tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5692753372751551392024-03-13T20:49:24.962-07:00Dancing on GlassBooks and filmsDancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.comBlogger103125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-2870368090368744672021-09-02T11:37:00.001-07:002021-09-27T05:48:46.778-07:00Clarke Award 2021The Clarke Award is always one of my cues to catch up with the year's SF - along with Kitschies and Strange Horizons end of year round ups - but this year it has coincided with a return to reading after a 13 month COVID/depression draught. As you might imagine I've been a bit high on it.<div><br /></div><div>This is not an in depth analysis. My brain is only just beginning to wake up. It's more, an encouragement to read, think and share and a smiley burst of enthusiasm for the world.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><div><br /></div><div>Why the Clarke? Why not the Hugo or the Nebula or the BSFA? Because when I started reading SF consistently I discovered Adam Roberts' shortlist analysis on Infinity Plus, then the analysis on Strange Horizons and more recently the Sharkes. I no longer think of the shortlist as trying to represent the best of SF for the year and I no longer get annoyed or harbour feelings of injustice about books I feel passionately about that don't make the shortlist. I was once overly impolite about a book by an author I admire greatly during one of these roundups and still feel guilty. I still think bad books should be criticised, especially reactionary ones, but not mediocre ones that get some life and light through their shortlist spotlight. And having never served as a prize judge I'm not privy to the pressures and the compromises that must be part of the process.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've read 22 out of 105 of the books on the submisions list: Agbabi, Arnott, Bradley, Charnock, Cook, DeLillo, Harrison, Hughes, Jimenez, Johnson, Kelly, MacInnes, McAuley, McKay, Pinsker, KSR, Schweblin, Solomon, Tchaikovsky, Tidhar, Valdes & Whiteley. I will definitely get to Jingfang's Vagabonds, the only book on the shortlist I've haven't read yet, in the next week or so. At some point I'll read Bear, Gibson, Hinton and Jemisin but maybe not before the prize is announced - I'm anxious to read some of the books on the Booker longlist in September. </div><div><br /></div><div>I should also say that I started by reading last year's winner, The Old Drift at the start of the summer and I snook in Hurley's The Light Brigade, Ling Ma's Severance and Susanna Clarke's Piranesi. I loved them all and are perhaps my measuring stick for what 2021's Clarke texts have to offer. </div><div><br /></div><div>First the shortlist, I read Agbabi's The Infinite when it was published for school and have been recommending it to our students ever since. Valdes' Chilling Effect was one of the first novels I read and was ideal for the exited-to-be-reading-again-me - generic and fast paced, like an episode of Firefly. McKay's The Animals in That Country is a very fine, ambitious novel and I'm glad more people might read it: I admired it more than I loved it but I admired it a LOT. The Vanished Birds is also well worth reading - I enjoyed its melancholy and its grim trajectory. It also feels very thin in terms of characterisation and that meant, for me, the impact of its politics and atmosphere was diminished. R B Kelly's Edge of Heaven has its heart and its politics in the right place but I disliked its laboured style - detail in all the wrong places - and I found it hard to care about the characters or the plot. You will find plenty of reviews on Goodreads and elsewhere that champion these books so don't be put off by my lukewarm appraisal. We all like different things and yes, clearly I'm going soft in my old age....</div><div><br /></div><div>So how would I decide on a personal shortlist this year? Which books did I enjoy the most? Sarah Pinsker's A Song for a New Day, despite its troubling, prescent storyline is like a REALLY long hot bath with candles and a rubber duck. It's clever, subtle, hopeful and lovely. I read it in a day. I seem to love every book Lavie Tidhar writes and By Force Alone was no different. I've already written about it briefly (https://dancingonglass11.blogspot.com/2020/03/by-force-alone-random-thoughts.html) and even though I enjoyed it in ways I'm not sure Lavie would appreciate...I don't care :-) James Bradley's Ghost Species is tender and beautiful; Rivers Solomon' The Deep is vivid, powerful and moving; War of the Maps has all the usual McAuley magic; as does Anne Charnock's Bridge 108: Aliya Whiteley's Greensmith IS funny but its also wonderfully weird and full of compassion (I think it's my favouite Whiteley and that says a LOT) whilst Martin McInnes Gathering Evidence is cerebral and exciting in all the right ways (I may well now try Infinite Ground again - I found its density cloying and unrewarding the first time around).</div><div><br /></div><div>Mike Harrison's The Sunken Land Begins to Rise Again is the only book I've read twice so far. As usual, images spring into my brain unbidden and I find myself reflecting on it at the weirdest times. And as usual, I don't understand all the things that are going on but that's part of the joy! It's already won the Goldsmith's prize. I don't love it like I love the Kefahuchi Tract trilogy or some of the short stories but then, I don't think I'm supposed to. </div><div><br /></div><div>Clearly, many writers are thinking about the near future. I'm fascinated by the politics of it all and how they envisage our climate crisis turning, much sooner than we thought, into climate hell. Some authors seem to favour the worst of evolutionary psychology or an inability to throw off capitalism's selfishness and stupidity, whilst others give us the hope of say, Solnit's A Paradise Built in Hell, in their imaginings. I'm interested that Diane Cook's The New Wilderness found a place on last year's Booker shortlist. Will other (better?) books with a SF component follow? [It IS an interesting book btw with two fascinating protangonists - even if some of the other characters are cliches or way too thin]</div><div><br /></div><div>A few words on Rian Hughes' XX. It is, at nearly 1000 pages, too long. It is almost obnoxiously clever: it has an annoying main character - another one of those neurodiverse geniuses; it has some facile politics, as though the author had been reading too much Anne Applebaum; it badly misjudges some of the sections where it tries to replicate news reports or other media and a couple of imaginary interviews featuring ultra-left lefties are monumentally stupid. A decent editor should have insisted on some rewrites and reimaginings. And yet, I really enjoyed it! It's a LOT of fun, it has a lot of ideas and is full of ambition. I loved debating with it and disagreeing and rethinking. I've already lent it to a friend. </div><div><br /></div><div>And then there is The Ministry for the Future..... Does KSR need even more exposure? Do I think it is too hopeful? (Yes) Do I think it sidesteps important questions? (Yes) Do I think people should be encouraged to read it and debate it and explore/research the ideas and politics anyway? (Yes) I should also say that, unlike others, I found it incredibly readable and I wanged through it in a couple of days.</div><div><br /></div><div>Honestly, there's no book that I regret reading and most of them I enjoyed a great deal. Also, I wish I could remember my response to Samanta Schweblin's Little Eyes more clearly but it's a good 15 months since I read it! I know I liked it a lot though.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so my shortlist? What would I read again? What would I want to discuss? What would I want others to discuss? What would I want people to discover? And yes, what did I love?</div><div>Ghost Spcies - James Bradley</div><div>Gathering Evidence - Martin McInnes</div><div>The Ministry for the Future - KSR</div><div>The Deep - Rivers Soloman</div><div>Greensmith - Aliya Whiteley</div><div><br /></div><div>....with a final spot for Pinsker, Johnson (The Space Between Worlds has already won a Kitschie Tentacle) , Schweblin or Lingfang. Lolz - 6 is never enough! </div><div><br /></div><div>Tom Hunter enthuses about the shortlist on 5 Books here: https://fivebooks.com/best-books/the-best-science-fiction-of-2021-the-arthur-c-clarke-award-shortlist-tom-hunter/ </div><div><br /></div><div>You can get the full submissions list plus a look into the current state of SF publishing in terms of diversity here:</div><div>https://clarkeaward.medium.com/<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>A shout out to Nina Allan, Adam Roberts, Abigail Nussbaum and Steven Shaviro who continue to blog and of course Strange Horizons for intelligent, questioning analysis week in week out. They all inspire me to keep engaging however difficult it gets.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-13776530224480276902021-05-06T02:25:00.001-07:002021-05-06T09:56:55.262-07:00April films 2021<div>I’ve watched 43 films, 28 directed by men and 15 directed by women (basically I’m trying to make sure a third are directed by women each month). 14 are rewatches – definitely a 2021 and beyond determination to rewatch films a LOT more.</div><div><br></div><div>This year’s awards bait has proved to be hugely disappointing – Minari, Promising Young Woman, Sound of Metal and Black Bear do not represent the wonderful year of movies that 2020 produced. Nomadland, I admired a lot and of the best film contenders in the Oscars and Baftas it would have got my vote too….though I would have included Never Rarely Sometimes Always, Rocks, Miss Juneteenth and others in my shortlists. </div><div><br></div><div>Disappointments? Quite a few I’m afraid but especially Carpenter’s Escape from New York. I DO NOT understand how this is a cult film. Also, Ratatouille = BORING! Also, Moulin Rouge is NOT the film I remembered ☹</div><div><br></div><div>Loves? Ammonite – destined to be underrated I fear, and Catherine Corsini's Summertime. Obviously, I try to search out and champion films directed by women but I’ve arrived at the stage, fairly seamlessly, where female directors are making most of my favourite films – this month I went back to Debra Granik, Kelly Reichardt, Jane Campion and also discovered Ildikó Enyedi. Asian cinema continues to provide me with a well of rich, meditative films - Hou Hsiao-hsien’s Café Lumiere was probably my pick of the bunch this month; I’m continuing my journey through exploitation and this month and tried Jean Rollin and Walerian Borowczyk with mixed results. However, Borowczyk’s Blanche is FUCKING GLORIOUS and now I’m wondering whether I should check out his mid-70s erotica too. Weird but true.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br></div><div>I listen to quite a few podcasts to send me off to sleep and I tried Jack Howard’s The Screen Test where he and guests pits three films against each other to decide what’s best. I’m not sure why I did this because I don’t really like Jack Howard and I think the idea is pretty stupid but hey. In this episode he pitted the latest A Star is Born v La La Land v Whiplash. No brainer right? A Star is Born wins every time! Apparently not. So I watched all three again and, who knew? A Star is Born wins hands down 😊 Also, Damien Chazelle, on reflection and without all the hype, turns out to be a reactionary asshole wasting whatever talent he might have. Who knew?</div><div><br></div><div>Great performance in a mediocre film? Katherine Hepburn in David Lean’s Summertime (1955)</div><div><br></div><div>Feminist Friday: The Piano & Mouthpiece OR Ammonite & Summertime (2015)</div><div><br></div><div>Weird Wednesday: Viy and Blanche </div><div><br></div><div>Chill-the-fuck-out Saturday night: Palm Springs & Space Sweepers</div><div><br></div><div>And have you seen the new Verhoeven trailer for Benedetta (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-31QJXV3iA) – a Verhoeven lesbian nunsploitation film – sorry to make it sound so sleazy – but, yeah, can’t wait.</div><div><br></div><div>Short reviews for all films on Letterboxd: My profile on Letterboxd https://boxd.it/ayRp</div><div><br></div><div>1. Full Moon In Paris (1984) (Éric Rohmer)</div><div>2. Space Sweepers (2021) (Jo Sung-hee)</div><div>3. Friday Foster (1975) (Arthur Marks)</div><div>4. Ratatouille (2007) (Brad Bird)</div><div>5. Viy (1967) (Konstantin Yershov and Georgi Kropachyov)</div><div>6. The Nude Vampire (1970) (Jean Rollin)</div><div>7. The Shiver of the Vampires (1971) (Jean Rollin)</div><div>8. Whip It (2009) (Drew Barrymore)</div><div>9. The Piano (193) (Jane Campion)</div><div>10. Begin Again (2013) (John Carney)</div><div>11. Starship Troopers (197) (Paul Verhoeven)</div><div>12. Real Women Have Curves (2002) (Patricia Cardoso)</div><div>13. Moulin Rouge! (2001) (Baz Luhrmann)</div><div>14. Palm Springs (2020) (Max Barbakow)</div><div>15. Minari (2020) (Lee Isaac Chung)</div><div>16. Christmas in August (1998) (Hur Jin-ho)</div><div>17. Ammonite (2020) (Francis Lee)</div><div>18. Requiem for a Vampire (1971) (Jean Rollin)</div><div>19. A Star is Born (2018) (Bradley Cooper)</div><div>20. Summertime (2015) (Catherine Corsini)</div><div>21. My Twentieth Century (1989) (Ildikó Enyedi)</div><div>22. Love and Monsters (2020) (Michael Matthews)</div><div>23. Wendy and Lucy (2008) (Kelly Reichardt)</div><div>24. Meek’s Cutoff (2010) (Kelly Reichardt)</div><div>25. Imagine Me and You (2016) (Michael Tuviera)</div><div>26. Possession (1981) (Andrzej Żuławski)</div><div>27. The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Miss Osbourne (1981) (Walerian Borowczyk)</div><div>28. Café Lumiere (2003) (Hou Hsiao-hsien)</div><div>29. Summertime (1955) (David Lean)</div><div>30. Escape from New York (1981) (John Carpenter)</div><div>31. Blanche (1971) (Walerian Borowczyk)</div><div>32. Promising Young Woman (2020) (Emerald Fennell)</div><div>33. Black Bear (2020) (Lawrence Michael Levine)</div><div>34. Sound of Metal (2019) (Darius Marder)</div><div>35. Strange Days (1995) (Kathryn Bigelow)</div><div>36. Winter’s Bone (2010) (Debra Granik)</div><div>37. Mouthpiece (2018) (Patricia Rozema)</div><div>38. Leave No Trace (2018) (Debra Granik)</div><div>39. La La Land (Damien Chazelle)</div><div>40. On Body and Soul (2017) (Ildikó Enyedi)</div><div>41. Somewhere (2010) (Sofia Coppola)</div><div>42. Whiplash (2014) (Damien Chazelle)</div><div>43. Queen and Slim (2019) (Melina Matsoukas)</div><div><br></div>Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-23975820122271014682021-04-05T13:52:00.004-07:002021-09-05T12:35:54.265-07:00March films 2021<div><br /></div><div>I watched 42 films in March, 26 by men and 16 by women with 11 rewatches. For some reason my French, US and Japanese intellectuals are interspersed with all kinds of horror, sleaze and exploitation cinema from all over the place. Lockdown is clearly interfering in my usual encounters with perversion and desire – lol, I wish. 😁</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Lows? Josie and the Pussycats, Russ Meyer</div><div><br /></div><div>Highs, keeping me vaguely sane? Mia Hansen-Løve (rewatched all of them, reinforcing my admiration and love), Miranda July, SHOWGIRLS, Mädchen in Uniform, Shunya Ito and Meiko Kaji, Éric Rohmer. My favourite bit of knowledge was learning in Adam Naman's It Doesn't Suck that Mia Hansen-Løve loves Showgirls. First viewing for me and straight into my favourite films of all time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Feminist Friday: Mädchen in Uniform & Female Prisoner Scorpion: Jailhouse 41</div><div><br /></div><div>Weird Wednesday: The Wicker Man & The Future.</div><div><br /></div><div>Super Showgirls Saturday: Eden, Showgirls & You Don’t Nomi.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div>Sublime Sunday: The Green Ray & Pauline at the Beach.</div><div><br /></div><div>1. California Suite (1978) (Herbert Ross)</div><div>2. Ginger Snaps (2000) (John Fawcett)</div><div>3. All is Forgiven (2007) (Mia Hansen-Løve)</div><div>4. Let the Right One In (2008) (Tomas Alfredson)</div><div>5. About Some Meaningless Events (1974) (Mostafa Derkaoui)</div><div>6. Father of My Children (2009) (Mia Hansen-Løve)</div><div>7. Eden (2014) (Mia Hansen-Løve)</div><div>8. Once (2007) (John Carney)</div><div>9. Little Woods (2018) (Nia DaCosta)</div><div>10. Moxie (2021) (Amy Poehler) </div><div>11. Things to Come (2016) (Mia Hansen-Løve)</div><div>12. Mädchen in Uniform (1931) (Leontine Sagan)</div><div>13. Crossing Delancey (1988) (Joan Micklin Silver)</div><div>14. Sing Street (2016) (John Carney)</div><div>15. Air Doll (2009) (Hirokazu Koreeda)</div><div>16. Hospital Massacre (1981) (Boaz Davidson)</div><div>17. Josie and the Pussycats (2001) (Deborah Kaplan & Harry Elfont)</div><div>18. The Aviator’s Wife (1981) (Éric Rohmer)</div><div>19. Female Prisoner #701: Scorpion (1972) (Shunya Ito)</div><div>20. The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971) (Piers Haggard)</div><div>21. WandaVision (2021) (Matt Shakman)</div><div>22. The Wicker Man (1973) (Robin Hardy)</div><div>23. The Slumber Party Massacre (1982) (Amy Holden Jones)</div><div>24. Showgirls (1995) (Paul Verhoeven)</div><div>25. Vixen (1968) (Russ Meyer)</div><div>26. You Don’t Nomi (2019) (Jeffrey McHale)</div><div>27. Blind Woman’s Curse (1970) (Teruo Ishii)</div><div>28. Supervixens (1975) (Russ Meyer)</div><div>29. Total Recall (1990) (Paul Verhoeven)</div><div>30. Flesh + Blood (1985) (Paul Verhoeven)</div><div>31. A Good Marriage (1982) (Éric Rohmer)</div><div>32. Daughters of Darkness (1970) (Harry Kümel)</div><div>33. Female Prisoner Scorpion: Jailhouse 41 (1972) (Shunya Ito)</div><div>34. The Green Ray (1986) (Éric Rohmer)</div><div>34. Pauline at the Beach (1983) (Éric Rohmer)</div><div>35. The Future (2011) (Miranda July)</div><div>36. Me and You and Everyone We Know (2005) (Miranda July). </div><div>37. Fascination (1979) (Jean Rollin)</div><div>38. But I'm a Cheerleader (1999) (Jamie Babbit)</div><div>39. You Were Never Really Here (2017) (Lynne Ramsay)</div><div>40. Frankenhooker (1990) (Frank Henonlotter)</div><div>41. American Honey (2016) (Andrea Arnold)</div><div>42. Booksmart (2019) (Olivia Wilde)</div><div><br /></div><div> <br /></div><div><br /></div>Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-67470700884554126242021-03-03T11:14:00.001-08:002021-03-03T11:19:24.649-08:00February films<div>I watched 51 films in February with 17 of those directed by women. Overall 16 were rewatches. I’m continuing to rewatch Mark Cousins’ Women Make Film a bit at a time too. Its miserable that so many of the films he showcases aren't available.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br></div><div>I visited Greece, Germany, Austria, the US, Denmark, the UK, Finland, Lesotho and Italy on my cinematic journey. Why did I watch these particular films? Letterboxd reviews jogged my memory; Christopher Plummer died; continuing my Jessica Hausner obsession from January; Reading about Boarding Gate in a Nick Pinkerton article started an Olivier Assayas journey; witches; subscriptions to Mubi, BFI Player and Netflix. </div><div><br></div><div>Lows? Jeremiah Johnson (!!) & The Goodbye Girl.</div><div><br></div><div>Highlights? The films with an asterisk are ones I would urge everyone to watch but honestly I’d recommend 80% of them. And I am LOVING my Olivier Assayas journey...which has now led me to a complete Mia Hansen-Løve rewatch too.</div><div><br></div><div>Weird Wednesday Night: Penda’s Fen & Valerie and Her Week of Wonders</div><div><br></div><div>Feminist Friday: Be Natural & Girlfriends</div><div>Alternate Feminist Friday: Sherrybaby & Clean</div><div><br></div><div>Horror Night: The Witch & The White Reindeer (and/or A Girl Walk's Home Alone at Night)</div><div><br></div><div>Silent Sunday afternoon: Diary of a Lost Girl</div><div><br></div><div>With the onset of Spring, and because I’m also managing to read a little – mainly about films and film theory (!) this will now slow down. More quality hopefully in my analysis.