Ramblings & The Time Traveller's Wife

I'm back. I could rattle on about how pissed off I am with my work but I won't. Suffice it to say that Croatia is a nice place to be as long as you don't expect anyone, in the work environment, to be organised. There are very many first class engineers, technicians etc. in this country but there seems not to be the requisite number of good project managers, at least not around the job I am involved in.

But (Can you start a paragraph with 'But'?) I have decided that this blog will have nothing to do with my work, rather it will be somewhere I can come to get away from work. So, what to write about? Well the obvious thing to reflect on just now is how badly I am prepared for the first Tutor Marked Assessment which I will have to submit to the Open University. This is solely because of my work (sorry) commitments and I am seriously questioning whether I have bitten off more than I can chew. On the other hand I can hang in and force myself to get it done and hope for the best. We'll see.

But books! Now there's another thing. I have just finished reading The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. I can't praise this book highly enough. I am not an enthusiast of science fiction or fantasy. I like stories which are strongly character driven but also rooted in the real world. I can thus identify with and/or empathise with the people in the story. This was something different. A perfectly laid out narrative told in the first person by the two central characters, Henry the librarian time-traveller and Clare, who he meets when she is six years old and he has travelled back in time from a point in the future when he is already married to her. When he meets her in real time, when Clare is twenty and he is twenty eight, he has not yet travelled back to her childhood so he does not recognise her. She, however, recognises him and the story of their relationship develops from this point. The time travel aspects are so logically laid out that you are never confused and therefore you can concentrate on the lives and relationships of the central characters. I will quote one reviewer from the Amazon.com website

".... the story is written so well, so touching, so heart-breaking at parts, so loving. Reading this novel was such a joy for all the emotions it made me feel. Most books published nowadays just do not do that to me. This one made me feel. And it was such a great reading experience. What all great books are made of. Wonderful."

I could not agree more. Look forward to Ms. Niffenegger's next book with keen anticipation. If her creative talents are not all expended by this tour de force then we should be in for another treat.

I'm going to be away fora while

Look Guys,
I'm going to be away for the next seven or eight days on business. Check back with me from the ist Nov. and I'll be glad to update you.
Best regds.
West Coaster.

CHICK LIT. PART - 2

This is too early in the morning for any erudition. I'm just out of bed and sitting here in my shorts without the benefit of a bath or a shave. Anyway, I just wanted to clarify for Lingo Slinger who said "I always though Chick-Lit was more lighthearted reading that was primarily of interest to a female audience... "

That's the thing about labels. Rachel's Holiday is marketed for the Chick Lit./Young Female audience with its frivolous cover illustration, and the quote from the Sunday Times review prominent on the front "A gloriously funny book". And I think it's fair to say that Marian Keyes would not herself spurn the Chick Lit label, after all it helps to sell the book. It is a funny book. There are laugh out loud moments in it and the quirkiness of the Irish dialogue is a constant entertainment throughout. And, of course, there are a lot of girlish references to boyfriends, hair, make-up, and clothes which makes it very accessible to a certain age and gender. That does not detract a whit from its central virtue. It's a good story. And that is important to me, and the fact that I am a fifty six year old man is neither here nor there. Except that the marketing types would exclude me from this book by deflecting my glance on the bookshop shelves toward a more 'manly' or 'serious' cover illustration, and that is a disservice to me and to the writer.

All this serves to underline that you can't judge a book by its cover, and we should all be wary of marketing.

IS CHICK-LIT ANY GOOD?

I want to say a little about what I'm reading just now. My friend The Writer gave me, some time ago, Rachel's Holiday by Marian Keyes. It tells the story of Rachel, a Dublin girl working in New York and on a downward spiral of addiction, hitting rock bottom and being compelled by forces outside of her own control to return to Ireland and enter a rehabilitation clinic.

I was gripped by this story. I thought it was so well executed and the characters, especially that of Rachel the central character, so well drawn. The story is written in the first person from Rachel's viewpoint and follows her from her admission to the residential clinic near Dublin, through to her release and redemption. There are flashbacks to her life in New York and visits in the clinic from her friends and family who are observed through Rachel's eyes as they tell another side of the story to that which Rachel is portraying to the reader. Needless to say Rachel is in complete denial about the seriousness of her condition and the reader is drawn skillfully on to her side, and is in a sense, complicit in her denial, for some way into the narrative. The author's skill is in gradually making us aware how wrong Rachel is, and this is revealed by degrees as various members of her family and her friends from New York are brought to confront her in the clinic. The author cleverly makes the reader become aware of the true nature of Rachel's drug and alcohol dependency at the same pace as Rachel herself becomes aware. There is no feeling of inevitably about the ending as Rachel faces various crises after her release from the clinic and the final chapter brings a satisfying conclusion.

