May

May has been a fairly busy month so far. When the month began, I was in Valencia - my first holiday abroad for three years. I think that will be covered in another post but a very brief overview would read: 'I loved it'. I have some pictures coming, but I'll share this one (borrowed from APB, with thanks). This was the view from our bedroom:

We arrived back in the UK to 8°C - a slight shock to the system from 25°C! Post holiday blues hit nearly as soon as I got back to Bristol but didn't last too long. The sunshine this week has helped (although the only time I've had in it were the hours yesterday - work's been manic).

Last Saturday I went to Foyles. Bookshops, like the library, are places that make me feel both very safe and excited. I felt passionate - I'm really missing passion. I'm not really getting it from (m)any area(s) of my life and, as Frank Turner sings, 'life is too short to live without poetry'. It's find poesy or die, I guess. I bought a book by Anais Nin, who I've discovered recently thanks to an a former Royal Mail van in Montpelier, which has one of the most inspiring poems I've read recently graffiti'd on the back. I also bought a rather amusing mug. I struggle to believe that The Chatterley Trial took place in 1960. That's in my Mummy's lifetime! The mug features an image of a poster from Foyles soon after the trial: 'Lady C out of stock. Back in tomorrow', and the quotation below, from a member of the prosecution:

Can you imagine? WOMEN reading literature that contains not only 'C's and 'F's but SEX. Full on sex. That the female ENJOYS. It's incredible.

*

The Harsh Yellows hit last Sunday evening and lasted through some of Monday into Tuesday. I can't explain them. I'm trying to clarify what it is, so that I can understand it at least. I fully realise how incredibly self-centred it sounds but, quite frankly, I have no partner or children to think of, and I'm not wholly selfish, so I think I can justify a little when it's something that's with me constantly. Sometimes it feels like a part of me is a bit broken. I'm definitely feeling aware of an id/super-ego/ego balance. It's one part of me that's a little broken; the others are fine and very strong.


This year, I've tried to be very honest with myself. If I think 'I'm not enjoying myself' or 'I'm not that... it's not the kind of person I am', I'll just leave, or make a sensible decision. If, say, I'm out and not enjoying it, and thinking 'I could be at home with some tea and toast now'... that's what I'll do. 


What am I? An introvert - that's actually a very suitable word. I love my time alone, I love to sit and read (or watch Boardwalk Empire again...), I love spending time with the right people. I'm not a fan of big groups or of small talk or bullshit. But that doesn't necessarily mean I'm shy. I can handle a work meeting with executives, I can give a presentation (preparation required) and can talk to strangers, without much of a struggle. But I don't need company to thrive, I don't need constant conversation.

So, in that respect, I think it's perfectly acceptable to spend, say, Friday and Saturday nights alone. But then there's another side: slight loneliness. It's not because I'm an introvert. I could go out with people that aren't really 'my kind of people' - who I'm not entirely comfortable with or whose interests differ significantly from mine. However, why should I? I don't need something that, for me, isn't 'real'. Sometimes, I think I'd either have to go out on my own, if I fancy it, or stay in and hide a little - maybe there is a slightly anxious side but it's not at all dominant.

People seem to think it strange that I don't excel in larger groups. I know that some people think I'm rude or aloof or boring. Not entirely true. I prefer smaller groups and one-to-one situations and I invest in my friendships. This is the crux. When I get close to someone or let them in, it's because I feel a connection with them. And I've really really learnt over the last six months or so that some of those people obviously don't. The friendship was important to me but not to them. I suppose I have to accept that that's what they're like - and, in one or two cases, I guess that they got what they wanted from the 'friendship'. Job done. They've not really done anything wrong, either. It's my fault I invested more in it than they did and didn't recognise I'd be a bit burnt if and when they disappeared completely. And I'm very aware that I don't communicate well sometimes - I don't come across as I should, and so they, inevitably, see me in more of a negative light.

Anyway, it's too hot to carry on with these muddled thoughts. I can think of one or two people who would say: 'chill the fuck out. stop over-thinking things'. And to them, I say: 'I'm sorry. But I have to live with myself every single minute of every day, and if there are some aspects of me I need to reflect on, or think through, then I will do that'.  If I struggle with myself I'm not going to be able to do or achieve things I want to. I don't want to fill gaps with meaningless activities or people. I don't want someone else to complete me. Another person (say, a partner) should be an extension of myself - not some way of trying to fill a hole ('teehe, sex pun').