</div><div><br></div><div>Here is the full list in the order I watched them:</div><div>1. Attenburg (2010) (Athina Rachel Tsangari)</div><div>2. They Might be Giants (1971) (Anthony Harvey)</div><div>3. A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014) (Ana Lily Amirpour)*</div><div>4. Appropriate Behaviour (2014) (Desiree Akhavan)</div><div>5. Lovely Rita (2001) (Jessica Hausner)</div><div>6. Kajillionaire (2020) (Miranda July)*</div><div>7. The Goodbye Girl (1977) (Herbert Ross)</div><div>8. Girlfriends (1978) (Claudia Weill)*</div><div>9. Beginners (2010) (Mike Mills)</div><div>10. The Sound of Music (1965) (Robert Wise)</div><div>11. Hotel (2004) (Jessica Hausner)</div><div>12. Lourdes (2009) (Jessica Hausner)*</div><div>13. The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) (Carl Theodor Dreyer)*</div><div>14. Day of Wrath (1943) (Carl Theodor Dreyer)*</div><div>15. Vampyr (1932) (Carl Theodor Dreyer)</div><div>16. Ham on Rye (2019) (Tyler Taormina)</div><div>17. Splash (1984) (Ron Howard)</div><div>18. News of the World (2020) (Paul Greengrass)</div><div>19. Minority Report (2002) (Steven Spielberg)</div><div>20. The Matrix (1999) (Lilly Wachowski & Lana Wachowski)</div><div>21. Penda’s Fen (1974) (Alan Clarke)</div><div>22. Near Dark (1987) (Kathryn Bigelow)</div><div>23. Valerie and her Week of Wonders (1970) (Jaromil Jireš)</div><div>24. The White Reindeer (Erik Blomberg)*</div><div>25. Diary of a Lost Girl (1929) (G.W. Pabst)*</div><div>26. Innocent Blood (1992) (John Landis)</div><div>27. Viva Maria! (1965) (Louis Malle)</div><div>28. Sherrybaby (2006) (Laurie Collyer)</div><div>29. Be Natural: The Untold Story of Alice Guy-Blaché (2018) (Pamela B. Green)*</div><div>30. Jeremiah Johnson (1972) (Sydney Pollack)</div><div>31. Boarding Gate (2007) (Olivier Assayas)</div><div>32. Summer Hours (2008) (Olivier Assayas)</div><div>33. Wasp Network (2019) (Olivier Assayas)</div><div>34. Personal Shopper (2016) (Olivier Assayas)*</div><div>35. Demonlover (2002) (Olivier Assayas)*</div><div>36. Clouds of Sils Maria (2014) (Olivier Assayas)*</div><div>37. Charlie’s Angels (2019) (Elizabeth Banks)</div><div>38. Something in the Air (2012) (Olivier Assayas)</div><div>39. Mona Lisa Smile (2002) (Mike Newell)</div><div>40. Non Fiction (2008) (Olivier Assayas)</div><div>41. And Breathe Normally (2019) (Ísold Uggadóttir)</div><div>42. The Demons (1973) (Jesús Franco)</div><div>43. The Devils (1971) (Ken Russell)*</div><div>44. The Edge of Seventeen (2016) (Kelly Fremon Craig)</div><div>45. The Kids Are Alright (2010) (Lisa Cholodenko)</div><div>46. This Is Not a Burial, It's a Resurrection (2019) (Lemohang Jeremiah Mosese)*</div><div>47. Clean (2004) (Olivier Assayas)*</div><div>48. Irma Vep (1996) (Olivier Assayas)*</div><div>49. Beyond Clueless (2014) (Charlie Shackleton)</div><div>50. The Witch (2015) (Robert Eggers)*</div><div>51. Goodbye First Love (2012) (Mia Hansen-Løve)</div><div><br></div><div>You can read find individual reviews and thoughts here: </div><div>My profile on Letterboxd https://letterboxd.com/GarethavonB<br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-66065073279730594862021-02-05T04:22:00.001-08:002021-02-06T10:13:26.840-08:00January films 2021<div>I watched 46 films in January with 18 of those directed by women. Overall 16 were rewatches. I’m also rewatching Mark Cousins’ Women Make Film a bit at a time. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br></div><div>Lots of really great films here and only Chain Reaction is a complete waste of time.</div><div><br></div><div>I visited Germany, the US, South Korea, Norway, France, Japan, Australia, Finland and Sweden on my cinematic journey. Why did I watch these particular films? Following interesting people on Letterboxd throws up films I’ve never heard of or forgotten; I got to Elaine May from Mark Cousins; I’ve been meaning to watch early Koreeda for an age; searching out films because of LGBTQ History Month; Dolly Parton’e birthday; snowfall; realising toward the end of the month I hadn’t watched enough films by women (very unlike me); subscriptions to Mubi, BFI Player and Netflix. </div><div><br></div><div>Highlights? Discovering Elaine May; the wonder and compassion of early Koreeda; passions for Jessica Hausner and Marielle Heller; finally watching Blind and In the Cut; rewatching Gas Food Lodging, Peppermint Soda and Pariah; the joy of Alice Júnior; one film leading to another for comparison. </div><div>The films with an asterisk are ones I would urge everyone to watch but that’s probably unfair because I’m still thinking about several others. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br></div><div>A great Sunday afternoon triple bill would be Mermaids, This is my Life and Gas Food Lodging – all films about a single mum with two daughters.</div><div><br></div><div>A great Saturday night Horror double bill would start with Creepy and finish with Little Monsters.</div><div><br></div><div>I’m still having problems with concentration and depression – I’m finding lockdown hard – but watching in bulk is starting to help me think, make comparisons and contrasts and ask better questions. Watching Koreeda and Hausner you can’t help but consider the movements of the camera and careful painterly framing and compositions – their effect and the way they can construct/influence meaning. Watching Elaine May’s two films and then reading these two essays (https://www.brightwalldarkroom.com/2019/09/09/the-heartbreak-kid-elaine-may1972/) (https://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/screening-alert-elaine-mays-masterful-heartbreak-kid) helped me to think more again about direction – and what might constitute different types of good/bad/effective/distinctive direction. </div><div><br></div><div>Here is the full list in the order I watched them:</div><div>1. Good Posture (2019) (Dolly Wells)</div><div>2. System Catcher (2019) (Nora Fingscheidt)</div><div>3. Parasite (2019) (Bong Joon-ho)</div><div>4. Safety Not Guaranteed (2012) (Colin Trevorrow)</div><div>5. I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020) (Charlie Kaufman)</div><div>6. Mermaids (1990) (Richard Benjamin)</div><div>7. Holiday Affair (1949) (Don Hartman)</div><div>8. Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions (2020) (Taylor Swift)</div><div>9. Legally Blonde (2001) (Robert Luketic)</div><div>10. Chain Reaction (1996) (Andrew Davis)</div><div>11. Blind (2014) (Eskil Vogt) *</div><div>12. Only the Animals (2019) (Dominik Moll)</div><div>13. Sneakers (1992) (Phil Alden Robinson)</div><div>14. This is my Life (1992) (Nora Ephron)</div><div>15. Creepy (2016) (Kiyoshi Kurosawa)</div><div>16. Maborosi (1995) (Hirokazu Kore-eda) *</div><div>17. Babyteeth (2019) (Shannon Murphy) *</div><div>18. Alice in the Cities (1974) (Wim Wenders)</div><div>19. A New Leaf (1971) (Elaine May)*</div><div>20. The Heartbreak Kid (1972) (Elaine May)</div><div>21. Little Monsters (2019) (Abe Forsythe)</div><div>22. Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale (2010) (Jalmari Helander)</div><div>23. February (The Blackcoat’s Daughter) (2015) (Oz Perkins)</div><div>24. Jennifer’s Body (2009) (Karyn Kusama)</div><div>25. Instant Family (2018) (Sean Anders)</div><div>26. Nine to Five (1980) (Colin Higgins)</div><div>27. Alice Júnior (2019) (Gil Baroni)</div><div>28. The Duke of Burgundy (2014) (Peter Strickland)</div><div>29. The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947) (Joseph L. Mankiewicz)</div><div>30. After Life (1998) (Hirokazu Kore-eda) *</div><div>31. TransSiberian (2008) (Brad Anderson)</div><div>32. Cactus Flower (1969) (Gene Saks)</div><div>33. Peppermint Soda (1977) (Diane Kurys)</div><div>34. The Apartment (1960) (Billie Wilder) *</div><div>35. G.B.F. (2013) (Darren Stein)</div><div>36. About Endlessness (2019) (Roy Andersson)</div><div>37. In the Cut (2003) (Jane Campion) *</div><div>38. J.T.Leroy (2018) (Justin Kelly)</div><div>39. The Diary of a Teenage Girl (2015) (Marielle Heller)</div><div>40. Can You Ever Forgive Me? (2018) (Marielle Heller) *</div><div>41. The Savages (2007) (Tamara Jenkins)</div><div>42. Gas Food Lodging (1992) (Allison Anders) *</div><div>43. Infinitely Polar Bear (2014) (Maya Forbes)</div><div>44. Pariah (2011) (Dee Rees) *</div><div>45. Little Joe (2019) (Jessica Hausner)</div><div>46. Amour Fou (2014) (Jessica Hausner)*</div><div><br></div><div>My Letterboxd diary is here: https://letterboxd.com/garethavonb/films/diary/ and for each film I wrote a paragraph or two. </div><div><br></div><div>For February…</div><div>In the mood for loneliness and longing: How Wong Kar Wai depicts emotion (https://www.bfi.org.uk/features/mood-love-wong-kar-wai-emotion)</div><div>Wong Kar Wai season coming to BFI Player and the ICA’s Cinema 3 throughout February 2021</div><div>(https://www.bfi.org.uk/news/wong-kar-wai-season) </div><div><br></div>Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-7499015226122311892021-01-29T09:29:00.005-08:002021-02-05T06:30:36.467-08:00The 'BFI’s 100 Greatest Films of All Time’ revisited<div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I’m slowly rewatching Mark Cousins’ Women Make Film and it made me want to revisit the BFI’s 100 Greatest Films of All Time – their regular survey, done every ten years. It was last done in 2012 so clearly we are on the cusp of a new one. Of those hundred films 87 are directed by white men, 11 by Asian men (Japan, China, India, Iran and Taiwan) and 2 by women – one Belgian (Chantal Akerman) and one French (Claire Denis). To be clear I’ve seen nearly all the films and most of them I’ve either admired or loved at some point in my life; and, of course I understand that the history of cinema has been dominated by white men.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br></div><div>I thought about getting the numbers for the critics and directors who took part in the survey but life is too short! According to the BFI they tried to be much more democratic than ever before and “approached more than 1,000 critics, programmers, academics, distributors, writers and other cinephiles, and received (in time for the deadline) precisely 846 top-ten lists that between them mention a total of 2,045 different films” They also conduct a separate director’s poll and around 350 directors sent lists. I spent a little bit of time going through the contributors and though the BFI succeeded in including larger numbers of people from around the world, white men, again unsurprisingly, dominate. </div><div>Their criteria was pleasingly open: “As a qualification of what ‘greatest’ means, our invitation letter stated, “We leave that open to your interpretation. You might choose the ten films you feel are most important to film history, or the ten that represent the aesthetic pinnacles of achievement, or indeed the ten films that have had the biggest impact on your own view of cinema.”</div><div><br></div><div>It seems to me fairly obvious that cineastes have a duty l to celebrate the voices and skills of women, of men and women of colour, as well as the LGBTQ community. Anyone’s definition of ‘best’ or of ‘historical importance’ is a matter of strategy, effort, rediscovery and critical thought – even when taking taste and personal preferences into account.</div><div><br></div><div>I decided to set myself some rules to create some Top 10 of All Time lists that had to include films directed by women and by men and women of colour. </div><div><br></div><div>1. The first has to include a film from each decade since the 30s (30s, 40s, 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, 00s, 10s) allowing the tenth from 2020 or repeating any other decade. </div><div>2. The second, easier, list has to include a film from every continent but with a slight adjustment – so at least one film from Africa, Asia, Australia, Europe, the US and one from any other part of North or South America. Thus those without any knowledge of South American cinema can choose something from maybe Mexico or Canada. The other four could be from anywhere.</div><div>3. I appreciate that people who mostly confine their viewing to particular genres or Hollywood fare might find these too difficult and so the third and easiest was with no restrictions or rules.</div><div><br></div><div>In all the lists I leave it up to you to judge what is an acceptable number of white male directors! And yeah, I’m no slave to auteur theory but doing it by director is the easiest way to keep it relatively simple.</div><div><br></div><div><b>Need some help?</b></div><div><br></div><div>• The All-Time Greatest Films Directed by Women (indiewire)</div><div>• The 100 greatest films directed by women (BBC)</div><div>• Top 100 films directed by women: A new golden age of cinema? (BBC)</div><div>• Films Directed by Women (Mubi)</div><div>• The female gaze: 100 overlooked films directed by women (BFI)</div><div>• The Black Film Canon (Slate)</div><div>• Best films of the decade (by women of colour) (Offscreen) </div><div>• 85 Compelling Films Starring and/or Directed By Women of Color: A List Created by Director Ava DuVernay & Friends on Twitter (Open Culture) </div><div>• The Best Black Movies of the Last 30 Years (Complex) </div><div>• Film HERstory: 75+ Classic Films Directed by Women (and Where You Can Watch Them) (Nitrate Diva)</div><div>• 10 great British films directed by women (BFI)</div><div>• The 100 best feminist films of all time (TimeOut)</div><div>• The 100 Best Films of the 1930s (Mubi)</div><div>• 10 Influential Female Directors From the Silent Film Era (Reel Rundown)</div><div>• The best Japanese film of every year – from 1925 to now (BFI)</div><div>• The 25 Best Latin American Films of the 2010s (remezcla)</div><div>• The 50 Best Latin American Films of the 2000s (remezcla)</div><div><br></div><div><b>The lists</b></div><div><br></div><div>List 1a – The Decades</div><div>1. 1939 - The Story of the Last Chrysanthemums (Kenji Mizoguchi)</div><div>2. 1947 - One Wonderful Sunday (Akira Kurosawa)</div><div>3. 1952 - Singin' in the Rain (Stanley Donen) </div><div>4. 1966 – Daisies (Věra Chytilová)</div><div>5. 1979 – My Brilliant Career (Gillian Armstrong)</div><div>6. 1985 – Desert Hearts (Donna Deitch)</div><div>7. 1999 – All About My Mother (Pedro Almodóvar)</div><div>8. 2004 - La Niña Santa (Lucretia Martel)</div><div>9. 2016 – Moonlight (Barry Jenkins) </div><div>10. 2019 – You Were Never Really Here (Lynne Ramsay)</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br></div><div>List 1b – The Decades</div><div>1. 1930 – The Blue Angel (Josef von Sternberg)</div><div>2. 1948 - Late Spring (Yasujirō Ozu)</div><div>3. 1957 – Pyaasa (Guru Dutt)</div><div>4. 1966 – The Great Silence (Sergio Corbucci)</div><div>5. 1971 – A New Leaf (Elaine May)</div><div>6. 1983 – Sugar Cane Alley (Euzhan Palcy)</div><div>7. 1996 – Bound (Lana Wachowski, Lilly Wachowski)</div><div>8. 2008 - The Headless Woman (Lucrecia Martel)</div><div>9. 2015 – Mad Max: Fury Road (George Miller)</div><div>10. 2019 – Portrait of a Woman on Fire (Céline Sciamma)</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br></div><div>List 1c – The Decades</div><div>1. 1938 – Bringing Up Baby (Howard Hawks)</div><div>2. 1941 – The Lady Eve (Preston Sturges)</div><div>3. 1954 – Seven Samurai (Akira Kurosawa)</div><div>4. 1962 – Cleo from 5 to 7 (Agnes Varda)</div><div>5. 1978 – Killer of Sheep (Charles Burnett)</div><div>6. 1989 – Do the Right Thing (Spike Lee)</div><div>7. 1999 – Beau Travail (Claire Denis)</div><div>8. 2009 – Wendy and Lucy (Kelly Reichardt)</div><div>9. 2014 – A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (Ana Lily Amirpour)</div><div>10. 2018 – Can You Ever Forgive Me? (Marielle Heller)</div><div><br></div><div>List 2a – The Continents </div><div>1. Africa: Cairo Station (Youssef Chahine) (1958)</div><div>2. Asia: Maborosi (Hirokazu Kore-eda) (1995)</div><div>3. Australia: Picnic at Hanging Rock (Peter Weir) (1975)</div><div>4. Europe: Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson) (1981)</div><div>5. US: Selma (Ava DuVernay) (2015)</div><div>6. North/South America: Zama (Lucrecia Martel) (2017)</div><div>7. In the Cut (Jane Campion) (2003)</div><div>8. Queen and Slim (Melina Matsoukas)( (2019)</div><div>9. Blade Runner (Ridley Scott) (1982)</div><div>10. D.E.B.S. (Angela Robinson) (2004)</div><div><br></div><div>List 2a – The Continents </div><div>1. Africa: Abouna (Mahamet-Saleh Haroun) (2002)</div><div>2. Asia: Sonatine (Takeshi Kitano) (1993)</div><div>3. Australia: The Piano (Jane Campion) (1993)</div><div>4. Europe: L'Avventura (Michelangelo Antonioni) (1960)</div><div>5. US: Logan (James Mangold) (2017)</div><div>6. North/South America: Gloria (Sebastían Lelio) (2013)</div><div>7. Eve's Bayou (Kasi Lemmons) (1997)</div><div>8. The Long Kiss Goodnight (Renny Harlin) (1996)</div><div>9. But I'm a Cheerleader (Jamie Babbit) (1999)</div><div>10. Vagabond (Agnès Varda) (1985) </div><div><br></div><div>List 3a – Free for all</div><div>• Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki) (2001)</div><div>• Alien (Ridley Scott) (1979)</div><div>• Toni Erdmann (Maren Ade) (2015)</div><div>• Shoplifters (Hirokazu Koreeda) (2018)</div><div>• Dance, Girl, Dance (Dorothy Arzner) (1940)</div><div>• Pariah (Dee Rees) (2011)</div><div>• 12 Years A Slave (Steve McQueen) (2013) </div><div>• Taste of Cherry (Abbas Kiarostami) (1997)</div><div>• The Apartment (Billy Wilder) (1960)</div><div>• Saint Maud (Rose Glass) (2019)</div><div><br></div><div>List 3b – Free for all</div><div>• Kill Bill: Vol I (Quentin Tarantino) (2001)</div><div>• Rocks (Sarah Gavron) (2020)</div><div>• Daughters of the Dust (Julie Dash) (1991)</div><div>• Rashomon (Akira Kurosawa) (1950)</div><div>• Leave No Trace (Debra Granik) (2018)</div><div>• Once Upon a Time in the West (Sergio Leone) (1968)</div><div>• Girlhood (Céline Sciamma) (2014)</div><div>• Audition (Takashi Miike) (1999)</div><div>• Ride the High Country (Sam Peckinpah) (1962)</div><div>• The Watermelon Woman (Cheryl Dunye) (1996)</div><div><br></div><div>These are honest, sincere lists of films I love and consider important. I could happily do this for hours – I’ve got ideas for dozens more combinations without any repetition of films. So far I've used well-known films too. Spend a little time on Letterboxd to get a sense of how many interesting films out there waiting to be rediscovered and reappraised.</div><div>It’s a good way to reflect on weaknesses in your film knowledge – for me that’s Africa, especially and films by African American creators pre 1980. But it’s also to see how hard it is to get hold of whole swathes of important films – loads of the films in Cousins’ <b>Women Make Film</b> are inaccessible or prohibitively expensive. Films like Sugar Cane Alley are just a fond, long lost memory from decades ago. So, for many film enthusiasts even finding films beyond the white canon can be hugely challenging. </div><div><br></div><div>One last thing occurred to me - an objection someone could make - if I continued making lists like this would I run out of films by women or people of colour whilst still leaving plenty of gems by white men unlisted? Maybe, but a better question.... is if films were easily available how long would it take me to watch all those films by women and people of colour and what gems would I find to fall in love with? Cousins' film makes me believe the answers would be a long time, and a lot.</div>Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-21647271413932592542020-03-13T04:55:00.001-07:002020-03-13T04:55:30.217-07:00By Force Alone - random thoughts!<div>Be aware..</div><div>I haven't written anything for about 2 years! </div><div>ALSO</div><div>Read an interview with Lavie <a href="https://scifibulletin.com/books/fantasy/interview-lavie-tidhar/">here</a> – I think it is fair to say that the author of By Force Alone might be slightly bemused by what follows! His starting point and mine are a long way apart. Though, I should say, I loved it.</div><div><br></div><div>I – anatomy of a love – ancient forests, greenery, winter, music.</div><div><br></div><div>I don’t know when I first saw John Boorman’s Excalibur but it was at some point during my teen years and I fell for it hard. I still love it – it is bonkers in all the right ways: low comedy and inflated gravitas (is that a tautology!?); weird giggles and absurd seriousness; Nigel Terry and Nicol Williamson! Later I tried watching BBCs Merlin and hated its tepid lack of risk and anaesthetising safe-blanket of mediocrity (lol). Camelot, despite the mad genius of Richard Harris, Vanessa Redgrave and Franco Nero is unwatchable. I didn’t really watch Robin of Sherwood when it was first on – we were one of those bizarre households that shied away from ITV - but I watched the repeats. Actually I can watch almost any incarnation of Hood and be happy. As a (young) 13 year old I loved the mysterious wintery atmosphere of the BBC’s Box of Delights. Weirdly perhaps I associate Blakes 7 with all of this too, partly to do with tone and atmosphere. A favourite episode was/is Season 1’s Project Avalon – even the word is enough to set me off - and there were enough woods and forests in various episodes to reinforce the connection. The evocative music that accompanied all of these – Wagner and Orff (yes, problematic I know), Victor Hely-Hutchinson’s Carol Symphony, Clannad (!), THE BLAKES 7 THEME (!!) – were all incredibly important for connecting meaning, atmosphere and tone in my yearning, impressionable brain.</div><div>Clearly I am a child of popular culture. No Geoffrey of Monmouth or Thomas Mallory for me, even in adulthood. Later in life I relished Robert Holdstock’s Mythago Wood and Marion Zimmer Bradley’s The Mists of Avalon. As a school librarian I finally got round to Alan Garner (love) and Susan Cooper (wanted to love) too. There is something about the mystery and the history of it all that I find irresistible. Plus I love swords and monsters, weirdness and witches, ancient forests and dreams of a better world. So can I happily romanticism all that Celtic, foresty, standing stones, myths of Britain nonsense? Indubitably yes. </div><div>Love and critique can go hand in hand of course - my other favourite Arthurian tale is Philip Reeve’s Here Lies Arthur. And I’m sure there have been other irreverent takes on mythic Britain without having to reference Monty Python and the Holy Grail.