The narrative cascades forward carrying the reader on a journey in turns swift and then more leisurely. The sheer bulk of the paperback at 625 pages makes one ask, before opening it, if it is not a deal too long. After one is drawn into the story however one is sorry when the journey finally ends.

This is so-called Chick Lit. I think that this appelation diminishes this book. A serious subject is treated with humour and with seriousness. Above all it is a good story. I don't suppose many people would label it as "literature" but that, to me, is irrelevent. Ultimately what most people, certainly what I want, is a good read with characters who are well drawn and who the reader will want to follow to see 'what happens next?'. This they will get in spades from Rachel's Holiday.

I have since read four other novels by Marian Keyes; Angels, Last Chance Saloon, Sushi For Beginners, and The Other Side Of The Story. While I enjoyed them all, I do not think that any of them are a patch on Rachel's Holiday.

A BAD MAN RAN AWAY – eTMA 01 - Part 1 – 9/6/05

This was a presented for my Start Writing Fiction course in the summer. I think the tutor liked this. This came as a surprise to me as I did not think it very strong. She said it was .. well I'll leave you to judge if you like it.

I saw the whole thing, Mum. I saw that man. I’ve seen him before. He’s just ordinary and fat and he looks a bit simple, and he’s got greasy hair. I don’t like him. He’s always coming round here in his car and Sandra says we’re to keep out of his way because he’s not nice. I saw his car coming round the corner. It’s a big red car and he’s got these big furry dice that dangle in the front window. You always see those furry dice on rotten old cars with rust all over them don’t you. When I grow up my car is going to be nice and shiny and white. I like white cars with that roof that comes down. And then this man’s car stopped in front of Mr. Singh’s shop. He’s nice Mr. Singh isn’t he and he looks funny with his big hairy beard and kind of popping eyes and he’s always shouting except when Mrs. Singh is in the shop and he’s dead quiet then and Mrs. Singh is shouting at him, but they’re always nice to me, and they always give me a sweet when I go in with you Mum, don’t they Mum. And then this man got out of his car and went in to Mr. Singh’s and I don’t know what happened then because I was too far away and Sandra came up and showed me her new trainers that she had just got that have got these sparkly lights in them when you walk. I don’t like them but Sandra was going – Oh aren’t they lovely – I think she was trying to make me jealous. And that’s when this man came running out of Mr. Singh’s and he had blood all over him and he tried to get into his car and it looked like he had forgotten he had locked it and he couldn’t find his key and then he ran across the street and then Mr. Singh came out of his shop and he was holding a cricket bat and he couldn’t see this man ‘cos he was running past me and Sandra and he was saying that bad word and calling Mr. Singh a paki and even I know Mr. Singh’s not from Pakistan so he really must be simple. Then this policeman came up and a big crowd gathered around Mr. Singh’s shop and I couldn’t see because there was too many people and Sandra and me went over and I heard somebody say – Is she all right? and then the ambulance came and the people stood back to let them in the shop and that’s when I saw Mrs. Singh and she was lying on the floor and the ambulance men were kneeling beside her and they had put this oxygen thing on her and somebody said she’d had a heart attack and now she’s dead but she can’t be dead because then Mr. Singh will have nobody to look after him. So she’s not dead is she Mum… Mum?

A Night In

It's a quiet night for me tonight. Last night was just too much; too much hilarity, too much jollification and too much drink. It started off as a civilised dinner at the Masline restaraunt off Marmontove with English John and The Writer, after which we de-camped to Kristijan's caffe-bar for a gargle. We've been in the habit of going there on a Friday night for a while and we recently met The Ollie there, so it was not a surprise to meet him again last night. It was a very pleasant evening with much friendly banter. I learned a new card game called Shithead and, coincidentally, my head felt like shit this morning, so I wonder if it had anything to do with playing cards.

I have spent the afternoon in trying to apply myself to Block 1 of An Introduction To The Humanities. I'm late into this and trying to catch up is difficult. Today I was reading about form and space in painting and perspective. I did find it somewhat interesting but I'll need to take it up again tonight in bed just to try and get more of it out of the way. This part I'm doing now should have been completed two weeks ago.