If there's something missing or something that isn't quite right, I need to work through it on my own. Identify it, recognise and understand it, embrace it, fix it (if needs be). A large part of that is understanding.

'Delicate like a flower, strong like diamond'

My best friend once sent me a text describing me with those words. I miss her a lot.

Days like these

Weather like this (clear, blue sky and sunshine, even if it's not overly warm) improves my mood but also serves as a reminder. The words 'sunken lawn', 'park barbecues' and 'cheeky cigarette' remind me of being a Lady of Leisure (or, a student with a dissertation, assignments and a job). I don't think that's all, though. What I'd like to do, what it'll achieve and what I can do shouldn't, and won't, be forgotten.

I will elaborate soon.

Suki the Sim

Sometimes I feel like a Sim.

I love that I've just written that sentence. It's true, though. I picture my 'quotas' of certain necessities and luxuries. For example, if I've not left the house one day, my cabin fever quickly sets in and I imagine that my 'room' and 'social' quotas are lacking. Last week, I think I exhausted my stamina and mental concentration bars. I think this week I've already used up my bravery.

The more complex ones are harder to top up but loud music, a strutting walk home and great one liners seem to have done the trick. A friend from work masterfully made me cry with one text message, then laugh with the next. I think that says more about my topsy-turvy self than his genius, though.

I'm pretty happy February's drawing to a close.  If I could make requests of March I'd ask it to be more like December and January than February.  And if it even gets close to resembling September I think I may have to attack it with some scary mclairy spiky heels.

My eloquence is fast fading. Perhaps I need to top up my food quota.

Pogo - master of taking the essence of a film or mood

and making it even better.

'Without books I'm nothing'

The title of this post is a quotation from Jeanette Winterson's live webchat with the Guardian last week. I love Jeanette Winterson. I'd read Oranges quite a few years ago and rediscovered her in 2010, when my then boyfriend recommended some of her others the day after we met. I've since read The Passion, Sexing The Cherry and the wonderfully moving Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?, which my friend Alice has just read and also adored. Alice has been working on a great literary web venture, which I will link to when it's a little more complete - I don't think the site is finished yet. Jeanette's webchat was great to follow - I find her views incredibly interesting and feel embarrassingly ignorant when I see how passionate and well-read she is.

I've been meaning to post a small continuation of the post about love for literary characters. Thinking about it more made me question whether unrequited love can sometimes be similar to literary love - it's a fantasy in which the inflicted tends to fill in the gaps or unknowns. Maybe that's true of requited love also. Having not been in love for years, I can't really say.

The final few mentions then.

My same sex desire was for Sappho in Sappho's Leap by Erica Jong, which I really must reread. Sappho's love (both of song/words and a man she hadn't seen for many years) drove her on through all the strife and trials faced in Greek mythology. As a quick background, Sappho was an Ancient Greek poet from the island of Lesbos. Little about her life is known but I've been told that her affairs with both men and women (very common in Ancient Greece - their attitudes towards sex are very interesting and probably sensible), combined with the name of the island she's from, gave birth to the word 'lesbian' as a term to describe a sexuality. Only fragments of Sappho's poetry and songs survive but many were shaped around love. The legend tells that she jumped off a rock to her death due to her unrequited love for Phaon, a young man. Erica Jong gives Sappho a voice - much like Margaret Atwood does for Penelope in The Penelopiad which I've also read recently.

I think I had strong feelings for the passionate 'violet-haired, pure, honey-smiling Sappho'. She showed resilience and faith and had some great lyrics, as well as one-liners such as 'are you challenging me to grant you the gift of my virginity?'

I asked a friend from work his thoughts on falling in love with fictional characters. His first answer was 'Lady Macbeth'! When I implored him to be serious, he admitted to having loved Trillian from The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy. I read that years ago and can't really remember her character. I think she was quite gutsy by comparison to Arthur Dent who could, at times, be a little pathetic. That may be harsh, though - I'm not sure how strong I'd be if I learnt my world had just been 'built on' and all I had was a towel.

It's great to have some more ladies on the list. I'm sure I've loved as many ladies as men. I'm currently listening to Dickens' David Copperfield and Miss Betsey Trotwood is incredible!

This post feels slightly wordy, yet it's difficult to post images and clips when thinking along literary lines. This lovely little song can be a reward for anyone who may read this, plus it fits in very slightly. Julia blames Hollywood. I blame literature and happy endings.

Feel like running

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.

Laura, you silly lady.

'If you go home with somebody and they don't have books, don't fuck them' - John Waters

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 Tess D'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.