</div><div>But is the residing emotion in all this nostalgia? Or something infected with nostalgia? Well, I think there are good reasons to appreciate, or love, all the books, films and TV programmes above. By Force Alone critiques the Arthurian legend - and rightly so – but it is also imbued with wonder and mystery, weirdness and a surreal atmosphere at one with many of those other loves.</div><div><br></div><div>II – patriotism, yawn.</div><div><br></div><div>By Force Alone raises questions about nationalism, Englishness and other thorny issues and so is extremely relevant and topical.</div><div>We’re being fed the poison of nationalism in larger and larger doses by a ruling class beginning to choose reaction, and fascism, over democracy and law.</div><div>We’ve always had progressives, from George Orwell, through Billy Bragg to Rebecca Bailey Long try to reclaim patriotism for the left. Now we have the reactionary environmental nationalism of Paul Kingsnorth and his ilk crystallizing into even more dangerous formulations as the Right comes to terms with the climate crisis. Nationalists call on every resource they can summon up to convince us that Englishness is a Thing to be treasured and protected, nurtured and returned to its former glory. </div><div><br></div><div>III – anachronism (and I don’t mean the Blade Runner or the Talking Heads references)</div><div><br></div><div>The risk with anachronism in By Force Alone is that you might reinforce the idea that certain concepts and ideologies really did exist before their time. That risk – when it comes to ideas about nationalism – is worth considering because most people are unaware of how new these ideas really are. Most nationalists won’t have read Anderson, Gellner and Hobsbaum, let alone recent books by Valluvan, Niven and others. Nor will they care. They are content with spinning common sense, founding myths, supposed golden ages and the rest. Does By Force Alone destabilise and ridicule nationalism whilst still, paradoxically, keeping it in place? [Genuine question and I would have to reread the novel to take it, and myself, more seriously]</div><div><br></div><div>IV - serendipity</div><div><br></div><div>I knew nothing about By Force Alone. It has just been serendipity that my renewed ability – more, urgent need - to read coincided with a new Tidhar novel. Arthur, Excalibur, Camelot…wtf, I thought. But I love Tidhar’s writing so…wtfn, I thought.</div><div><br></div><div>V – the profane and the sacred</div><div><br></div><div>There is some on the nose silliness in this novel. There are parts I might even call cheesy. There were moments when I worried that writing nationalism back into the Dark Ages, as discussed above, was a dangerous game. There were moments when this reader who generally tries to think the best of his fellow humans was dismayed by the tired view of humanity, the violence and the miserableness on display.</div><div><br></div><div>BUT</div><div><br></div><div>Tidhar uses bathos and anti-climax in VERY funny ways. It is funny in a way that reminded me of Douglas Adams. I’d suggest that this is more Hitchhiker’s Guide for the 2020s than a companion to the novels of Richard Morgan or Joe Abercrombie. I was reminded again of comparisons I made between Tidhar and Mike Harrison when I reviewed Central Station. Something to do with skill involved in the use of lists and language, and the way they build their worlds.</div><div>It works as a bestiary and compendium of mythical Britain. It works as a book of monsters. It works because Tidhar’s love and relish for the writing of all this stuff is so apparent. It works because somehow it is incredibly moving – despite the Pythonesque irreverence, the changes in tone that should be jarring, the abundance of references to popular culture that should be jarring. It works because, somehow, the book manages to set its righteous anger and its harshness alongside genuine compassion. It works because it is, to sound far too much like a blurb, a work of wonderous imagination and extraordinary skill. It works because there is reverence for history, for learning and the wonders of the universe that sits side by side with its low humour and burning fury. It works because of the ZONE!</div><div><br></div><div>VI – a disagreement</div><div><br></div><div>Warren Ellis has just recommended the novel and concludes that it is “very, very cold”. I couldn’t disagree more. It’s full of heart. If Tidhar’s Guinevere has a little bit of The Bride in her then By Force Alone is for me is more Kill Bill than Goodfellas (make sure you read the interview above!). And I think Kill Bill has a LOT of heart. I raced through it, and kept trying to slow myself down so I could relish the details. Fool that I am, it made me cry. I loved it. I refer you to Part I….</div><div><br></div><div>VII</div><div><br></div><div>Don’t you love how the sequence of your reading raises new questions and forces you to rethink? The book I’m reading now is also mind-blowingly good (in very different ways) - Hurricane Season by Fernanda Melchor and translated by Sophie Hughes. Blimey, if I thought there was some pessimism and misanthropy in By Force Alone then I’ve been forced to rethink!</div><div><br></div>Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-78927948154403236612020-01-14T08:36:00.001-08:002020-01-14T11:42:18.903-08:00Little Women and the climate crisis.<div>I wrote this for Letterboxd and am posting it here in the hope I will continue to write again.</div><div><br></div>I’ve seen this twice now. Let me begin with where I stand on the main issues: <br>• I love Gerwig’s direction and most of the choices behind the camera – though, does Alexandre Desplat’s score lead us a little too often? Yes.<br>• Don’t hate me BUT I am, it seems, one of the few human beings unconvinced by Saoirse Ronan and Timothée Chalamet, but they’re both great here and, as awful – racist, sexist - as the Oscar (and Bafta) nominations are, I believe she totally deserves her nomination. She is FANTASTIC.<br>• Is it feminist enough? This is a debate on the left with which you may be unfamiliar. It’s partly, but far from completely, a book v film argument. I don’t like the book and cannot remember all the details so I try to judge the film versions on their own merits. I like that we get more of older Amy, I like the ending. I like the time-altered structure that may on occasion be a little awkward – the repetition on Beth’s death scene? – but more often gives us interesting and thoughtful juxtapositions…<br>• …and so it seems to me that we still, urgently, need narratives about sisterhood, community, play, kindness and compassion that intertwine with stories about equality and justice, self-definition and self expression, the need for art and artists and much more.<br>• It is, like the other great adaptations, a big, warm hug of a film that gives us a serious tale wrapped up in nostalgia, beautiful landscapes, warm and comforting interiors, familiar and relatable characters…<br>• …thus Gerwig begins her film with that title card: “I had lots of troubles; so I write jolly tales.” Despite her structure and the playful ending …<br>• …this is still a very familiar kind of film. It runs on a very fine border between earned sentiment and universal sentimentality. It runs on a fine distinction between hope and optimism. It runs on familiar structures – and yes, to take one example, Beth’s death feels like a very familiar device that allows us to feel the pain of loss but with a very quick closure and without the real-life consequences of such a loss. It is sad but cathartic rather than challenging or difficult. I do, of course (!) cry at Beth, the piano and Mr Laurence - AND try to read it in terms of loss and love - BUT Little Women glosses over, in a very romantic way, class conflict. <br><br>And that’s where my problem lies. First let me be clear that I’m not picking on this film. I’d happily have Little Women win Best Picture over most of those other snooze fests/really stupid films/tired late works. I’ll watch it again with great pleasure. It’s just that at the beginning of the new decade somehow my questions and thoughts won’t be swallowed down any more.<br><br>My problem is with fantasy and nostalgia. My problem is with happy endings. My problem is with carrying on as normal. My problem is with rushing things and glossing over pain and distress. And even though I know I’m entering a dangerous maze-like path - the idea that we should be prescriptive in any way when it comes to art has always been abhorrent to me - I’m wondering if there are films we need far more.<br><br>Time is running out. I still feel like a mad person for saying it but the evidence in 2019 was OVERWHELMING. Think of it as Year 1 of the new normal and that things are only going to get worse. I’m not suggesting that people won’t find ways of fighting back or that there won’t be resistance – we will be forced to fight back and sometimes they will succeed. I am suggesting that we’re already locked into enough warming that we are facing challenges – political, social, practical – that we haven’t got answers for – and that billions will suffer or die as a result. And much sooner than most people can imagine. Happy endings are running out. Normal lives – or what white people in the developed world thought of as normal – are coming to an end. And as usual it will be poor and working class people of colour around the world who will suffer the most to begin with and always.<div><br>This HAS to have consequences for art doesn’t it? The art that we need to imagine differently. The art we need to reflect (?) the perilousness of our circumstances. The art that will provide a sense of ‘Pessimism of the Intellect, Optimism of the Will’ [and maybe Little Women gives you that?] The art that will help us chart a path between giving up or stupid optimism, or between waiting for others to lead the way or forging a path ourselves.</div><div><br>And my sense is that we have to start challenging every little degree of fantasy and sentimentality in our treasured narratives that pretend to make sense of the world or give us hope for the future. My whole experience of art - actually it's my whole experience of life and making decisions - is being framed in a new way: part of my brain is now, always, screaming “But, we’re running out of time” "Wake up!" “Half of the world is in the grip of vile nationalist governments with fascism just around the corner”</div><div><br>I wish I didn’t hear that scream but I know I need to listen to it</div>Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-41130207019218944792018-12-24T12:35:00.000-08:002018-12-31T13:18:55.473-08:00Films of the Year 2018<br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">2018: the return of Lucrecia Martel and Debra Granik; 2 films from
Sebastián Lelio; masterpieces from Alfonso Cuarón, Hirokazu Kore-eda, Valeska
Grisebach and Andrea Arnold; some of the best YA films ever (hyperbole - me!?). Plus, who would
have believed Paul Schrader could still make a film this good? Why hasn’t
<b>Widows</b> received the praise it deserves? Why haven't you all seen <b>Faces Places</b>???</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It has been a truly awful year in many ways but a rare
one for movie lovers. Most of the films listed below raise significant political and social questions without ever offering complacent answers. I've put a couple of crowd pleasers in the top 20 just to show that I haven't lost my genre roots - there just hasn't been a <b>Logan</b> or a <b>Fury Road</b> to get behind this year so I've fallen back on other old loves - musicals and YA movies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There seem to be more films being made in the US by black filmmakers. Moreover it's the range of tone and style that is just as exciting as the number being made. People might wonder why <b>The Hate U Give</b> places higher than more formally inventive films like <b>Blindspotting, Sorry to Bother You</b> and <b>BlacKkKlansman</b>. I'm a sucker for a good YA film anyway but I also watched it with an audience mainly composed of young black and Asian youth who responded to it as I did with oohs and aahs, tears and indignation. It even got some applause at the end - fairly unusual in Birmingham cinemas. I persuaded 9 other people to see it in the week that followed. We need subtle examinations of our broken societies, we need acerbic satires but we also need the odd, rousing call to arms wrapped up in a coming of age drama that everyone can appreciate. If you didn't see it I urge everyone to support it when it comes out on DVD/streaming etc. Note too that<b> Life and Nothing More </b>- a fine neorealist take on poverty, racism and working class lives in the US - is easy and cheap to stream.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There are are more must-watch films coming to UK cinemas early in 2019. I can't wait to see <b>Hale County This Morning, This Evening</b>, <b>If Beale Street Could Talk</b> and Regina Hall in working class comedy <b>Support the Girls</b>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It should be easily evident that many of those films below feature fantastic roles for women. If you haven't already, make sure you watch <b>Leave no Trace,</b> <b>A Fantastic Woman</b> and <b>Shoplifters</b>. They are, anyway, beautiful, mesmerising and urgent films but they also feature performances by Thomasin McKenzie, Daniela Vega and Sakura Ando that are - I'm not sure what words to use really - otherworldly, fierce and profoundly tender: subtle yet eye-catchingly perfect. The criticisms of <b>Roma</b> are fascinating but watching it for the second time I find myself thinking about the performance of </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yalitza Aparicio more and more. Finally I'd urge you to watch <b>Beast</b>. It's a fairy tale noir that had me thinking about all the noirs and anti-heroes I've loved before - Jessie Buckley in the lead role is mesmerising.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And yes, then there is <b>Zama</b>.<b> The Headless Woman</b> and <b>La Nina Santa</b> are films I've watched repeatedly, studying the unique techniques and tones of Lucrecia Martel and now we have another film to study, appreciate and love. For some this will be a hard sell but I would urge you to give it a go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If you need to be convinced further there are plenty of great
articles around that will provide clever and subtle insights. Try Sight and
Sound, Little White Lies, Variety, Roger Ebert, Film Comment and the Guardian.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">There is little here that you won't find on many of the 'Best of' Lists so its easy to find reviews and recommendations, context and background.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My top 5 in a <b>Sight and Sound</b> stylee:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Zama (Lucrecia Martel)</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Leave No Trace (Debra Granik)</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">A Fantastic Woman (Sebastián Lelio)</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Roma (Alfonso Cuarón)</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Shoplifters (Hirokazu Kore-eda)</span></span></li>
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<a href="https://www.princeton.edu/sites/default/files/styles/1x_full_2x_half_crop/public/images/2018/09/CxpCRmjfPhFPDtjhTPfk_0.jpg?itok=NhR1rVK5" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img alt="Related image" border="0" height="225" src="https://www.princeton.edu/sites/default/files/styles/1x_full_2x_half_crop/public/images/2018/09/CxpCRmjfPhFPDtjhTPfk_0.jpg?itok=NhR1rVK5" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I usually have a top 10 (or twelve) but this year it’s a Top
20! <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://suntimesmedia.files.wordpress.com/2018/12/AP18325601889716.jpg?w=763" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img alt="Image result for Shoplifters" border="0" height="266" src="https://suntimesmedia.files.wordpress.com/2018/12/AP18325601889716.jpg?w=763" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Zama (Lucrecia Martel)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Leave No Trace (Debra Granik)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A Fantastic Woman (Sebastián
Lelio)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Roma (Alfonso Cuarón)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Shoplifters (Hirokazu Kore-eda)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Hate U Give (George Tillman Jr.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Faces Places (Agnes Garda)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Western (Valeska Grisebach)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You Were Never Really Here (Andrea
Arnold)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Loveless </span>(Andrey Zvyagintsev)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">First Reformed (Paul Schrader)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">120 BPM (Robin Campillo)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Cold War (Paweł Pawlikowski)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Blindspotting (</span>Carlos López Estrada)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A Star is Born (Bradley Cooper)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A Ballad for Buster Scruggs (Coen
Brothers)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Miseducation of Cameron Post
(Desiree Akhava)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sorry to Bother You (Boots Riley)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sweet Country (Warwick Thornton)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Love Simon (Greg Berlanti)</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I would happily watch all of these again too and on a different day some of them would be in the top 20:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Life and Nothing More (Antonio Méndez Esparza)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Widows (Steve McQueen)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Jeune Femme (Léonor Serraille)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">BlacKkKlansman (Spike Lee)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Square (Ruben Östlund)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The Breadwinner (Nora Twomey)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I, Tonya (Craig Gillespie)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Beast (Michael Pearce)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Annihilation (Alex Garland)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Disobedience (Sebastián Lelio)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Coco (Lee Unkrich)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Apostasy (Dan Kokotajlo)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Summer 1993 (Carla Simon)</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Note too that <b>The Golden Pear Tree</b> (Nuri Bilge Ceylan) is my Christmas morning film this year and so that isn't included.</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.nziff.co.nz/assets/resized/sm/upload/45/xm/or/dv/AVJR%20Goat%20South%20KEY-2000-2000-1125-1125-crop-fill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img alt="Image result for Faces Places" border="0" height="225" src="https://www.nziff.co.nz/assets/resized/sm/upload/45/xm/or/dv/AVJR%20Goat%20South%20KEY-2000-2000-1125-1125-crop-fill.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What is everyone else watching?</span></b></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of the top 100 grossing films in the UK this year I've seen 25. I have no desire to watch most of the others - maybe another 10 when they are free on TV. I went to the cinema 2 or 3 times a week for the best part of 10 years and saw all kinds of instantly forgettable crap. Never again! What's noticeable is the quantity of children's films and the number of poorly reviewed blockbusters that are on the list. So, great that families are going to the cinema but, obviously, you have to ask what part critics play in cultural debate amongst the majority of working class people and since the answer is probably not much, should anyone care? </span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Bourgeois</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's always been the case that most of the films I watch are
from Hollywood or the art-house circuit. I often wish there were easy (and
cheap) ways of seeing other films and more documentaries as it's clear there are a different layer of
films out there. So I would point you to the <span class="MsoHyperlink"><a href="https://louisproyect.org/category/film/">Louis Proyect Blog</a></span>.
