightly unfair balance, but making sure I get the most out of those two days is so worth it. I've seen some great friends and really enjoyed the beautiful winter sun and that's a kind of therapy in itself.
3. PLAN. And this I'm doing so far, slowly but surely.
I've been lucky enough to see nearly everyone I love over the last month. I haven't seen lovely Katie and I didn't see my Auntie Lis on Skype over Christmas, but I think everyone else featured, and this makes me very very happy. The important people are my life's constants... and I know they will always be there. They're the ones to bother with.
The word 'constant' brings to mind a friend of sorts who is leaving Bristol soon. It's pretty strange to think about, as it's a permanent change, effectively moving someone out of my life who has been around for three and a half years. I don't know how big an impact it will have (very little for them, I'd imagine), but I think we've been helpful to one another the last few months, at times we've both needed it.
The next few months, then, should be interesting. The next few blog posts? Who knows. I have a cheeky little literature based post I'm putting together mentally at the moment, so hopefully that will transfer to screen soon. My audience of one (hi fan!) should enjoy that.
The title of this post is slightly inspired by a song that was on Now 35. My sister Kate and I shared the cassette and I knew 'tape one side one' inside out. It feature songs like this, the song I now associate with U2 more than any other and this beauty. Kate was a little more adventurous than me and made it to the second cassette, and this song has stuck with me:
Anyway - oh what a month! I last wrote the day before the second interview for a job I was promptly offered, which was most exciting and long awaited. We agreed I'd start the following week, despite the fact I had birthday plans on the Thursday and Friday, and I'm very glad I started so soon. Waiting until January would have made me incredibly nervous and I'd not have enjoyed Christmas nearly as much as I did. My team manager is new to his role too and, luckily, he was eager for me to start promptly. So now I'm a 'Bid Executive' - writing, editing, proof-reading and formatting proposals and tenders for teams across the company. The financial company. I'm not sure I'd ever have thought I'd work for a financial company, but we'll see. It's a strong, well-respected company, people have been very welcoming and there's potential for development - if that's what I'd like to do. When I'm back on my feet financially (which really won't take too long), I feel I'll be more able to assess and plan. I think I need to focus on the things I want and then prioritise: what do I want to do most? Now, however, is not the time to elaborate, and I'm just really grateful to have a job. As you can see.
I really do wear smart clothes. I don't, however, have hair like this.
Image borrowed from Nuclear Family Warhead.
Accepting a job after a Great Wait was the first main event in my Very Busy December. My Birthday, on the 15th, was a splendid affair. My mini sister, Alice, and lovely mother took me for a lunch and exploration of the SS Great Britain, which I would thoroughly recommend visiting. I don't think the food is served all year round, but it was delicious (if ridiculously filling - the start of the festive gluttony) and the ship itself is presented fantastically. It really was like stepping back to being a passenger or member of the crew and I loved it. I'm really lucky to have gone and it was a great treat for a poor lady. After cups of tea and present opening (I'm a very lucky girl), Mama left and, slightly later, we went to the pub. It was busy and noisy with an open mic night, but the close friends that could make it arrived and left at different times, so I spent four hours entertained by different people. Twas a delightful evening, which ended with me walking home with mini sister and her beau, singing a great song and cuddling my chips'n'beans'n'cheese
Jumping forward several days, it was Monday 19th. I'd had what I can only describe as a birthday 'comedown' the evening after my birthday: everyone had left and I was a bit tired and just felt sad. It wasn't helped by a timewaster, but I managed to expend my energy usefully (there's a lot to be said for late night cooking and Sunday misdemeanours). I didn't sleep at all well on Sunday night, so by 16:45 on Monday, I was looking forward to going home and, in all honesty, sleeping. My (then) manager came back to her desk and said 'I was just in Reception. The receptionists have been trying to get hold of you - apparently there are two people downstairs to see you'. It was day four in my job. I knew about five people in the company (1,000 people are based at my site in Bristol) and I could not imagine who would be visiting. I seem to remember being very apprehensive as I walked downstairs, and... upon turning the corner... Kate.
My sister Kate, who I last saw in Australia in June 2006, and who the rest of my family had seen in April 2006. Kate who has been on some kind of waiting list for a Residency visa in Australia since 2007. Kate who got married in 2007 to Damo (also waiting for me in Reception), who we'd never met. Kate who, upon receiving her visa in January, had kept their visit a secret from us all. Kate who I proceeded to hug and scold and cry on - 'What are you doing at my WORK?'. They spent a few days surprising us all and filming reactions and it was incredibly emotional.
Christmas was, quite simply, THE BEST. I always knew that whenever Kate came back, she'd slot back in beautifully and it would be like she hadn't left. And that's exactly how it was.
Kate and I were so very squashed here:
'smile girls!' ... 'we can't move to smile!'
The only way to end a huge post about an incredible December is with the news that in July I'm going to be an Auntie! I'm hoping everything will continue to go well for Sophie and Mat and to their Bean I say: we're all looking forward to meeting you! And just look at us... aren't we an attractive bunch?