My studies were interspersed with visits to the kitchen while I made an enormous pot of soup. I like to make a lot and I can live off soup for dinner for the next week or so. Then I also had to sit mindlessly in front of the telly from time to time. My concentration span needs to improve if I'm going to achieve anything with the OU. I'm also learning a little more about blogging which is evidenced by the appearance of hot links on the page. I feel rather proud of myself.

There's a game of football planned for tomorrow. Dare I try it? It might be flirting with a coronary. We'll see.

An Introduction To The Humanities

This could be an introduction to the humanities of Split. That's a bit gauche, n'est pas? (Pretentious! Moi!). What I mean is that perhaps I could say a little of the characters I know in this town, just to take my mind off the intellectual maunderings of the OU course presenters.

For example -
"It is not simply illusion that the spectator assents to or agrees to entertain. It is not just the apparent transformation of the sheet of paper into a space with a sphere in it that holds our attention in such pictures as Russell's. Rather what is intriguing is the curiously paradoxical experience of seeing the paper as both literally flat and and imaginitively fathomless."

I mean, for fuck's sake! This is like Father Ted trying to explain perspective to Dougal by holding up a wee toy cow and saying 'very small' and pointing to real cows out the caravan window and saying 'far away'!

So, what's it like living in Dalmatia? I'm glad you asked. In the summer it's fine. The sun shines most of the time. The temperature is pleasant and it's only in late July through to late August that the humidity get's a bit uncomfortable. A few of my aquaintances congregate at the Backpacker Cafe and while the idle hours away. I might have gone to the flicks with them tonight but I decided to stay in and study. Now I'm doing this. I started to write about the people I have come to know here, the patrons of the Backpacker Cafe, but it was too hard-edged and I did not want to hurt anyone's feelings. Suffice it to say their is a disparate group of ex-pats who have made their home here, some permanently, some less so. They span the spectrum from writers (well one writer) to actors (okay one ex actor) to property speculators (a slack handful including the ex actor) to others who are just taking time out of normal life. As this is a kind of crossroads for people going into or coming out of Eastern Europe or touring south Dalmatia then there is a regular tide of humanity washing through all summer, so it's always vibrant and interesting. Once summer passes it's so much quieter. I hated last winter here at first. I arrived in February and it was truly miserable but, once I found a friendly pub it wasn't so bad, and then spring was cancelled and we leapt straight into summer in mid-May and life was good.

I'll see you later.

Thanks to 'Anonymous'

Well now, here's a pleasant surprise. I've got an audience; at least, an audience of one! 'Anonymous' kindly commented that I've got a great blog here and he's (I say he - could be she) going to bookmark me. Well stripe me pink! There I was in a hotel room in Palermo thinking - you know you should be keeping up this blog a bit more. And also admitting that I'm not producing the goods, creatively speaking, which is true and mostly due to the work and business life being a bit hectic at the moment. Anyways I looked at the blog to remind myself what I should be doing about it and, blow me down, there's a twinkling little '1' at the comments button. And what a pleasant surprise it was too. So, if a person is good enough to bookmark me then I should be good enough to give them something to look at - isn't it?

The thing is, and here come the excuses. I'm back in Dalmatia from Palermo and waiting for me when I got to the office was a large courier package containing all the good stuff from the Open University for my next project, viz: Level 1 'An Introduction to The Humanities'. The faint hope is that this might be the first step towards a degree, but that's too far down the road to get hung up about. Suffice it to say that with studying for the course and working full time it might be a bit of a stretch to promise to write creatively enough to satisfy the hopes of anyone who liked the foregoing posts. Which is just a cop-out really, isn't it. I know I should be at least keeping a journal. And there is no better place to keep it than here. But the question is begged, whenever I consider doing a journal on the blog; how personal can it be? Let's see what we can do. The least I can do is post the progress of my OU studies and this may interest those engaged in similar stuff to make encouraging remarks.

I did complete the 'Start Writing Fiction' short course and gained a pass mark and 10 academic points. I submitted 'The Right Thing' for my final Tutor-marked Assessment and, while it was successful enough, the tutor's comments made it clear that she did not feel it was a very strong story. There was a lack of tension, for example. It was clear from the beginning that the adoption would go ahead. Everybody liked each other, etc. etc. It was fair comment really and I took it on board.

So, at the moment I'm just back from the Palermo trip; There's a pile of stuff to catch up on at work, and another pile of stuff to catch up on from the OU. So I'd better get my finger out. And if you're wondering what Palermo was like, well I'll tell you. Boring, and littered with dog-shit, but don't let me put you off if you're intending to visit. There is a very good restaurant called the Lord Green and the wine was superb, so it wasn't all bad. I'm glad to be back in Dalmatia though.