He is fun to disagree with and there is a lot to discover in the films he
reviews and searches out.</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Discursive<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Many of these films will generate some sharp disagreements and
discussions I suspect. I loved the experience of watching <b>BlacKkKlansman</b> for
instance but Spike Lee made some very debateable decisions with the source material. Owen Glieberman poses
some fantastic questions about <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">First
Reformed</b> in his Variety articles. There are two</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> differing opinions on </span><span style="font-family: sans-serif;">Zvyagintsev's <b>Loveless</b> in Sight and Sound, and so</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> on</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> There is much to be discovered if you find yourself fascinated, angry or confused.</span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Disappointments?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I LOVE most Wes Anderson movies but have no desire to see <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Isle of Dogs</b> ever again. Oscar season
was fine but somewhat forgettable – I enjoyed <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Shape of Water</b>, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Lady
Bird</b>, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Three Billboards Outside
Ebbing, Missouri</b>. As for <b>Phantom Thread</b>? I'm not convinced and though i'm usually happy to watch Paul Thomas Anderson's films again and again, I'm not eager at all with this one. I may be wrong though.... Finally <b>A Gentle Creature</b>...I like, often love, tortuous and difficult eastern European films and I'm a Sergei Loznitsa fan but</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I'm not sure about this. Nor am I ready for a second viewing quite yet! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Guilty pleasures?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I Tonya</b> and <b>Thoroughbreds</b> are</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> terrific and there is no guilt involved whatsoever. BUT…I left my brain at home when I went to see </span><b>Molly’s Game</b> and enjoyed it<b> </b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">too much - It has all kinds
of the usual Aaron Sorkin related issues! And yes, I almost put <b>Red Sparrow</b> in my Top 20. A violent thriller with a Hollywood goddess in the lead role - what's not to love?</span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Blockbusters<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I saw a few of them - less than usual perhaps - and enjoyed <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Deadpool 2 </b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">and</span> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mission Impossible</b>. I realize why <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Black Panther</b> is so important and so unusual - I did a lot of reading and listening, and I learned
a lot. I loved the women, but thought the men were a little lacking in charisma and thought the last half hour was pretty dull in
a generic superhero film kind of way. Please don’t hate me!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Genre</b></span></div>
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<b style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Hereditary</b><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">, </span><b style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Mandy</b><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> and </span><b style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">A Prayer Before Dawn</b><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> are all worth watching and will generate much discussion! I enjoyed A Quiet Place but wonder if it is somewhat reactionary. And what about Revenge? I'm not confident that it is the feminist indie it thinks it is but I kind of loved it and will look forward to the next film from Coralie Fargea. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Missed</b>!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of note, I still haven't caught up with<b> The Rider</b>, <b>Dogman</b>, <b>Bad Times at the El Royale, 22 July, The Happy Prince </b>and<b> Shirkers</b>. And many more! Less than a hundred films this year so I'm sure there are, especially, plenty of documentaries and independent worth watching. Also these lists are Africa and Asia lite. Birmingham IS a difficult place to watch new films but I suspect the market for independent foreign movies is diminishing? And <b>Peterloo</b>? I've hardly ever liked a Mike Leigh film and just couldn't be arsed. :-)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Bollywood</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Just give me an F. I mean to start again in the New Year with renewed vigour ;-)</span></div>
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Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-37010787041022512782018-12-12T06:38:00.001-08:002018-12-12T06:40:54.117-08:00Interlude<br />
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“I'm afraid of people who claim their experience of
themselves & the world isn't fractured & fragmentary, when it clearly
is; but I'm even more afraid of people who genuinely don't experience things
that way.” M John Harrison<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>April to November
was lost to depression, an accompanying anxiety and some middling (for me)
self-destructive behaviours. I call it depression but more accurately it has
been about grief and despair. It felt like all my usual safety valves were
missing and I was unable to look away. Some of this was about myself –
approaching middle age and unable to imagine a way forward, a way to live and
thrive - and some to do with my family – I’ll let you off that part. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the personal
stuff is intimately connected to the much larger grief of the social and political
– homeless people everywhere, refugees treated like criminals, the people of Syria
and Yemen left to die, the hourly violence directed at people of colour and
women, the daily inequality and injustice, the rise of the right and of
fascism, the extraordinary stupidity and venality of politicians and of course,
more than anything, the accelerating environmental crisis. I have been unable
to shut it out. Often the horror of a present and a future I can clearly see
has eclipsed any sense of daily pleasure, wonder or satisfaction.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect I am not
alone in this.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have largely been
unable to read – the readers amongst you will know how painful that is. Fiction
has felt pointless. I hate that I’ve felt that way. Movies, a constant source
of emotional stability, sustenance and inspiration since I was young, have felt
pointless too, though I have, almost on muscle memory, still managed to visit
the cinema occasionally. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The current mini
project of posting images on Facebook – I’ve posted an image a day for 10 days
of movies that had an impact on me aged 6 to 11 – has thus been a small way to
reengage with myself and with memory and what is important. A bit of therapy
perhaps. Though I need to go back to the £60 a week variety!<o:p></o:p></div>
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The movies I choose, in the order I saw them, were: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Watership Down (1978)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->West Side Story (1961)<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->North by Northwest (1959)<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Singing in the Rain (1952)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The Magnificent Seven (1960)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Planet of the Apes (1968)<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Some Like it Hot (1959)<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Elmer Gantry (1960)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->All the Presidents Men (1976)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Already you start
to see the main influences. Westerns, musicals and SF were part of the family
geography that remain lifelong loves – little islands of stability and meaning
in a household that was becoming increasingly dysfunctional (or maybe I was
just becoming more aware of the disfunction). More than that I was already
watching lots of films by myself – hundreds of westerns certainly, but also
Hollywood films of all kinds from the 40s, 50s and 60s that were a constant on the
nation’s 3 channels back then and increasingly the political cinema of the 70s.
My love of movie stars, of glamour and beauty, of romance, of melancholy, of
screen violence are all there too. All have remained, and for a socialist and
critical thinker, it is hard to admit that some of those superficial elements
are still central to my dreams and desires. I am still beguiled by beautiful
charismatic men and women. If they can sing and dance too…<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My memory is
terrible but I can remember the feeling of watching all those films for the
first time – the wonder and the weirdness, the joy and excitement and, more
than anything, a huge and complicated world being revealed to me. The yearning
to connect and to escape my loneliness is ever present but on most days of my
47 years if you’d offered me the choice of a good film or the chance to go out
and meet people there would have only been one answer. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are 5 films
that didn’t make it though they were probably just as influential:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Star Wars – obviously perhaps. Growing up in the
late 70s the new blockbusters would have a huge impact on many of us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Superman 1 and 2 – Christopher Reeve and Margot
Kidder!!! Duh!?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->True Grit – I watched all the John Wayne films
again and again. This is still a brilliant, beautiful film. And it has Glen
Campbell!<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The Jazz Singer – what can I say? Neil Diamond
was big in our house.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Grease - a rare trip to the cinema with the
women of my family: my mum, sister, auntie and cousin.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://images.ecosia.org/ct6Ase2R1vOJBe3ebbnUdnrz5Gg=/0x390/smart/http%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-osPYPTPLKe8%2FTzAfeqRmQ8I%2FAAAAAAAAAK4%2F3gSbXcptmIU%2Fs1600%2Fpinkladies10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Pink Ladies Grease Quotes. QuotesGram" border="0" height="188" src="https://images.ecosia.org/ct6Ase2R1vOJBe3ebbnUdnrz5Gg=/0x390/smart/http%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-osPYPTPLKe8%2FTzAfeqRmQ8I%2FAAAAAAAAAK4%2F3gSbXcptmIU%2Fs1600%2Fpinkladies10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I’m going to continue with the project and hope that I can
start writing a little. I have started lists for my teen years and for my adult
years. Already I don’t how I can cut numbers down and how I will avoid
editorializing. What have I forgotten? What don’t I want to admit? What has
changed? How can I place things in order when my memory is so hazy? How do I separate
out the moments that formed me from the ones that didn’t? How does one avoid it
becoming an exercise in nostalgia? Luckily, more than ever I don’t care what
people might think. Woody Allen, Sam Peckinpah, Clint Eastwood and various
other divisive figures will all feature. Better the truth – as near as I can
get to it – than a definite lie. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For anyone out there going through a difficult time I hope
you get through it. I’m 6 weeks without hitting self-destruct and 2 weeks back
at the gym. Baby steps. And just about able to engage with some of the things I
love. People? They are still a way off.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-25887667720118871952018-04-12T05:57:00.001-07:002018-04-12T05:57:04.400-07:00Clarke Award 2018<p dir="ltr">This year there are 108 books on the submissions list so first of all well done to the judges - that is a massive undertaking to read so much. I've only read a tawdry 24 and doubt I'll get round to too many more - with the Man Booker International and the Women's Prize long lists plus my own non-fiction projects there isn't enough time! For the record I've read Allan, Barker, Booth, Bradley, Campbell, Charnock, Doctorow, Hamid, Harkaway, Helle, Hunter, Jemisin, Kalfar, Leckie, Ha Lee, Lennon, McAuley, Mieville, Newitz, Palmer, Roberts, Robinson, Tea, Vandermeer. I hope to get through Kleeman, Robson and maybe Sullivan before I go to back to school.</p>
<p dir="ltr">OK, so I've done a quick search and I believe there is a 2:1 split with around 72 of the texts written by men. There were a couple of authors obviously keeping their gender from the publicity material and I didn't want to pry any further. Apologies if the number is out by one or two. I believe their are 5 BAME authors. Again, my search was relatively thorough but could be slightly out. Whatever way you want to think about those numbers you'd have to be somewhat heartbroken at the state of publishing and the state of the world. There are all kinds of initiatives in other realms and I would humbly suggest that everyone involved in SF and fantasy need to do more. </p>
<p dir="ltr">     The good news however is that there are some brilliant books on that list. So many that my first request to the judges is to REBEL because I'm going to cheat and have a shortlist of 8: I think they should do the same too. Mwahahahahahahaha. Yep, don't care. Or rather, I do care.</p>
<p dir="ltr">First of all it allows me to contentedly keep to my own rules - at least a 50/50 split of men/women and at least 2 books by BAME authors in the shortlist; it also allows me to include all the books that I believe should be part of the discussion. That said I'm completely open to reading more of the books - if there is something like The Swan Book hiding in there I hope someone will let me know asap. I'm sure the Shadow Clarke discussions will persuade me to read more too.</p>
<p dir="ltr">There's one novel in particular that I love, but can't find a place for it on list - I would urge you all to read Spaceman of Bohemia. I'd also recommend Campbell, Lennon and Vandermeer - fantastic novels. It's nearly two years since I read Clade so it isn't imprinted in my mind like the other novels but it's a really important book and I'm hoping one of the Shadow Clarke writers will choose to think about it. I read The Real Town Murders last August and it suffered a little from my glum mood. I reread it again a couple of weeks ago along with Matha Wells's All Systems Red and I can easily say that it was the most joyful reading weekend of the year. Both novels are smart, funny and tense - a wonderful and unusual combination. Read them both.</p>
<p dir="ltr">More generally? There certainly is a lot of dystopian writing going on at the moment isn't there? I have to say that I find quite a bit of it irritating. What's most annoying is that some writers don't seem very interested in ideology or in the mechanisms of social and political change. It also seems as if many have bought into essentialist and determinist ideas about human nature. I appreciate that it's difficult - these are dark and absurd times. Our political leaders are venal and opportunistic simpletons. Their partnership with the ruling class makes for despair and fearfulness. I think it's genuinely difficult for people to imagine progressive political organisation and collective action unimpeded by a craven media and state bigotry. Yet I've been reading Rebecca Solnit's A Paradise Built in Hell desperate, perhaps, to remind me that humans are social beings that yearn for community, purposefulness and meaningful work too. Is there a way to throw off the muck of ages and the rank ideologies of <u>capitalism</u>? I don't know, but I do want my dystopias, utopias and SF to have some kind of interesting and searching political awareness. My suspicion is that too many are failing in this regard.</p>
<p dir="ltr">My now traditional (and provisional) list then:</p>
<p dir="ltr">The Rift - Nina <u>Allan</u>. Along with Jenny Erpenbeck's Go, Went, Gone, my novel of the year. It's sensational and fully deserves its BSFA and Kitschiest awards. A novel, like Central Station last year, to fall in love with.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Exit West - Mohsin Hamid. I read this almost a year ago I guess. There are lots of people in the speculative community that love this book. I have a reservation or two and so hope to read it again and join in Shadow Clarke discussions. Whatever my doubts it needs and deserves to be part of the discussion.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Gnomon - Nick Harkaway. Blimey! SO much to think about. So many notes. Mind blown.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The Stone Sky - N.K.Jemisin. I intend to read all three again before the Clarke is awarded and get my head around the full weight of the achievement.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Austral - Paul McAuley. Beautiful. McAuley is such a brilliant writer and this may be his best novel. Maybe his most important one too?</p>
<p dir="ltr">Too Like <u>the</u> Lightning - Ada Palmer. Copious notes and looking forward to parts 2 and 3.</p>
<p dir="ltr">New York 2140 - Kim Stanley Robinson. There is so much I need to say about this novel. I know that some think it too big and baggy, some think it too Keynesian and too liberal. I loved every second and I'm fascinated by the decisions Robinson has made and the (possible) effects they have. Essay on the way.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Black Wave - Michelle Tea. Weirdly for me, I've been listening to this when I run. It's brilliantly read by Tea herself. As pleasurable in its way as the Harkaway (which is saying something)</p>
<p dir="ltr">First of all this list is almost identical to one Adam Roberts posted on Twitter. I promise I'm not copying Adam! Ian Mond and Nina Allan have played the same game so take a look at their provisional lists too. Finally people will know that I am a big Nicola Barker fan and maybe surprised by the exclusion of H(A)ppy. Weirdly perhaps, reading Gnomon subsequently has made me revise my ideas a little but there is much I can't seem to forgive in it. More later...</p>
<p dir="ltr">Good look to the judges and everyone involved. Don't forget that rebellion is GOOD.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Looking forward to the Shadow Clarke discussions with much anticipation.</p>
<p dir="ltr">All twitter recommendations appreciated :-)</p>
Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-20374239908668054072017-06-01T06:26:00.000-07:002017-06-01T11:29:25.750-07:00Clarke thoughts
<br>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The discussion
around my post (see below) on the <a href="https://csff-anglia.co.uk/clarke-shadow-jury/">Shadow Clarke site</a> seems to have come to an
end. As it developed I was disappointed – not because people
disagreed and challenged my ideas – but because it was the usual suspects contributing. I hoped that
the final paragraph would be an invitation and I hoped too that more women and
people of colour might contribute. Having reread it all carefully I’m a bit
less disconcerted and I’m especially grateful to Niall Harrison for responding
so eloquently and with great creativity. Thanks to everybody for taking it
seriously and engaging. I think there are some really good suggestions.</span></div>
<br>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"> I’m writing my response here simply because I have so much
to do at the moment – not waving but drowning - and can’t afford to get caught
up in the discussion any further for now. Sorry, I realise that may be a little
counterproductive and unfair! It's a pretty gentle pushback anyway. </span></div>
<br>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone coming to
this anew should definitely read the <a href="https://csff-anglia.co.uk/clarke-shadow-jury/clarke-thoughts-a-guest-post-by-gareth-beniston/#comments">comments</a> first!</span></div>
<br>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, maybe there are
no easy ways out of all the contradictions that are discussed. Maybe we have to
trust the process and its inherent subjectivity – it’s a book prize after all!
Yet we don’t trust it, or like it, do we? We hate discrimination and bias and we
hate that the formulaic gets chosen over the disorientating again and again. I find
it very hard to believe that anything is going to change this basic state of
affairs anytime soon and so I’m trying to draw conclusions even if they are somewhat
idealistic and speculative. A ‘minimum diversity threshold’ (much better than
‘quota’ – thanks Jonathan!) would certainly not diminish the prize for me, it
would make me more proud of defending it and committing to it in the same way
that I used to prioritise the Orange/Bailey’s prize in my reading calendar. I
really don’t get the idea that it would devalue the prize for women and BAME
authors – it would be about acknowledging the very real fact of oppression and the
systematic damage it does and saying – ‘we are not prepared to put up with this
any longer’. As for the puppies – you don’t make anything better by worrying
what the right are going to say. You do what you think is for the best and
fight for it. I suspect the ‘popular mind’ – whatever it might be - is not very interested in the Clarke award or diversity anyway. Know your audience and
know the audience you want to attract.</span></div>
<br>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As a rough idea of award and genre interest I looked for
followers on Twitter.</span></div>
<br>
<ul style="direction: ltr; list-style-type: disc;">
<li style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">
Clarke Award – 7074</div>
</li>
<li style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">
BSFA – 4925</div>
</li>
<li style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">
Hugo Awards - 14.3K</div>
</li>
<li style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">
Strange Horizons – 20.7K</div>
</li>
<li style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">
Media Diversified – 50.5K</div>
</li>
<li style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><div style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1;">
Bailey’s Prize – 43.2K</div>
</li>
</ul>
<br>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The obvious conclusion to draw from those figures, without
getting too polemical, is to look at the (amazing) popularity of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Strange Horizons</b>, which is at the
forefront of celebrating speculative work by women and BAME authors. There is
your potential Clarke audience – start with that 20K and push out from there. </span></div><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> With that said I'd be happy if any or all of Niall's suggestions were taken up. </span></div>
<br>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess part of what I was trying to get at
more generally is the inconstant and inconsistent nature of judging ‘quality’
in any prize like this and yearning for a different focus. My first interest in the Clarke was due to China
Mieville and because of him I discovered Harrison, Priest, Roberts and many
more. Then, once I started to look more closely at the genre community I
discovered that here were a group of really clever people trying to write about
fiction in a way that transcended the usual middlebrow stuff you find in the
broadsheets – it was political, theoretical and often original. I found
Punkadiddle, Infinity Plus and then Adam’s write-ups of the Clarke; I found blogs
by Jonathan McCalmont, Abigail Nussbaum, Martin Petto, Dan Hartland and more. The
Clarke was an interesting focal point and a way of expanding my range of
reading but it’s quite different now. The speculative community has <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Strange Horizons</b> and with it a range of
critical thought from around the world. Personally, if I add to that <strong>Interzone</strong>,
Nina Allan’s blog, Jonathan’s blog, Twitter recommendations and so on, the
Clarke no longer seems half as important. One my favourite things this year was
discovering Sun Yung Shin’s <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Unbearable
Splendor</b> and that was down to <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">From Couch to Moon</b>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus, this year
there were only a handful of books on the submissions list that I was unaware
of. Moreover last year’s Clarke was a huge disappointment. It had the
opportunity to showcase some truly remarkable novels and failed miserably. If I
compare that with the richness of the last two Booker winners, by Marlon James
and Paul Beatty – and I don’t think I would have read either without the
shortlist focus - then it seemed obvious to reorientate a little. I decided to
stop making the Clarke a priority…but of course the Shadow Clarke has
meant that I engaged again. As I wrote in my post, I’m deeply grateful for the
reviews, for the honest discussion and the way it has made me consider certain
things anew, but not for the dull assertions that book A is more worthy or
original than Book B. That’s why I’m going to keep thinking about my critical
practice, and all the contradictions, to see if I can find a different way.