A few weeks ago, I had days/afternoons where I felt like I was held together with tape, or perhaps stitched together. I wasn't broken per se, just not myself entirely. Certainly not as 'strong' as I wish to be. It got better, for various reasons, and things were a lot easier for a while, until a couple of days last week, when it sneaked back.
When I have a day or two, or even just several hours like that, it's really hard to remain positive and focused. I don't always deal with it well. I seem to flit between wanting to shut myself away (physically or metaphorically; avoiding everyone or, if out, being 'invisible') and wanting to ask someone for help. The latter, if by the 'great' 21st century methods of communication, isn't always helpful. It's not always possible to see someone I'm close to and trust enough to talk to when I need that kind of support, so I end up sending a text message, which on most occasions makes me appear whiny. It's not possible to communicate tone or to elaborate. Imagine if the vast majority of our interaction was through Tweets. 140 characters to let those closest to you know how you are on a really tough day. Ridiculous, non? So why do so many people try to do so through the (slightly longer, but equally impersonal) text message?
However, I can handle difficulties far better than I used to, on many occasions. Alongside a couple of people I used to work with, I used to draw myself out of a tough work day using, that's right, the Internet. If typing 'fat cat' into Google didn't make us smile, we knew we'd had a really awful day in the office. It mainly did make us smile, and how could it fail?
He looks a bit like Max with a glandular problem. I don't know whose copyright this is.
I can also reason things far better than I used to be able to. If I'm panicking about something, I can often stop myself mentally and ask what exactly is wrong, and whether I can do anything about it immediately. It's not a fail-safe, and there are nights (like just before interviews, annoyingly) I simply can't sleep. My mind may be in many places, even if I'm not feeling overly panicky or sad, but taking a (metaphorical) step back, and attempting to rationalise a situation (much harder to do when it comes to my own thoughts or worries than others') can help immensely.
What caused me to feel as though I were held together only by stitches? Various things. I knew that if I didn't have the awful unemployment and financial worries, the potential for drama and upset in other areas of my life would have been far more manageable. I've got into some very stupid situations in the last few months and I neither desire nor need the trouble. There are a couple of things I'd like to rectify, not least because I'm partly to blame for the fact they need to be rectified. And with these I'll try, but frankly if they're proving to be consistently difficult, I'll question whether they're worth it. It's during the toughest times that we show our potential - our strengths, stamina, flaws and resilience, and friends prove themselves, or prove that they're less worth it, possibly even fair-weathered.
Although I've felt a lot better this week, I wanted to try to write a few words about it, because when it happens it can be scary and dark, and I can find it increasingly difficult to communicate this. I'm incredibly lucky that these occasions are infrequent and don't last as long as, for example, they often do for bi-polar sufferers. Last week, I remembered a letter Stephen Fry had written to a girl named Crystal, who had written to her hero in desperation as she tried to battle depression. The letter's reproduced on Letters of Note (a fascinating website), and a comment I read about it elsewhere made me wonder whether its publication in 2009 has led Fry to regret writing it. I hope not: remembering that 'like the weather... [these feelings] will pass' has helped me and, I imagine, will continue to help others immeasurably.
I've been meaning to post this for a while, but somehow in the hugely hectic bubble of unemployment, I've not had a chance.
A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to attend an event that featured the great Tony Benn, as well as Paul Stephenson OBE, as part of the Bristol's first Festival of Literature. I'm almost ashamed to say that I wasn't aware of Paul Stephenson before hearing about the festival; a further reminder that my knowledge of Bristol's history is atrocious. In 1963, as Martin Luther King inspired black people across America to fight for equality, Stephenson campaigned tirelessly against racism in Bristol, targeting Bristols' biggest company, the Bristol Omnibus company. Although it's not considered an academic source, his Wikipedia page probably provides the most comprehensive overview of Stephenson's achievements in Bristol. His work was supported by the great Tony Benn, who is somewhat of a hero to, I think, many Bristolians, and eventually by people of all races in Bristol.
The talk was to promote Stephenson's book Memoirs of a Black Englishman, which is introduced by Benn. As well as looking at his great achievements, the book apparently paints a picture of Stephenson's upbringing and a gives a lighthearted look at other aspects of his life. It's on my birthday/Christmas list (should anyone request one!) and I'm really looking forward to reading it.
We were shown this excellent BBC short film about the Bristol Bus Boycott:
Both Paul Stephenson (aged 74) and Tony Benn (86) spoke so well: they were coherant, sharp and funny, with some fantastic anecdotes. What really struck me, as well as how wonderful these men are, was that they had so many great stories to tell. Their actions directly contributed to making Bristol (and by extension the UK) a better, fairer place. It truly was a time of heroes. I wondered whether we -my contemporaries and me- will be able to claim the same. We are incredibly lucky to live in a world that, despite the many, many political, social and economic issues, is more of an equal, fair place. There's still a long way to go of course and that is one of the reasons why I think it's very important we continue to tell these stories. I'm looking forward to reading the book and I'm very excited to see what next year's Festival of Literature brings.
Interestingly, as I was writing this, this fantastic song came on. It's a very fitting way to close.
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