Probably not, I’m far too opinionated and I like hyperbole far too much, but
it’s worth a go.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is the original post.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Clarke Thoughts</strong></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some thoughts. If anyone has ever read my blog they will, I hope, see that most of the implicit criticism is aimed at myself, though obviously some of what follows touches on various discussions on the Shadow Clarke board. <br>
<br><br>
Subjective taste and critical practice depend on so many factors, thus any reading will privilege certain aspects – close reading, theoretical base, genre knowledge, life experiences, political orientation. Once you remind yourself of that basic idea, it becomes almost impossible to defend the rhetoric and moralism that goes into a special pleading for this book or that. I like a bit of rhetoric and I like a bit of hyperbole – it’s fun. BUT my head would not have exploded if <strong>The Power</strong> had won this year now would it? It will be hard to stop but I probably should. Moreover, I CAN understand why Priest, Mieville, MacInnes, Kavenna or ANY novel didn’t make it on to the shortlist. The idea that there is some objective truth or taste out there that says differently now seems to me entirely bogus. Even amongst those with a depth and breadth of knowledge about the SF megatext there is no agreement or consensus about the books this year or any year.<br>
<br><br>
This is difficult of course – if we can’t be passionate about the art that we love then what can we get passionate about. When great books don’t receive the acknowledgement and discussion they deserve it feels like an injustice, sometimes a personal affront. The problem with prizes is that they ask us to join together two, perhaps strangely irreconcilable, ways of splitting up literary discourse – taste, value, aesthetic judgement on one side set against criticism and theory on the other. This is probably an unavoidable contradiction – an understandable fudge that we prefer to ignore for the most part because we understand how literature, especially the novel, is so intertwined with humanism, with the middle classes and with a bourgeois outlook, but maybe it’s one we must acknowledge more and explore further. Moreover, even amongst the Shadow Jury and the writers that have regularly reviewed the shortlists there seems to me quite a divergence on their aesthetic preferences and on their theoretical baselines.<br>
<br><br>
Once you get over the idea that the 6 best books – for YOU, or for the good of humanity, or for SF – will get chosen every year for the Clarke then it can be quite liberating. For me the obvious conclusion is that there should be a commitment to equality. The greatest insult to SF, art and humanity is not that Becky Chambers has been on two consecutive shortlists but that there were no women on the 2013 shortlist and only two last year. Add to that the outrageous fact that it is 20 years since a BAME author won. If the Clarke announced their commitment to a shortlist each year to include at least 3 women and 2 BAME authors – as a minimum – that would give publishers something to think about and writers all over the world a little encouragement. This kind of thinking has to be implicit in the judging process anyway, one would have thought, so why not make it explicit and send a clear message to bigots and conservatives everywhere. People might complain that ‘lesser’ books would thus be forced into contention. You’d have to laugh in their faces first and then explain why they were patently wrong.<br>
<br><br>
There is also much said about originality, finding new voices and so on. Yes to all that, of course, but I hate the idea that a shortlist should never again have a novel by KSR, Priest, Mieville or, actually, a few other white men who have already received lots of praise. Why? Judge the text – whatever your criteria. For me that is about its relevance, its pleasure and play, originality, complexity, ambiguity and whether it is asking hard questions.<br>
<br><br>
And BTW, I have no idea what a coherent shortlist is. Coherent how? And after reading the discussions I’m pretty sure no one will ever convince me! Actually, I want to blow raspberries at coherence. Damn, I really should stop with the rhetoric already!<br>
<br><br>
Returning to personal taste……this year’s shortlist felt like a victory to me, especially after last year. But then lesser evilism IS the order of the day in these parts. Three very good books, an interesting one and two I haven’t read. Looking back through shortlists it’s generally hard to hope for anything more. Is that a bit depressing? To settle for less, to NOT reach for the moon? To accept that classic realist texts will win out over experimental or interrogative texts? To accept the formulaic over the disorientating? I’m actually not sure any more because I don’t know how you overcome all the contradictions. One of my favourite books last year was a realist text – Sebastian Barry’s <strong>Days Without End</strong> – not just because it was beautifully written, exciting and passionate but because it confronted ideas about history, landscape, environment and sexuality. Was it the same as having my unconscious disturbed and pulled apart by Han Kang’s two novels? No. But I’m happy to have both, to appreciate the work they do and to try to do some work in return.<br>
<br><br>
Part of me is also wondering whether a critical community has a right to the high ground anyway – in taste, morals, experience, whatever – when they/we will, rightly, champion <strong>The Thing Itself</strong> but not push half as hard for a text like <strong>The Swan Book</strong>. [Octavia Cade – I know you have tried!]<br>
<br><br>
The Shadow Clarke has been brilliant – some great, insightful reviews; amazing honesty even when it showed up inconsistencies and contradictions; passion, love and care. It is helping me to think about all kinds of ideas and investigate them further; it is helping me to confront my prejudices and lack of knowledge. It’s part of what has made want to try and read in a different way. What about you?</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
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Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-27875194838371176882017-05-07T14:13:00.001-07:002017-05-10T13:52:38.559-07:00Occupy Me - Tricia Sullivan<p dir="ltr">   I tried to write this with ambition. I didn't manage to get what I wanted but it was fun trying and it feels like a worthwhile beginning. I guess now that Occupy Me is on the Clarke shortlist it will come under more scrutiny. One of the great things about the Shadow Clarke is being able to appreciate the different styles of review as well as finding different things to value and new ways of seeing. Looking forward to all the thoughts and ideas in the next couple of months. And big thanks to Nina Allan for encouraging me to try.</p>
<p dir="ltr"><i>“and the sound of the maple trees across the fence became sharper and full of the words that trees speak to the air”</i> (Occupy Me 63)</p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>Trees and a suitcase</b></p>
<p dir="ltr">   I hate all that plot description that comes with a review – read the blurb I say – but if you need some clues Tricia Sullivan’s Occupy Me has an angel, dinosaurs, a suitcase – think Pulp Fiction, think Wile E Coyote, think The Rockford Files (!) – plus a vet and a doctor. It has higher dimensions and quantum foam, trees of all kinds though especially trees of knowledge that might just be libraries spanning time and space AND it has bird gods, though actually our avian overlords may just be artistic scavengers or better, refuse ‘artistes’. It’s a novel that is helter-skelter and overabundant; in some ways it’s like (a very glorious) extended episode of Doctor Who…and I’m sure that some readers may even think, a little on the twee side. Though of course, they would be wrong. Those same readers may wonder if the parts add up to an organic whole. And to be fair I wonder myself but it really doesn’t matter. There are many, many riches here - this is a marvellous novel – full of love, kindness, empathy and extraordinary ambition - the only one that can give Central Station a run for its money in 2016’s SF best of. But that is to get ahead of myself.</p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>A detour</b></p>
<p dir="ltr">   Somehow along the way I stopped reading theory and essays. I’m not sure how, I loved reading Winterson and Kundera, Eagleton and Jameson, Freud and Phillips. It’s so nourishing, trying to parse all that intelligence and creativity, watching how people make links and connections and test out ideas. It’s the joy of intellectualism and the pleasure of eclecticism. And actually it’s kind of a turn on trying to harness some of that suppleness and openness. So 2017 has marked a return to all this as I try to make sense of the terror and despair, fear, anxiety and melancholia that characterise a personal and political crisis. I suspect that many of you are trying to figure it all out too. For now at least I’ve recognised two main strands to my thinking that, although seemingly inconsistent, actually complement each other. First there is this from Sebald:</p>
<p dir="ltr">   “Melancholy, the rethinking of the disaster we are in, shares nothing with the desire for death. It is a form of resistance. And this is emphatically so on the level of art, where its function is far from merely reactive or reactionary. When, with a fixed gaze, melancholy again reconsiders just how things could have gone this far, it becomes clear that the dynamics of inconsolability and of knowledge are identical in function. In the description of the disaster lies the possibility of overcoming it.”</p>
<p dir="ltr">This fits in with a conversation between China Mieville and Jordy Rosenburg and with Richard Seymour’s recent championing of Enzo Traverso’s Left-Wing Melancholia.</p>
<p dir="ltr">And then there is this sentiment, here summed up by Sarah Waters in her Introduction to Angela Carter’s Nights at the Circus:</p>
<p dir="ltr">“the narrative ultimately celebrates liberation, the casting off of myth and mind-forg'd manacles, the discovery of voice, empathy, conscience, the making of a ‘new kind of music’…Carter’s writing, not just in this novel but throughout her work, is a celebration of words – a celebration of language and all the marvellous things that language can be made to do.”</p>
<p dir="ltr">Neither are about the emptiness of false hope or dogma but about doing work: of mourning and grieving, and of creating space for the imagination.</p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>Intertextuallity</b></p>
<p dir="ltr">When I first read Occupy Me, over a month ago, I loved it and really heard, in its generous spirit, that new kind of music. My thoughts went straight to larger than life women like Nicola Barker’s Medve in Five Miles to Outer Hope and Angela Carter’s Fevvers; then they went sideways a little to the humour of Sue Townsend and Douglas Adams. I also thought of Bertha and Pearl in Katherine Mansfield's Bliss and of H D's Trilogy and her Tribute to Freud. All of this might seem bizarre to a SF reader – I’m not sure. But none of it felt forced - Sullivan actually mentions Doolittle in the text and, in a book of fantastically suggestive chapter titles, names a chapter after her: Occupy Me is undoubtedly an open and discursive text and dares to venture in all kinds of directions. Ali Smith discusses the "revelation that art itself is a broken thing if it’s anything, and that the act of remaking, or imagining, or imaginative involvement, is what makes the difference" (Artful 23). Occupy Me is a text that demands your imaginative involvement. Some might wonder if I am pushing the boundaries of a reading too far? Actually I think not, getting lost in the dense intertextuality of H.D.'s Trilogy is a bit like getting lost in Pearl's higher dimensions and it's a text that is, similarly, about the search for knowledge and freedom, justice and new possibilities. It is deeply interested in testing boundaries and exploring ‘other realms’ (60) – sexual, imaginative, political and in exploring the connections between past, present and future.</p>
<p dir="ltr">   Finally, because I was trying to make a SF connection and find a way of orientating SF readers, I settled on Adam Roberts, the only other modern SF writer I know that can mix bathos and irreverence, high and low culture, comedy and political (and moral) seriousness with such dexterity and such command of tone. Moreover and more importantly, it felt like an overtly feminist text full of wonder and joy – something driven and original. A work that demands to be thought of in a tradition that celebrates women and the subversive potential of pleasure and play.  This led me, as usual, to try to discover a little more about the author. What I found filled me with admiration for Sullivan and full of anger at the ridiculous gender essentialism that, in part, led her to stop writing and go back to university to study physics. To be honest it scared me a little that the Suck Fairy would visit on the second reading and I wouldn’t like Occupy Me as much. I needn’t have worried.</p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>Plot</b></p>
<p dir="ltr">Okay, if you haven’t read the book - here is what you need to know. At the beginning of the novel Dr Sorle – a man who has been literally split into two by the greed and violence of modern capitalism and colonialism - forces the dying Austen Stevens - the billionaire baddie, into a magic, multi-dimensional briefcase. Actually Stevens wants to go, he believes it is a gateway to eternal life. He has promised the doctor a huge amount of money to be saved. With the money Sorle plans to build an organisation called the Resistance – a network committed to small acts of kindness and empathy in the hope of changing history for the better. However the briefcase is also a part of Pearl, an angel - maybe: a part that Sorle has stolen so that he can blackmail her into showing herself to Stevens, to show him that miracles exist. What follows is a kind of thriller as Pearl tries to discover who or what she is, as Sorle tries to make the deal go ahead despite all manner of complications and as the larger forces of fossil capital try to thwart them both as they try to recoup the billions that Stevens embezzled. Along the way they meet the novel’s third main character Alison, an aging vet who likes a wee drink. I should say too that though the plot does carry you through it is hardly a plot driven novel. Indeed it is an incredibly illusive novel, trying to pin down its overall meaning is like trying to capture a willow the wisp. At one point Pearl wonders if she’ll need “a metaphysical bomb defusion kit” to open the briefcase: the reader may feel a similar desire as they try to decipher the text. SF readers should be happy with its discussions of entropy, chaos and the butterfly effect but the joy of it is in the writing, a numinous sentence by sentence beauty that I probably won’t be able to capture, and in the characters and in Pearl’s search for justice and selfhood.</p>
<p dir="ltr">You should know too that I’m always criticising books for their simplistic politics but the main bad guy in Occupy Me has made his money from oil, exploiting the resources and land of a developing country, fermenting war, skimming profits and finding ways to avoid paying tax. He and the forces he represents are all out bad: “evasive, cunning, self-righteous, blind.” (176) Pearl, like the reader, is sick of the simplicity of their cruelty: “this is how these guys operate. I’ll never be able to understand it. Here I am giving it away, my energy, my compassion, my strength. And dude wants to sell my own love back to me at a price. Everything’s a fucking commodity.” (179). Finally she sees in Stevens “the decay of age and the algorithms of selfhood that were starting to harden up into parody.” (180) and in that image its hard not to find an echo of this “disaster we are in” – the obviousness of it – its unique grotesque – history forgotten; hatred and stupidity transcendent. Is it too easy to hate a character like that? Of course it depends on the purpose of the novel. And this is a book with a bold palette. </p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>Pleasure</b></p>
<p dir="ltr">Indeed Occupy Me is often a bit daft, not just bold but a little broad perhaps, a little flirty, but that is part of it's appeal - its lusty joie de vivre and egalitarianism. Pearl is larger than life; she has the sassy swagger, and the hint of vulnerability, of a Hollywood dame – Mae West perhaps. But then she is also one part Hulk, one part Clarence Odbody, one part Fevvers, one part sensuous lesbian role model: </p>
<p dir="ltr">“My body: not much shy of two metres tall, wide-hipped, umber in colour and packed with lively muscle and enough fat to last a long winter. My grey-streaked twists bounced around my shoulders when I moved. I was fond of myself already.” (31)</p>
<p dir="ltr">“I stood looking at myself in the bathroom mirror and saw what Marquita saw: a fifty-something woman of indeterminate not-European ancestry, her denuded head wrapped in an orange cloth, her weighty breasts moving as slow pendula even in the tightest exercise bra. Shoulders like a linebacker. Traps so steep they looked like one of those road signs that warn trucks to use a low gear. Legs bowed and springy, feet large and high-arched. A nice thick layer of subcutaneous fat: no chance of this one passing as a ripped-up bodybuilder. She was packing power. Marquita looked at me with open adoration, but I always look at myself with surprise. There’s so much I haven’t figured out yet, and most of it is myself” (68)</p>
<p dir="ltr">She is endlessly open to life’s possibilities but also has a problem: ‘I don’t know which parts are me and which parts are my environment and which parts are … other beings.’ (62). And later she addresses her missing part: “You are mine but you’ve been made into something else. I am yours but you don’t know me anymore. How do we put ourselves back together? Where to begin?” (116) This is a text about ontology, identity and alienation just as much it is a book about higher dimensions and the desire for a better world. This is where, even in its playfulness, Sullivan’s text also nudges us toward those big questions that I alluded to earlier: “We begin by not being crushed to death and progress from there.” (146)</p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>The dinosaur and the briefcase (again)</b></p>
<p dir="ltr">I think I could convince most discerning readers to try this book simply by quoting passages from it. Here is the Pterosaur: </p>
<p dir="ltr">“Over the railway bridge the ancient animal glided black and lunar, like a cracked piece of sky... The creature looked like forged emptiness. It breathed smoke and the vast unlit places between stars. On the ground it seemed amplified. Its wings made a hard wind with even the most casual movement, and its breath rebuffed the waves. A pheromone fume seeped from its fur. There was a disturbing hum in my occipital bone, a sensation of drag on my consciousness. Like magnetism. The sensation was out of all proportion to my physical body. I felt I could be reeled, wings and all, into a single one of the quetzlcoatlus’ black-hole pupils and never be found again” (140-1)<br>
But Sullivan’s dinosaurs are much more. They are a BIG metaphor for linking the past with the present; in thinking about irony, change and permanence. So too with the suitcase. Sullivan excels in using her genre tropes to expand and deepen the philosophical, scientific, speculative and moral parameters of the text. She can be completely literal in questioning SF tropes:</p>
<p dir="ltr">“This is for everyone who thinks ships are made of metal and petrochemicals and that they travel through space like sailboats travelled the high seas, propelled by mysterious engines that grant them impossible speed. That space sailors have space battles with space pirates and electrical cables and explosions and space bars with space booze.” </p>
<p dir="ltr">But then there is this:</p>
<p dir="ltr">“I feel the substance of the briefcase slither between the clacking grip of my claws. The substance of the briefcase itself is deep, and its intermolecular spaces are suspect: they look back at me like eyes. But these clever engineered depths are as nothing compared to the skirling void of that frank maw. Eater of dead men, mother of questions, it is before me and presents itself without sound, without smell, without sight. Without touch. My claws hold the edges of its containment, a mystery field that shows me my own blindness without mockery and without pity. I try to breathe. I need something to anchor me to the visceral but claws and breath and blood are not enough.” (166)</p>
<p dir="ltr">There is existential dread in that skirling void and in the pitiless need to see and understand ‘without mockery and without pity'. The text's celebration of language and imagination goes hand in hand with its sense of the battle between self and ego.</p>
<p dir="ltr"><b>Love</b></p>
<p dir="ltr">There is a point when Pearl is questioning her need for deep connections and the way she falls for people. Her lover Marquita suggests ‘Love is attachment. That’s essential for the survival of the species. Women who love too much? What the fuck is that? The whole idea implies that love is a pathology. So now women are devalued because we can attach deeply.’ ‘I still wonder if I’m violating boundaries by letting myself reach into people like I do.’ ‘Maybe it’s not love at all,’ Marquita said. ‘Maybe you’re training your mirror neurons. Learning the species by empathy.’ Pearl notices people’s “humanity even when they couldn’t see it anymore themselves.” (98) The little episodes where she sees into the pain and contradictions of the humans she encounters are moments of delicate grace.</p>
<p dir="ltr">   This is a book about training your mirror neurons and to (re)turn to Katherine Mansfield, Occupy Me “is the leaf, is the tree, firmly planted, deep thrusting, outspread, growing grandly, alive in every twig. All the time I read this book I felt it was feeding me.’" (quoted in Artful 84). It’s a text that transforms H. D.’s mystical feminism into feminist SF. To be known by Pearl, one imagines, would be a wonderful thing. To occupy is to fill, to keep busy and active, to hold. Occupy Me is a text that wants us to hold each other and fill each other up; it asks us to occupy the spaces that Stevens and his ilk don’t understand and cannot comprehend. </p>
<p dir="ltr">And I didn’t even get to Akele, kindness, environmental reclamation and of a luminous, deeply political dénouement:  </p>
<p dir="ltr">“Something wants to burst out of the ruination. Out of futility, out of crushed hope, out of that broken place where nothing can ever help. No superglue to repair this tear in the universe. Loss is just the way it is.” (263) </p>
<p dir="ltr">And it does</p>
Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-17207744045342709812017-05-02T06:02:00.001-07:002017-05-03T08:15:30.340-07:00A Clarke shortlist 2017<div dir="ltr">
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So it's that time of year again, the Clarke shortlist is due tomorrow and I haven't as yet posted my shortlist - you know, the one that has NO chance of resembling the actual shortlist in any way! </div>
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In truth it’s taken me quite a while to get excited about this year’s Clarke – despite the brilliant Shadow Clarke project - and a while to ease myself away from dichotomies and debates between realism v structural complexity, linear v non-linear, genre v literary fiction. It’s a year when, apart from <b>Occupy Me</b>, I’ve found most of the new books I’ve tried strangely unsatisfying – not terrible or anything, not at all (at least not most of them), but just not as profound as Whitehead and Tidhar, as haunting as Priest and Miéville, or as original as Whiteley and Swainston. The exceptions are where the expertise and experience of McAuley, Macleod and Reynolds produced such pleasure, where <b>Ninefox</b><b> Gambit</b> joined <b>The Fifth Season</b> as a great book to enjoy AND argue with (Victoria’s review of Yoon Ha Lee’s novel is fab btw) and where DeLillo (I’m half way through) may join the <u>haunting</u> duo above. Nina’s review has induced me to revisit MacInnes and work out my reaction more thoroughly – it's a book I thought I would love, but didn’t! My only regret with the shortlist announcement looming is that I haven't got around to Valente's <b>Radiance</b>.</div>
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Even with the recommendations of Megan and Jonathan I just can't bring myself to trawl through a 1000 pages of <b>Hunters and Collectors</b> and <b>The Lost Time Accidents</b>. <b>The Three Body Problem</b> was fun though hardly revelatory so I'm not sure I'll bother with the other two. Matt Hill's <b>Graft</b> and de Abaitua's <b>The </b><b>Destructives</b> didn't quite live up to my expectations - though I don't want to sound at all dismissive - they are definitely worth reading. Then there is <b>Europe in Winter</b> too. As with all of the Europe books I want to argue with it, but always in a constructive way I hope. I admire the project, can't wait to read the fourth one and he really deserves that BSFA award. <b>The Power</b> is not for me as I have already made clear. My head will explode if it wins. Beyond that there are still a handful of books I'd happily read. Well done to the judges - they have to read them all. That's a hell of a commitment.</div>
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So how do I construct a shortlist this year?</div>
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Part of it is easy: <b>Central Station</b> and <b>Occupy Me</b> are the outstanding novels for me. At this stage if one of them doesn't win I'll be disappointed, grumpy and unbearable. No change there then! Then I include <b>Fair Rebel</b> - Swainston's project fascinates me and she writes SO beautifully. Now, after doing some rereading and thinking I'm actually considering leaving out <b>The Underground Railway</b>. WTAF you might be thinking - I know. And it will be to include two white dudes who have already won it. Can I? Should l? Can't I just have a shortlist of 7 or 8? After all we've got AGES to read them? Actually, I'm sure I can remember someone last year making a pretty good argument for why a longer shortlist was a bad idea. Damn it! It's just that Mieville and Priest are full of things that I don't understand and I want the discussion! Moreover, weirdly, I don't want one without the other - what's that about? Then there's the third slot for a woman. Do I go with <b>The Arrival of Missives</b>, a book I recommended to just about everyone I knew last year, or with Jemisin. Though I would btw, happily reread <b>A Field Guide to Reality</b>.</div>
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So this year I have two shortlists. Yep - cop out!! Boooooo! Though actually I''m obviously (?) going with the top one because it is full of diversity, great arguments (!!) and retains the Whitehead - a glorious, important novel and potential winner. But somehow the second one has my melancholy heart for the moment. </div>
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1. Central Station, Occupy Me, Fair Rebel, The Underground Railroad, Ninefox Gambit, The Fifth Season.</div>
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2. Central Station, Occupy Me, Fair Rebel, This Census Taker, The Gradual, The Arrival of Missives.</div>
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[Not mentioning longlists, oh no, not me] </div>
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Anyway, make of that what you will. </div>
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If <b>Version Control</b>, <b>Radiomen</b> or <b>Rosewater</b> had been eligible I don't know what I would have done!</div>
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More thoughts on the whole shebang sometime soon....</div>
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Off to finally read the new novels by KSR and Anne Charnock. Whoop!</div>
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<b>Just in!</b></div>
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The<b> </b>Shadow<b> </b>Clarke have announced their shortlist! Though of course its not as good as either of mine (tee hee!) Have a look <a href="https://csff-anglia.co.uk/clarke-shadow-jury/the-sharke-six/"><u>here</u></a> for a great account of their deliberations. So glad they included <b>The Arrival of Missives</b>! Well done to them all for such a brilliant project.</div>
Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-2183472808268928452017-03-29T11:20:00.002-07:002017-03-29T11:20:50.930-07:00An earlier waveform<div>
Readers and film fans be advised. This is another post about therapy that follows on from <a href="http://dancingonglass11.blogspot.co.uk/2016/12/the-un-examined-life-5-things-that-i.html?m=1">this</a>. Happiness and contentment are to be found elsewhere. Hopefully in the pages of a good book. Or better still, on the streets, on a good demo.<br />
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As before I post it in the hope it might help someone else and because, somehow, it helps.</div>
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Recently, after a particularly painful therapy session, I tipped into something close to depression. I still manage to go to work and function. I still manage smiles and jokes with the girls at school but really, if at all possible, I would choose to hide in my room for an extended period of time. I'm exhausted. A little prosaic you might think - there must be better places to hide. On a beach in Spain. Somewhere on the Amazon. A Nepalese mountain. In an Instanbul market. A Texan brothel. Uluru. A cocktail bar in Moscow. Somewhere awful, dangerous, exciting, seedy, stimulating. But no.</div>
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Wanting to hide in my room was a bit of a clue. And watching Game of Thrones from the start was another. It seems the broken, lonely 45 year old is tussling with the broken, lonely teenager that has been struggling to find a satisfactory way to live these last 35 years. How dull. And nor is it an entirely satisfactory explanation - it forgets Helen, being a nurse, being an activist, being a volunteer, trying to put myself out there and in to the world. It forgets a good fifteen years perhaps although, without doubt, some of same coping strategies were in place through those years too.</div>
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It's like a flash bulb has gone off and, startled, I've reverted to an earlier waveform. Or I'm like a cyborg suddenly aware that he might not be human after all. Or one of those old fashioned PIs who realises his old wherewithal is no defence against the wider, colossal forces laughing at him.</div>
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I'm trying on genre tropes - it's like an episode of Mr Benn.<br />
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At one point last week I got home, and my very kind house mate asked what was wrong. I replied that I was feeling the futility and joylessness of existence and went to bed. If part of me can see, a few days later, the humour in this - I can't stop myself picturing Harry Enfield's Kevin - another part recognises that the depression is real, and that it is functional and purposive. I can't be like this anymore. I can't keep on living for such thin gruel. This is it - there is nowhere else to hide. Or rather, all my hiding places no longer offer the distractions and consolatory abstractions they once did.</div>
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This teenager is moody, angry, frustrated, sad and so, ridiculously sensitive. He's watching himself all those years ago create and finesse ways to survive: distractions and abstractions yes, but also empathy and adaptability, angles and facades. You can hide a lot of yourself and your needs in trying to care for others, or worse, trying to save them. To live, as my father repeated like a mantra, day to day. To be careful and watchful, ardent too. But all this is to be trapped in an eternal present, with elements of an inescapable past.</div>
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I discovered this recently:</div>
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"Prodigy is, at its essence, adaptability and persistent, positive obsession. Without persistence, what remains is an enthusiasm of the moment. Without adaptability, what remains may be channeled into destructive fanaticism. Without positive obsession, there is nothing at all."</div>
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It's from Octavia Butler's <b>Parable of the Sower.</b></div>
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What shines out at me from that most of all is the bit about enthusiasm of the moment? Can one be persistent in holding on to enthusiasms of the moment, for dear life? Fuck me, this, this sums up everything. And speaks to this, about the teleology of depression:</div>
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"Life is teleology par excellence; it is the intrinsic striving towards a goal, and the living organism is a system of directed aims which seek to fulfill themselves." Or not.</div>
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<b>The surgeon.</b></div>
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(The unreleased horror episode). How did Cronenberg never make a film about a surgeon trying to scoop out bits out of himself with his hands? All that queasiness and dissatisfaction. All those techniques and strategies, all that expertise that just isn't fit for purpose. All that tiredness.</div>
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<b>The astronaut</b></div>
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My survival suit was made in the 1970s and 80s and I need a new model. It's worn out with all the trying and with all the floating about. It has given up the ghost. Many ghosts actually. Am I full of ghosts or full of nothing?</div>
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It's a fairly traditional space suit - white, or maybe orange, with a clear front bubble to see through. If I looked in a mirror there'd be nothing inside. Just the hollow shell, sustaining the conditions for life but otherwise lacking agency and utterly fucking pointless. </div>
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Make me something shiny and new. Something old and comfortable. I don't mind what the fuck it looks like. </div>
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Who am I kidding? Of course I care what it looks like. Something stylish please, something cool. My survival suit: an essay on superficiality.</div>
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<b>The magician</b>.</div>
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In a cage of his own construction.</div>
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All that practise, all those careful escape plans. And now, seemingly, none.</div>
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Trapped in a performance of myself and for myself.</div>
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<b>The dancer</b></div>
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Dancing to the tunes in his head: slave to the rhythm.</div>
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Waiting to be chosen.</div>
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<b>The PI </b>(again) (and the environmentalist, the activist, the socialist, the lover)</div>
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Damn this investigation.</div>
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It's going all wrong. </div>
Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-85826747856270521772017-03-17T03:27:00.001-07:002017-03-17T03:46:24.961-07:00The Power - Naomi Alderman<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first time I
read <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Power</b> I read it quickly and
I enjoyed it. I decided it would make an ideal group read for the 6<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>
formers introducing them to issues around feminism and oppression – a
discursive text that would raise issues I suspected they wouldn’t have thought
through extensively. Beyond that I felt a mild dissatisfaction. I felt betwixt
and between – a novel of ideas that didn’t feel at all strange or
disorientating mashed up with a fast plot-driven text of broad brush strokes
whose characters, because they felt more like caricatures, I didn’t care about.
The reread this week was in the hope of finding the layers that have made it an
important text for readers and critics I admire, and a way of firing up my,
sadly underused, critical faculties. I’ve found that there are elements that I
like and admire about the text but if anything the reread has crystallized
doubts I already had. I will assume you’ve read the book – what follows
contains spoilers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">First I find myself somewhat suspicious of the framing
device that bookends the novel: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">who is
writing?</i> we ask – Neil a figure from the future created by Naomi Alderman.
So what is it that Alderman is telling us about Neil and his view of the past. For
Neil this a historical novel, a project of reimagining and of using the sources,
theories and ideologies at his disposal to document what went before. What
subtleties are in the text to help the reader decode Neil’s bias, his aporias,
his theories? How do I separate out Neil’s ideological inconsistencies from
Alderman’s? This should be fascinating: such a device could be formally
mischievous and ask difficult and interesting questions of the reader but in
The Power it felt too easy, too cheap a way to add a layer of ambiguity without
giving the reader the tools or the clues to manage these crucial distinctions.
There is a strong possibility that this is THE set of questions that will
determine your reading of the novel. If you can explain the problems in the
text as Neil’s problems and misunderstandings, then you might appreciate the
novel more than me. But I don’t think you can.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are narrative
choices that worry at me a great deal: Saudi Arabia as the choice for the first
great riots; and then later a visit to India; Moldova as the sight of much of
the action; organized crime as a lever for much of the action; rape, abuse and
trafficking as the main emotive levers that drive the plot. All these choices
flirt with cliché but more importantly they divert us away from complexity and
from the intersections of power that that make that complexity so difficult to
rationalise and comprehend. None of these narrative decisions help to
destabilise troubling binaries – the US as sophisticated barbarity vs the
coarse barbarity that thrives on the periphery; the even the greater complexity
of the West vs the greater simplicity of the East. Take the idea that Saudi
Arabia would be the first place to ignite or that it is the correct choice for
this text to focus on. It becomes a lazy shorthand for OPPRESSION rather than
giving a sense of how women’s oppression intersects with profound religious
belief, with class tensions and the privileges of wealth. It’s easy to hate the
Saudi Arabian state for all kinds of reasons, and I do, but its use here doesn’t
help me to understand the world’s complexities in any depth whatsoever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Moreover, there is no sense in the book of how class
tensions would play out more generally. How would conservative and Conservative
women behave in the West? How would progressives – a left liberal alliance
perhaps, combat the tensions and violence? How might men and women unite? How
would the institutions of capitalism respond? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a book that is a huge What if?, and a heady
provocation, there are far too many ideas that go unexplored.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">However, I’d go further - the text doesn’t know how to
answer them or doesn’t judge them to be important enough. Late in the book Neil
inserts some more portentous philosophizing in to his account, echoing the
religious and scriptural tone of other parts of the text. Roxy and Tunde are
wondering how humans could behave SO badly:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“One of them says, ‘Because they could’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">That is the only answer there ever is” (287)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And then at the start of the next chapter:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“These things are happening all at once. These things are
the one thing. They are the inevitable result of all that went before. The
power seeks its outlet. These things have happened before, they will happen
again. These things are always happening…..For the earth is filled with
violence, and every living thing has lost its way.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neil injects into
his narrative the sense of history as circular and a religious understanding of
the world that is moral and inevitable combining reactionary ideas about
original sin and human nature. There is the sense in the book of course that
the primacy of religious understanding in our world would mean that massive
changes or catastrophes will be understood by large numbers of people in
religious terms and manipulated and used by others. Good, that’s one of the
things I like about the text. But there is nothing in the text that even begins
to suggest that agency and organisation might combat these forces and ideas.
Fine, on one reading this could be part of Alderman’s vision of the future -
that Neil cannot imagine human agency, organisation or resistance. But I don’t
think that’s a wholly satisfactory conclusion. In the final exchanges Neil can
question what is natural, he is sensibly cautious about the merits of
evolutionary psychology, he can hypothesize about gender and argue over
history: “the way we think our past informs what we think is possible today”
(334). I think the unresolved contradictions and gaps are Alderman’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The book’s epigram
is from Samuel: “The people came to Samuel and said: Place a King over us, to
guide us.” But ‘the people’ do not take on Samuel’s warnings. Late in the novel
we learn that the voice in Allie’s head may have been that of Samuel – in this
I admire Alderman’s construction of Neil’s cleverness: what a fabulous conceit.
Samuel lays it all out for Allie in her great moment of crisis (318-320) and
the bottom line is this: everything is really complicated and ‘the people’
always want to defer to powerful leaders. A reader could easily accuse the text
at this stage of being somewhat trite but I won’t go that far – there is an
element of humour in the passage that unburdens it somewhat and I like the way
some of Samuel’s language here mirrors part of the Book of Eve (330). No, the
main problem is that nowhere does the text try to answer why ‘the people’ will
always defer to the powerful, if indeed they do. The reader might be reminded
of a Churchill quote “The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation
with the average voter”. For politicians, and despairing liberals, the problem,
and the solution, always comes back to the poor judgement of ‘the people’
rather than the institutions and structures that impoverish, alienate and deter
wide sections of our communities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neil’s account
provides us with some evidence of course, you see the slick operations of US
capital as Margot climbs the slippery pole to the top and increasingly becomes
embroiled with the military industrial complex; you see the inanity of the
media; you get insights into the influence of religious ideology – this is
especially well done since his account returns again and again to those
segments of religious language: “The end of all flesh is near, because the
Earth is filled with violence. Therefore, build an ark.” (325) ; you get to see
the opportunism involved with Imperialism, on various sides. But it really is all
incredibly superficial. There is also the mystery of power. It’s a while since
I read Foucault but I remember being annoyed by the notions of diffuse and
omnipresent power that cropped up again and again in critical theory when
postmodernism and post structuralism were the dominant discourses back in the
day. The text infers a similar entity but it’s one I don’t accept; complexity –
yes, of course, but something that is infinite, scattered and inexplicable, no.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems to me that
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Power</b> might be one of those
texts that has already been outdone by our mad, perverse and apocalyptic days.
It’s not just that climate change overshadows everything, though it does, but
that the crisis of capitalism and neoliberalism, accelerating technological
change and many other factors are creating the conditions for new expressions
of older phenomenon. I’ve realised, reading the Clarke books this year, that I
want texts that help me understand what is emerging. And I’ve realised, more
than ever before, that this is probably a really stupid expectation. Authors
face the same contradictory ideologies, they have the same desires and hopes,
they are open to the illusions of liberalism, the prospect of despair, the bias
of the media. I hate Brexit and the racism it has unleashed but I recognise
that Europe is no answer either. You only have to think about the bodies
amassing in the Mediterranean and the way Greece was crushed to understand that
it is a bosses Europe that has no great interest in the wellbeing of the
majority of its citizens. I hate Trump but despise Clinton and all she stands
for too. You want your USA back? Seriously? That’s the USA of war and racism,
of police brutality and guns. I could go on and on and on but the reality is
this: business as usual means we are utterly screwed. Climate change will accelerate and
exacerbate tensions over refugees and war, over food security and energy
provision, over nationalism and borders, over every part of lives. And it is
accelerating faster than most of us can dare to admit. Can we fight back the
current crisis so that new democracies will be able to make sensible decisions
over the environment? Is that the question? Whatever your answer I suspect the
victory of Trump and Brexit, the possibility of Le Pen, means that Alderman’s
narrative choices are even more questionable than I would have otherwise
considered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So what am I trying to say? I suspect that writing SF is a
harder job and more unforgiving than ever. And for me that means going through
a process of finding anew what I think is valuable and resisting the idea that there
will be many texts offering me the answers and ideas that I crave or perturbing
me in affecting ways. Reading Mike Harrison leaves me bereft, troubled,
shattered, prised apart. Reading Ali Smith or Penelope Fitzgerald leaves me
happy, hopeful, measured, joyful. They do so with techniques, precision and
understandings I struggle with. They are profound and exciting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I don’t expect all texts to achieve those dizzy heights. Nor
do I forget the limits of bourgeois art. We live in confused and conservative
times – I don’t expect a bubbling up of revolutionary ideas or techniques – how
could I? Nor do I forget the omnipresence of commercial pressure, new books
pushed on us by a calendar of hype and promotion, shortlists and prizes. So
what then becomes compensation enough if you don’t find full satisfaction with
the ideas expressed in a text? Fine writing? Formal experimentation? Political
engagement? The weird and the uncanny? Emotion? Empathy? All of these actually,
though I don’t pretend to understand the alchemy involved in separating out the
great from the good. And I think that this is a question that intersects with
notions of taste. A lifetime of reading and watching films makes me feel, for
the most part, that I can trust my taste and my impressions. Yet I can still
occasionally be seduced by grandeur and (false) gravitas. I can be seduced by
art I don’t understand and sometimes it will be far less profound on closer
inspection. I can be swayed too be shitty arguments, especially when they are
reinforced by a constant media blitz. Perhaps most of all there is the problem
of limited knowledge, restricted horizons and so on. Mystery and uncertainty can
be tempting and bewitching but sometimes you just come up against the limits of
your own knowledge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So apologies for focusing on the negatives. I’ll repeat: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Power </b>a good novel, well worth your
time: It’s already on a number of longlists. I’ve enjoyed thinking about it – I
have pages of notes - and I’m looking forward to those discussions with the 6<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>
formers when the paperback comes out. Do any of them really believe that women
would do a better job of ruling than men? Do they appreciate the power and
divisiveness of simple choices (of say, a referendum)? Where do they think
power lies? And so on. Really good, important questions. There are subtleties
that I really enjoyed too, especially the passages early in the book when the evocative
smells of the emerging Power blend into passages of religious prose. I like the
ironies and reversals in the final exchange between Naomi and Neil. But for me
the text doesn’t encompass or explore the complexity that Samuel asserts and
there are not enough pleasures or discomforts in the text to win me over or
inflame my curiosity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-31618196412015207962017-03-03T04:25:00.001-08:002017-03-05T13:21:43.788-08:00The Clarke Award and THE Shadow.<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">If you haven't been paying attention (!!!) the Clarke Submission list is <a href="https://medium.com/@arthurcclarkeaward/the-arthur-c-clarke-award-2017-our-complete-submissions-list-of-eligible-books-received-319c67b47543#.6nvkd7fh1">here.</a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;">All the Shadow Clarke info can be found <a href="http://csff-anglia.co.uk/clarke-shadow-jury/">here.</a> I recommend reading all the individual posts, shortlists AND the comments!</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<strong>All the Shadow Clarke shortlists have now been submitted.<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
With nine jurors choosing six books each we could have had a
maximum of 54 novels. In the end we have 27 – not a bad spread! They are:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The Power — Naomi
Alderman (Penguin Viking) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">3</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Songshifting — Chris
Bell (wordsSHIFTminds)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Good Morning,
Midnight — Lily Brooks-Dalton (Wiedenfeld & Nicolson) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">2</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The
Destructives — Matthew De Abaitua (Angry Robot) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">2</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Zero K — Don
DeLillo (Picador)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The Many Selves of
Katherine North — Emma Geen (Bloomsbury) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">3</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Ninefox
Gambit — Yoon Ha Lee (Solaris)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Graft — Matt Hill
(Angry Robot)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Europe in
Winter — Dave Hutchinson (Solaris)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The Fifth
Season — N.K. Jemisin (Orbit) <strong>2<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
A Field Guide to
Reality — Joanna Kavenna (riverrun) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">4</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The Man Who Spoke
Snakish — Andrus Kivirähk (Grove Press UK), translated by Christopher Moseley<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Death’s
End — Cixin Liu (Head of Zeus)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Infinite
Ground — Martin MacInnes (Atlantic Books) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">2</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman";">Empire V — Victor Pelevin (Gollancz)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The
Gradual — Christopher Priest (Gollancz) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">3</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The Trees — Ali
Shaw (Bloomsbury) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The Core of the
Sun — Johanna Sinisalo (Grove Press UK) <strong>4</strong></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Hunters &
Collectors — M. Suddain (Jonathan Cape) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Occupy Me — Tricia
Sullivan (Gollancz) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">2</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Fair Rebel — Steph
Swainston (Gollancz) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">2</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Central
Station — Lavie Tidhar (PS Publishing) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">4</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Radiance — Catherynne
M. Valente (Corsair)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The Underground
Railroad — Colson Whitehead (Fleet) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">5</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The Arrival of the
Missives — Aliya Whiteley (Unsung Stories) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">2</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Azanian
Bridges — Nick Wood (NewCon Press) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">2</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The Lost Time
Accidents — John Wray (Canongate)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
<strong><u>Notable books that
have missed out on Sharke discussion? Maybe these:<o:p></o:p></u></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
All the Birds in
the Sky — Charlie Jane Anders (Titan)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
Daughter of Eden — Chris
Beckett (Daughter of Eden)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The Wolf
Road — Beth Lewis (Borough)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 18pt;">
The Corporation
Wars: Dissidence — Ken MacLeod (Orbit)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
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Into
Everywhere — Paul McAuley (Gollancz)<o:p></o:p></div>
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This
Census-Taker — China Miéville (Picador)<o:p></o:p></div>
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After Atlas — Emma
Newman (Roc)<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></div>
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The Sudden
Appearance of Hope — Claire North (Orbit)<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></div>
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Revenger — Alastair
Reynolds (Gollancz)<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></div>
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Underground
Airlines — Ben Winters (Century)</div>
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</span></div>
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<o:p> Feel free to analyse away to your hearts content!</o:p></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of the 37 books here I’ve read
16 so add in a few extras for various reasons and that leaves me about 25 to
read before May 3<sup>rd</sup> when the shortlist is announced. I won’t read
that many as I have too far too much else to read and do so I’ll have to prioritise.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many? Will I do it? Will I
stop caring? I’m not sure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve read quite a few of these
books over the last 2 weeks and my sense so far is that I’ve read some good
books – thete are lots of good things about the Sinisalo and the Kavenna is excellent - but nothing as remarkable as those I
read last year – like Whitehead, Tidhar and Whiteley. [I’d add Swainston to those
three but I haven’t got to <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Fair Rebel</b>
yet]</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Part of the problem perhaps is
that I have been reading other remarkable novels in 2017: older classics from
Penelope Fitzgerald, Doris Lessing, Muriel Spark and Alan Garner plus
contemporary stuff from Han Kang and Dana Spiotta. These novels manage to be
uncanny, weird, complex and profound in ways that leave those others severely wanting
I’m afraid. That is vaguely disappointing perhaps, but it’s the process - of
making me think through more closely than ever why I’m reading, what I value,
and a variety of issues surrounding genre fiction – that is proving to be key.</div>
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I’m
really looking forward to all the posts and discussions from the Shadow Clarke
jurors. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-46001371293042758432017-01-05T07:53:00.001-08:002017-01-06T04:59:21.339-08:00Best books of 2016<div>
I read around 100 books in 2016. Considering that I managed only 3 or 4 books in July, September, October and November combined I'm reasonably content. There will be little here to surprise readers of this blog or those who keep up with the book world, but, that said, it's been a great year for books. I get most of my ideas from the Guardian, Strange Horizons and from the writers and critics I've learned to trust. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I would urge any book lover to try some of these if you haven't already.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My favourite fiction of 2016:</div>
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Barkskins - Annie Proulx<br />
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</div>
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Days Without End - Sebastian Barry </div>
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The Underground Railway - Colson Whitehead</div>
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Homegoing - Yaa Gyasi</div>
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The Sellout - Paul Beatty</div>
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The Vegetarian - Han Kang</div>
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Aurora - Kim Stanley Robinson</div>
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Central Station - Lavie Tidhar</div>
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What is Not Yours is Not Yours - Helen Oyeyemi</div>
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The Arrival of Missives - Aliya Whiteley</div>
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The Shore - Sara Taylor<br />
Speak Gigantular - Irenosen Okojie<br />
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Francis Spufford - Golden Hill</div>
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Jenni Fagan - The Sunlight Pilgrims</div>
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Grief is the Thing with Feathers - Max Porter</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
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Special mentions:</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="border-image: none;">
I see a number of people are putting The Thing Itself by Adam Roberts on their lists and I'm happy to repeat myself and do the same. It came out right at the end of 2015 and I read it immediately. This novel and his previous one Bete, deserve to be read widely. They are brilliant. Please keep pushing the envelope.</div>
</div>
<div>
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I despair that more people haven't talked about Alexis Wright's The Swan Book. </div>
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</div>
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Finally Kate Atkinson's A God in Ruins - like the Roberts, I read on the cusp of the New Year and loved.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Passions (new and ongoing): Elena Ferrante, Elizabeth Taylor, W. G. Sebald and Jane Gardam.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="border-image: none;">
Finally read and loved: Night Train to Lisbon by Pascal Mercier and Miguel Street by V. S. Naipaul (thanks Lavie Tidhar!)</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="border-image: none;">
Non-fiction</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is VERY predictable but it doesn't matter. If you haven't read Amy Liptrot's The Outrun, Olivia Laing's The Lonely City and Lara Pawson's This is The Place to Be then you need to get on and read them asap. They all made me cry and gasp and re-evaluate my life and my ways of thinking. They'll all get reread in 2017.</div>
<div>
Late in the year I loved Roy Scranton's Learning to Die in the Anthropocene and Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz's An Indigenous People's History of the United States. They are fantastic companions to many of those fiction texts above.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
YA </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The outstanding discoveries of the year are Alex Wheatle's Liccle Bit and Crongton Knights and Robin Stevens' Murder Most UnLadylike series. Other great books are Katherine Rundell's The Wolf Wilder, Gary D Schulz's Orbiting Jupiter, Sarah Pinborough's The Death House and Alexia Casale's The Bone Dragon. I've also discovered Emma Carroll, Melinda Sainsbury and Edward Carey. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
New Year</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have so much to catch up on you wouldn't believe. Hopefully, at some point soon, I'll start writing again. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This year I want to read more non-fiction. When I was an activist probably 80% of my reading was non-fiction but this year I'd be happy with something approaching a 50/50 split. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thanks to all the writers and critics who have inspired me in what was easily one of the most difficult years of my life. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally book lovers, if you don't listen to the Backlisted podcast you really should. Their enthusiasm and love of books is infectious.</div>
Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-26343929932431034022017-01-03T10:19:00.000-08:002017-01-05T09:40:51.242-08:00Best films of 2016<div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I haven't kept a record but it's the first year I can remember when I might have seen less than a 100 films. I'm not sure. I've seen about 45 of the Guardian's Top 50, plus most of the blockbusters, etc. However I've hardly watched any old favourites and nor have I discovered any old greats. Worse perhaps, I haven't had the time to rewatch most of the films I mention below so I'm trusting to instinct and experience much more than usual.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thus this year I've done a Top 10 with an additional highly recommended extra 6. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">These are the films I can't let go of: images, ideas, performances that seem imprinted on my mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Assassin (Hsiao-Hsien Hou)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Son of Saul (László Nemes)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Witch (Robert Eggers)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">American Honey (Andrea Arnold)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hunt for the Wilderpeople (Tamika Waititi)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">13th (Ava DuVernay)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our little Sister (Hirokazu Koreeda)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Under the Shadow (Babak Anvari)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mustang (Deniz Gamze Ergüven)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Divines (Houda Benyamina)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm happy to say it's all about the women. 4 female directors; brilliant performances by young actresses - Anya Taylor-Joy in The Witch, Sasha Lane in American Honey and almost all the young women and girls in Mustang, Our Little Sister and Divines; plus fascinating, mature and enigmatic roles for Qi Shu in The Assassin and Narges Rashidi in Under the Shadow. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Assassin is perhaps the hardest sell: intellectualism meets sublime aestheticism; puzzling and oblique; painterly. In 2017 I'm gonna search out all Hou Hsiao Hsien's films. I love it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Son of Saul had the same kind of impact that Come and See had on me. It is a great, great, movie and I commend it to everyone. Watching it for the first time was also the moment I decided that I wasn't going to look away ever again - on climate change, Syria, refugees, the growth of nationalism and fascism - and that I would try to face the realities of our world head on. A bit melodramatic perhaps, but that's me.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I didn't see Ava Duvernay's 13th until the Christmas holiday but it feels like it's the film we should be showing and sharing everywhere. It's about the history of racism and inequality in the USA and you couldn't hope to see a more relevant film. What a shame it didn't get a cinema distribution - sort it out Netflix.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Witch and Under the Shadow are feminist horror films. They are perfectly formed things of small wonder: disturbing, beguiling, political and creepy in all the right ways.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hunt for the Wilderpeople was the most joyous movie experience of 2016. Like Our Little Sister and Mustang it is about friendship and solidarity. Divines is almost a companion piece to last year's Girlhood only with shades of Scorsese and De Palma: I was wowed by its ambition and energy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then there is Andrea Arnold's American Honey, a film that manages to be painful, discursive, hypnotic, melancholy and exuberant all at the same time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And another 6....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Embrace of the Serpent (Ciro Guerra)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fire at Sea (Gianfranco Rosi)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Things to Come (Mia Hansen Løve)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Arabian Nights (1-3) (Miguel Gomes)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tale of Tales (Matteo Garrone)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Notes on Blindness (Pete Middleton)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">These, like The Assassin, might be too slow or abstruse for some tastes. But they deserve an audience for their politics, daring and subtlety. Mia Hansen Löve's Things to Come, which I really wanted to squeeze into my Top 10, will be far too bourgeois for some but you'd be wrong. She just gets better and better and Isabelle Huppert's performance is so good you'll just want to watch the movie again immediately.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Best moment</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Moana should probably be in that Top 16 but without doubt the best part of any film this year was the Mad Max/Kakamora sequence. Genius.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And so....Family films</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's been the best year for children's films and family films that I can remember: Moana, Kubo and the Two Strings, Queen of Katwe, Zootropolis, Hunt for the Wilderpeople and the lovely Sing Street. The best popular films? I enjoyed Fantastic Beasts and I quite enjoyed Star Trek Beyond. I wasted my money on all the big films - I don't seem to be able to help myself - but I can't remember anything remotely memorable. And that includes Doctor Strange. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">US Indie gems</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Paterson, Little Men, The Witch, American Honey, Hell or High Water and Charlie Kaufman's Anomalisa. The latter is The Guardian's film of the year and it's certainly a singular achievement. The animation and various formal and structural features make it really interesting. Ultimately though it's not a film I'm looking forward to watching again. Even David Thewlis and Jennifer Jason Leigh, as amazing as they are, can't imbue the main characters with enough humanity for me. Thewlis' character is so vile and Leigh' so timid that I found it hard to find any sympathy with anything the film was trying to do.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Disappointments </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Widely praised, I found Love and Friendship, Nocturnal Animals and Hail Caesar empty with extra wide open pockets of emptiness. I could see the artistry at certain points, and the humour, but I have no desire to watch any of them again.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The elephant in the room</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I liked the gloomier second half of I, Daniel Blake a lot but overall...some of the acting was terrible and I hated how all the working class folks are seemingly immune to racism, sexism and unkindness. This is NOT the UK in 2016. As a socialist I do, of course, recommend it anyway - it's an excellent piece of socialist propaganda that tells truths about the UK that many people won't know about. It has a big heart that yearns for us all to empathise and unite. Moreover it infuriated Tories and the mainstream press - always a fantastic achievement. But is it a great film? Nah.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">SF</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I enjoyed Rogue One and Arrival quite a lot but my suspicion is that both will prove to be fairly forgettable on second viewing. Hopefully not. The Girl with all the Gifts and High Rise were minor gems however.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oscar bait</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I always find it difficult to put the big Oscar contenders into my best of year lists. January seems SO long ago, plus all these films benefited from huge amounts of publicity. Yet Spotlight, Room, The Hateful Eight and The Revenant were a good crop. Do watch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Foreign movies</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Distributors are finding it more difficult to sell foreign films so it felt even more difficult than ever to see the variety I normally cherish at the cinema. Except for Mustang, A Bigger Splash and Julieta I saw these on the small screen: Things to Come, Tale of Tales, Dheepan, Arabian Nights (1-3), Our Little Sister, Victoria, The Club, Cemetery of Splendour.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bollywood</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not a bad year though, determined not to buy so many DVDs, I've not seen that many. My favourites however were Dangal, Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, Kapoor and Sons and Dear Zindagi. Hopefully I'll catch up in the next month and put up a separate post.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Guilty pleasures</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I may as well own up: Sorrentino's Youth, Fuqua's The Magnificent Seven and then (not so guiltily) Ryan Coogler's Creed and Jennifer Lawrence in Joy. No excuses - I am a BAD human being.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To see</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Couple in a Hole, The Neon Demon, The Childhood of a Leader, My Feral Heart, The Survivalist, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Desperate to see</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Your Name, The Wailing, Train to Busan.</span></div>
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Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-75968054131104819822016-12-12T08:02:00.000-08:002016-12-12T08:26:15.075-08:00The (Un) examined Life - 5 things that I love.<div>
I read Nalo Hopkinson's The Chaos last week (for school) and it begins with the main character filling in a "5 things I love" assignment for her teacher. It felt like a good way to start reconnecting with a variety of things.<br />
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Science Fiction</b></div>
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In my teens I would discover and seek out the great political films of 1970s but I started going to the cinema at that point where Hollywood was changing and blockbusters were becoming dominant. Some of my first memories are of going to see Star Wars and Close Encounters of the Third Kind at the Coalville Rex in 1977. I was 6. I can remember the excitement and the wonder: the destruction of Alderaan and the detention centre shootout; Richard Dreyfuss building his mashed potato mountain.</div>
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A few months later I started watching Blake's 7 (it aired in January 1978) - I think we all watched it, me, my mum and my dad, which was unusual. It remains one of my favourite things in the world - brilliant characters and dialogue plus redemption and revolution. What's not to love? I also have vivid memories of the 1975/1976 season of Doctor Who especially Terror of the Zygons and The Android Invasion. SF is in my DNA. Other early memories include Star Trek on TV and Star Trek: The Motion Picture (1979) and and the Special Edition of Close Encounters in 1980. I can remember many other snippets of TV of course - great stuff like Space 1999 and curiosities like The Fantastic Journey - and more importantly, films like The Planet of the Apes and Logan's Run. It seems to me now that though I remember fun and contentment in all of this there was also a large measure of melancholy and seriousness that I was attracted to as well. My brother had the The War of the Worlds album and I remember Justin Hayward's Forever Autumn being played on Radio 2 continually in 1978 and loving its haunting, sombre tone.</div>
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I grew up in a small mining village. Though we were poor my surroundings were enviable. Our house backed onto a hay field and around 500 metres away (maybe less - I was little!) was a large shed. This was, as far as I can remember, at the edge of the world. We - my friend Jason from two doors away, and Dawn from next door - had to be careful entering the field for fear of the grumpy farmer. Nor were we particularly brave I'm afraid - I was particularly obedient and timid. So was it a dream or maybe a late night looking up at the stars and seeing or hearing something unusual? But for a while I was scared of that barn because I thought aliens had landed and were hiding there. I remembered this much later when Helen and I fell in love with Farscape together. Watch the episode I, E.T. and you'll see why.</div>
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My dad, who had been raised as a baptist, in a big family that was central to their chapel, was too troubled and questioning to accept religion. This hurt him a great deal but it also opened up his fascination for the world. He loved Patrick Moore on The Sky at Night (we didn't know about his appalling political beliefs back then!) and so we had books, binoculars and briefly, a small telescope. Throughout those years I can remember him trying to find meaning in ideas and things both sublime and wretched. The collection of pottery, which I'm sure the family couldn't afford, was a low point but astronomy was a great gift.</div>
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I LOVED The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy - the TV series in 1981. I got the novel for my birthday too. It was around this point I also discovered 2000AD. And I loved V in 1983 and '84. So much so that it is one of the only things I can remember with a degree of lucidity from those years. It was the mixture of revolution and Jane Badler. Politics, resistance and hormones. It probably filled in the gap left by Blakes 7. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">From around '82 to '86 I can't remember much about anything. My mum left in 1982 and then most things are a blank - friends, teachers, experiences - I can't even remember what my school looked like. I've spent most of my life uninterested in my first twenty years - I just thought of it as a write-off. My memory feels like a piece of ancient alien technology - something I can barely get started and unreliable when I try to make it work. Since I started therapy little bits are starting to come back in dreams and I can recall some of the earlier moments with pleasure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> But I don't know when I first saw Blade Runner or Alien, even if I suspect it was around then. </span></div>
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There are times when I feel pangs of envy and regret about this. This is the point when my favourite writers were discovering Tarkovsky and Le Guin, Philip K Dick and Kurt Vonnegut, Algis Budrys and the Strugatsky brothers. I was watching Joan Hickson as Miss Marple and working my way through every single Agatha Christie. That does sound bitter doesn't it? Now that I'm trying to remember and understand my past I'm trying to acknowledge those feelings but I can't stand the idea of feeling sorry for myself. And anyway, I've discovered so much in the last 20 years.</div>
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I think it was the summer of '83 when I went to stay with my favourite aunt and uncle whilst my dad went to hospital. It's my only sustained memory of those years, perhaps because I was so happy. My (older) cousins were kind and I got to spend days doing what I wanted in a completely different sort of atmosphere. For about a week I watched Mike Hodges' Flash Gordon every day. Rebellion and hormones again! But this time with Queen and Ornella Muti. What a brilliant, crazy, perfect film it is.</div>
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Helen loved science fiction too.</div>
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Snow</b></div>
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I was 9 or 10 when I had to have a minor operation. On the way back from the hospital we got caught in a terrific snow storm. Our house was set back slightly with a drive that led to a small row of our houses - 6 or 7 semi-detached. We travelled home safely but it was impossible to get up the drive. I remember various people coming out to dig the snow whilst I waited in the car. Did my dad carry me in the end or did we get the car up to our house? All I remember is a sense of drama and the sky full of beautiful snow. </div>
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I lay on the settee for a number of days recovering. My uncle bought me a Blake's 7 annual. Maybe this was also the point I fell in love with winter sports - David Vine on Ski Sunday. I rediscovered this love with Helen and it became even more important when she became ill and we needed easy ways to spend our time. We began to watch Cross Country Skiing and, especially, Biathlon on Eurosport. We fell for Ole Einar Bjørndalen and the German women's team.</div>
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Most children got the Beano or the Dandy but I loved The Beezer. It was an A3 size - double the size of other comics - and felt just a little more sophisticated because of it. Pretentiousness and cultural snobbery from an early age - that's me. But what I remember, especially about the winter editions and the annuals, is the snow. It felt, perhaps, like it was part of an anticipation - of a white Christmas, days off from school, snowmen and so on. But even then I can remember being on my own in the snow far more than being with others. And the thrill of watching the snow fall through a window. Part of me thinks it's awful that I was already full of a kind of nostalgia and false thinking. But perhaps that's being a little too hard on myself.</div>
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The year after Helen died I hired a car and went to the Lake District. I stayed in Keswick. It was SO cold. Frost lingered throughout the day. I made it almost to the the top of Skidaw and then found myself in a blizzard. I carried on to the top even though I couldn't see anything. I passed a couple of men and a dog though they seemed like ghosts. But seeing them made me feel safer. The next day I walked the Dale Head horseshoe. The mist and cloud were terrific but then suddenly the clouds lifted and I was able to see everything. Just a couple of weeks ago I was reminded of ghosts again when I rewatched Edge of Darkness. I love how Bob Peck is able to see and talk to Joanne Whalley. </div>
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I can't deny that there is a hint of romanticism to this snow malarkey. It's connected to a longing for family, for hunkering down in the winter and for Christmas happiness. I was bought up on that heady, nostalgic mixture of Christmas songs, Christmas movies, singing carols and the importance and excitement of Christmas at chapel.</div>
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I remember loving Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys on TV and feeling the ache of loss as the Christmas holiday drew to a close and I was I unable to watch the last episodes on morning TV. And then the joy of two snow days because of freezing temperatures and frozen pipes at school. I can remember both the feeling of melancholy and a kind of sombre happiness.</div>
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Why can I remember walking through Coalville on a frosty December night listening to Erasure's The Circus on my Sony Walkman in 1987? I have no idea. I was lonely, definitely, but maybe just beginning to find a small measure of existential pleasure in that alone-ness. A budding flaneur perhaps. I think I felt a sense of possibility, even if it was really a dead end or an illusion. I suspect it was simply about adjusting - learning to find a way of living that provided a good defence against the sadness and the anger and that provided a modicum of pleasure. Of course it wasn't really possible to be a flaneur in Coalville anyway. Fucking awful place.</div>
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I can remember our back garden and the field behind it on Christmas Day. A snowy picture post card. I can remember playing football with Jason on the front in the snow too - there was an area of grass, with a rose bed in the centre, that lay parallel with the drive. That's where we played football until we were old enough to go to the park. He was Arsenal, I was Nottingham Forest. We loved Ron Atkinson's West Brom too with Cyril Regis, Laurie Cunningham and Brendon Batson. Even Match of the Day was better with snow.</div>
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2 snowy walks with my dad: first to the Video shop in Thringstone and another to the fish and chip shop in Whitwick, walking back and eating our chips on the way. Salt, then vinegar and a shake to wash the some of the salt down the bag, then more salt. Undoubtedly high blood pressure will be my undoing. But that video shop, and the videos we bought home, was one of my great pleasures. Django, Harry Tracey and many more. I've written about it before. There's a film I've been trying to remember for decades - snow, an apocalypse perhaps. I thought I'd discovered it when I found Altman's Quintet but it doesn't match up with my memories. I wish I knew what it was.</div>
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Helen and I went to Saltzburg the weekend before Christmas. It snowed most of the weekend starting on the Saturday afternoon when we visited the castle. In the morning we had been up to the top of the Untersberg mountain in the cable car. The blizzard at the top was a bit like the one I would encounter on Skidaw years later. We only spent a minute or two outside because it was so cold. I look at the photos of that holiday and remember how happy and content we were. We were happy and content pretty much all of the time. </div>
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This love goes all the way down. </div>
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In movies: Fargo, The Grey, On Her Majesty's Secret Service, The Empire Strikes Back, Gorky Park, Groundhog Day, The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo (the Fincher version), Where Eagles Dare, It's a Wonderful Life, McCabe and Mrs Miller, The Sweet Hereafter, Let the Right One In, Marketa Lazarova, My Winnipeg, A Simple Plan, Little Women, (the Winona Ryder version), Winter Sleep, Winter Light, Breakheart Pass, Harry Tracey, Desperado, The Great Silence. </div>
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And books: The Shining, Misery, The Left Hand of Darkness, Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow. </div>
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And TV: Frozen Planet, Northern Exposure, a favourite episode of Blakes 7 and even winter episodes of ER. And now the snowy bits of Game of Thrones. </div>
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And at what point did I fall for Julie Christie in Dr Zhivago? This is another early memory so I assume I was 6 or 7. It's a an incredibly flawed movie of course but when I first saw it I was just floored by the heavenliness of Christie and the melancholy and romance of the snow. Those scenes in the abandoned dacha! Perhaps this is emblematic of my fascination - it's such an idealised depiction of Russia. Romanticism and sadness. Beauty and the blues.</div>
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Helen and I spent most of our Christmas's together alone. A real tree, new decorations each year, opening presents together, movies, Doctor Who, cooking, Cava. It's no wonder I find it hard to adjust.</div>
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Now, snow seems like a miraculous dream and a dreadful nightmare. I've never known so many homeless people on our streets, or such poverty - in one of the richest countries in the world - so a cold winter means that many people will die. And yet, as climate change accelerates and the dangers grow, the snow feels like the greatest blessing. A symbol of hope. The task for 2017? To see with clarity but not give in to despair - to find the strength to do some good in the face of all the horror. </div>
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Music (and Dance)</b></div>
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I'm kind of superficial. No, really. Because I love Kate Bush and PJ Harvey, classical music, jazz, world music and much more, people assume a certain sophistication in my tastes. But really I just love a good tune. I love pop music. In fact I'd go as far as saying there's nothing as good as a great pop tune - but for me that often means any old shite. It's also untrue. I could start the sentence 'There's nothing as good as....' in a awful lot of different ways. Does that me fickle or full of joy for all the great things in life? Trust me, it's both.</div>
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Fickle AND superficial.</div>
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I find it amazing that that I can put songs on playlists because I like the tune but at a later date find myself smiling or crying because of the words. It's like I've suddenly tuned in - sometimes just a line, sometimes a chorus, sometimes a whole song - and realised what my subconscious was trying to say all along. Perhaps I'm overplaying this a little - pop songs are often incredibly superficial - universal, inane, cliched, imprecise - and so can easily fit any mood or feeling. But listen to Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine. When I put it as the first track on a playlist my friend told me how brave I was. I had no idea what she was talking about - it was 2 or 3 years since Helen had died - so I went away to listen. Holy fuck. It's how I felt all the time. And this happens A LOT. For someone who thought he possessed a reasonable amount of self-knowledge it seems I am a mystery to myself much more often than not.</div>
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With music comes dancing. Not for everyone I realise, but definitely for me. In a different life I would have been a dancer. Expressing myself via the magic of dance. I love the sensuality of dancing. I love the goosebumps you get. I love being transported to a different place. I'm a reasonable dancer, but, for whatever reason, it has never translated into successfully meeting women at clubs - I've been approached by more men than women on the dance floor. Moreover I think I must look uninterested in others when I dance - apart from the odd smile when I look up - I'm too caught up in living and feeling the music. </div>
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There was a radio in every room all tuned to Radio 2. My dad had a huge collection of records too. I still love songs from the fifties, sixties and seventies. And not the 'cool' stuff either! My brother played Queen, Genesis and and various shades of 70s soft rock. Those album covers. Most uncool too right? But he was also a drummer and used to sneak out to play in a punk band. </div>
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My dad loved Glen Campbell and Neil Diamond. I can sing all their songs. </div>
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At Helen's funeral we started off with the overture from Fidelio playing really loud. Next we had Otis Redding's version of A Change is Gonna Come and then a section of Vaughn Williams' Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis. To finish we played Elbow's One Day Like This. </div>
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Two of the best nights of my life. Fidelio at the Vienna Opera House in 2006 and Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake at Sadler's Wells in 2008. We saw the Swan Lake when Helen was getting better and we were cautiously optimistic.</div>
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No one that I knew listened to classical music so I don't know how I discovered it. I think it was because I found Ode to Joy and loved Mozart's Clarinet Concerto in Out of Africa. So in my mid teens I started to buy tapes - Beethoven's Ninth, Vivaldi's Four Seasons, Elgar's Cello Concerto - things I'd probably heard in films or on TV. Somehow during my late teens I discovered Brahms too. Yet I didn't go to a concert until we came back to Birmingham in 2004. I can't remember what we saw at Symphony Hall that first time but I've been hooked ever since. Helen often came with me and came to love it too. It's the closest I get to ecstasy I think. It can often be overwhelming - crying so hard that I feel everyone around me must be seeing or sensing the emotion. Helen would hold my hand as I shook.</div>
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Musicals were the other big thing in our house. I must have watched most of the old musicals in my formative years and we regularly went to see local amateur productions too. In those lost years - 1982 to 1986 - I would have discovered - via Radio 2 and my dad- the original cast recordings of Chess and Les Miserables and played them constantly. When I listened to them this week I reconnected - for the first time I think - with how I felt back then. How can I Dreamed a Dream and Nobody's Side be a 13-year-olds favourite songs?</div>
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There's still nothing quite like a good singsong to a playlist of songs from the musicals. And I wonder why people think I'm gay!</div>
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I loved The Kids from Fame. I bought the albums, played the songs daily. When Fame (1980) and later Flashdance (1983) were released with 15 certificates and I was thus unable to see them at the cinema, I was angry, exasperated and forlorn.<br />
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We danced on the night we met. We danced in London most weekends.</div>
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Helen</b></div>
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Sorry this is a bit Thomas Hardy isn't it? But my ten years with Helen were my happiest by a country mile. By many, many miles. By light years. </div>
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My heart would race when I was journeying home after a day at work or college in anticipation of seeing her. This happened week in, week out over our ten years.</div>
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Perhaps you'll think I'm looking back with rose-coloured glasses. So many of my memories are imperfect or hazy - partially constructed. But I'm not trying to convince you of anything. This is for me. I know how lucky I was.</div>
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I'm envious of those people who know how to be happy single. I know lots of ways to spend time on my own. And I'm good at it - I certainly enjoy all kinds of pleasures and satisfactions but now I'm starting to wonder if I've been happy at all since Helen died. It's the push and pull of loneliness that I find hardest to understand. Desperate for connection but doubtful and slow to accept it when others reach out to me. Proud, stubborn and scared of the unknown?</div>
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I'm an atheist and always will be but for the first two years, every night when I got into bed I would ask her to come and take me. Actually most of those nights I would wail and plead.</div>
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For all kinds of reasons Helen's death is now incredibly raw. 2015 and 2016 were tough. It's fair to say that world events and the hopelessness of the left have compounded my personal difficulties. I feel a despair that I've never felt before. Everything is NOT going to be alright Mark Kermode. It may be that I've never come to terms with her death. I felt her strength for years - the fact of our time together and our love for each other filled me up with belief and confidence. I think I need to find a way to mourn her properly. Our friend Louise was the only person still in my life that knew Helen well and talked about her - not that we did it very often - it's almost like I didn't have a vocabulary for it. And I'm sure she sensed my discomfort - of raw emotion a heartbeat away.</div>
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It's finally time for me to grieve and remember.</div>
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Fifth and final</b>.</div>
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The last one is hard - not because I don't love lots of things - Bollywood, mountains, rivers, the sea, Birmingham, Caravaggio, Van Gogh, wine, and a hundred other things - I do. And that I've included films and books into everything above testifies to their importance. The trouble is......that if you don't get to share all the brilliant things in life with other people you become in danger of missing their grace, detail and lustre. And that's where I'm at. So my final thing that I love - and by no means the least - has been meeting all the amazing girls at school. They've made me laugh and smile, asked me difficult questions, wound me up, challenged me, given me hope. Without them these last 6 years would have been unbearable.</div>
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2016 has been pretty awful for many of us. And as August slid into September, for the first time ever, I fell apart a little - for all kinds of reasons. I suddenly started having very vivid flashbacks to Helen's death and I found it very difficult to see a future - either for myself or for humanity. I've started going to therapy and I've realised that I'm going to have to come to terms with my past if I want to go forward.</div>
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I should say too, that I've done some brilliant things in 2016 - it hasn't been a complete disaster. I met some amazing people in Greece. Holly made me laugh a lot. I went to see Grimes, Rihanna and Beyoncé in the space of a fortnight. I was given the great gift of becoming a trainee zookeeper for half a day. I read some fantastic books. And Liz has provided me with space and companionship when I threatened to sink. I DO count my blessings all the time.</div>
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I don't know whether this is all too personal to be a help to anybody else. Hopefully not.</div>
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Here's to 2017. Let's hope we find the strength, solidarity and a way of seeing and analysing that helps us fight back</div>
Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-77883626535186259302016-08-15T09:59:00.001-07:002017-01-05T09:42:27.011-08:00The Lonely City - Olivia Laing<div>
I'd already read Olivia Laing's <b>To The River </b>this year and loved it. Now I've finally got round to reading <b>The Lonely City.</b> Laing blends her own experiences with a wonderful mix of sensitive, humane criticism and theoretical and historical research. The result is passionate and compelling. The passages that are sober or upsetting are offset with sections that are uplifting and beautiful. The book achieves a number of things. Laing discusses loneliness in all its facets, it's causes and effects without ever simplifying. The book is also about the essential strangeness of people and their unknowability. That might sound trite for those of us brought up in the era of postmodernism and post structuralism but don't be fooled. I'm fairly sensitive to people's moods and their ways of being and surviving (and thriving) but by looking at figures like Edward Hopper, Andy Warhol, David Wojnarowicz and others she shows us how different we all are and that empathy, effort and sensitivity can only take us so far. Or perhaps that a greater effort is required than one could easily imagine. My need for intimacy might be a suffocating death grip to you; my sensitivity might be a horrible invasion of privacy for you; my silence might be a deafening roar to you; my insouciance might annoy the fuck out of you. And so on. </div>
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Her readings and insights about paintings and art are careful, subtle and fascinating. It's like going to the best exhibition ever and getting insights into art that you never imagined. If you're anything like me it will open up a new world and send you off to the Internet to discover more. Her portraits of artists and the dispossessed growing up on the margins, often in unbearable circumstances are deeply sympathetic and there are an abundance of images and ideas to pause over and contemplate. The chapter on David Wojnarowicz is worth your money all on its own. There's a fantastic chapter too discussing social media and it's possible alienating effects, "as our ability to socialise withers and atrophies". (227) But it's just a great book, chapter after chapter, inviting you into lives you might never have known about and artworks that you'll probably become desperate to experience. It's one of those rare books that opens up your life in new and unexpected ways, just as it asks you, not that I need a great deal of bidding, to look in the mirror. It's also moral and political, tender and compassionate, forever making connections, forever returning the discussion back to fairness and equality, race and gender, sexuality and class; always asking you to understand and empathise. Readers, it is fucking tremendous. One of the books of the year, along with Amy Liptrot's <b>The Outrun </b>and Lavie Tidhar's <b>Central Station</b>.</div>
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I couldn't decide how personal to make this but I'm not sure that many people that know me think of me as lonely so maybe if it helps someone else to read this book or to feel a little better hopefully it's worthwhile: loneliness isn't the same as depression or anxiety and you can feel it even when surrounded by colleagues, loved ones or strangers. I've been lucky of course: I was in a wonderful, loving relationship for ten years; being an activist gave me a sense of purpose and allowed me to express my solidarity with others and I have, and have had, some amazing friends. But the loneliness and disconnection has been with me from a young age. [I won't bother you with the details of my upbringing - and it certainly wasn't horrendous in the way that others have to face] I learned early to do things by myself. Books, films and TV were my companions and continue to be. Yet even though I like my own company for the most part I'm forever searching. Out, reading in cafes, walking, often feeling that there is some kind of invisible, impenetrable barrier around me that people can't or won't penetrate - possibly trying to fight against this:</div>
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<i>"It was becoming increasingly easy to see how people ended up vanishing in cities, disappearing in plain sight, retreating into their apartments because of sickness or bereavement, mental illness or the persistent, unbearable burden of sadness and shyness, of not knowing how to impress themselves into the world. I was getting a taste of it, all right, but what on earth would it be like to live the whole of your life like this, occupying the blind spot in other people’s existences, their noisy intimacies?" </i>(136)</div>
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At one point Laing quotes Wojnarowicz writing about himself: "‘David has a problem,’ he wrote bitterly in his journal, ‘he feels pain being alone but can’t stand most people. How the fuck do you solve that?’". It's not that I can't stand most people - and I suspect I speak for a lot of lonely people - but I have less and less time for inane chat or egos and when I see others slide easily into friendships and relationships I'm utterly confounded by my own inability to do the same. Perhaps I'm my own worst enemy. And of course in connecting myself with Wojnarowicz's bitterness I worry that it contains a kind of disdain. And I hate that I might feel disdain for my fellow human beings. Tories and the rich excluded of course. </div>
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Reading the book now has come at just the right time. I began the summer reeling, in shock. Two weeks of almost constant nausea and anxiety. This is unlike me. There were various reasons - my midlife, existential crisis; a mountain of issues that had been building up and on top of that, difficulties - a crisis point really - with a very important relationship. So it is no surprise that my loneliness issues feel more pressing than ever. Need and longing cause you to ignore obvious doubts and fears. On top of that I felt unlovable, unwanted, unattractive and that I was going to be lost and alone forever. I wondered how well I was really understanding the world. And I realised that I'd undoubtedly caused someone that I love considerable pain by just not comprehending how mindbendingly different and alien we humans are. And there was the blast of fear too - of further loneliness, of more longing and searching, of feeling that invisible barrier that surrounds me becoming less porous, more unrelenting. And the knowledge that I wasn't on solid ground, or worse that I was falling from a great height desperately trying to grasp hold of something solid. Laing understands this <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">loneliness, disconnection and lack of meaning completely: "the terror of solitude without prospect of cure, loneliness without the hope of alleviation or redemption." (251) </span></div>
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I've gone through my life my life trying not to imagine what others think of me. It always felt like a waste of time. And a way to drive yourself crazy. It didn't matter. I was OK, I was me. But suddenly I'm asking myself 'What signals do I send off? What is wrong? Do I give off some aura of neediness, or longing, or condescension? Maybe a new aspect of loneliness I hadn't experienced before.</div>
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Laing gets it all: "another aspect of loneliness: its endless agonising hope. Loneliness as a desire for closeness, for joining up, joining in, joining together, for gathering what has otherwise been sundered, abandoned, broken or left in isolation. Loneliness as a longing for integration, for a sense of feeling whole." (262) Most of my life I've gone out into the world with hope, sometimes pausing to think about that quote attributed to Einstein "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results' and trying to fight against it. I've tried many things - plenty of things - dance classes, singing lessons, dating sites - but still feeling awkward or disconnected, hopeless at initiating relationships, never knowing how to break through. But I suppose hope, even in its folly, is better than despair.</div>
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Elsewhere, she writes about the need for sensation. Again, it's something many lonely people will understand all too well - anything to fill the gap: booze, drugs, the epiphanies and exultation of classical music or film.</div>
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There are so many passages I'd like to quote, especially perhaps the last page but it won't mean the same unless you read it as a conclusion to the whole book. Instead I'll finish with two passages about empowerment, creativity and fighting back, lest you think <b>The Lonely City</b> is a difficult or depressing text:</div>
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"<i>Wojnarowicz articulated a sense of being not just outside society, but actively antagonistic to its strictures, its intolerance of different life-forms. ‘The pre-invented world’, he’d started calling it, the pre-invented existence of mainstream experience, which seems benign, even banal, its walls almost invisible until you are crushed against them. All his work was an act of resistance against this dominating force, driven by a desire to contact and inhabit a deeper, wilder mode of being. The best way he’d found to fight was to make public the truths of his own life, to create work that resisted invisibility and silence; the loneliness that comes from having your existence denied, from being written out of history, which after all belongs to the normal and not to the stigmatised." </i></div>
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And this:</div>
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"<i>Years before, David used to buy grass seed from a store on Canal Street and roam the piers scattering it in handfuls, Johnny Appleseed in sneakers, wanting to make something beautiful from the rubble. My favourite picture of him showed him lounging on a meadow he’d planted in one of the abandoned baggage or departure halls: grass scattered with debris, grass growing out of disintegrating plaster and particles of soil. Anonymous art, unsignable art, art that was about transformation, about alchemising what was otherwise only waste."</i> </div>
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Brilliant. <b>The Lonely City</b> is a work of solidarity and compassion. I urge you to read it.</div>
Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-9131124609613560472016-06-29T06:58:00.000-07:002016-06-30T03:48:49.359-07:00The Clarke shortlist 2016 - Part 2 (Okorafor, Tchaikovsky & Hutchinson)<div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> There are times when all manner of THINGS feel pointless and even a little macabre. I feel this a lot at the moment especially in the light of the UK's referendum result: as racists and fascists become emboldened and as millions fear for their futures; as the Labour right capitulates to that rightward momentum rather than back Corbyn and some principled politics; as refugees are ignored and ostracised; as Trump lies and breeds hatred. Hell, it would be a very long list if I carried on. So this review doesn't feel like a very important thing right now. That said the three books speak to me a little nonetheless. Dave Hutchinson's book is about Europe, nations, imperialism and much more. His trilogy feels more timely than ever. Adrian Tchaikovsky's novel of wonder ends with a heartfelt plea for empathy and understanding. We need those simple things more than ever right now. And though I can't connect to Okorafor's novel as others have I suspect it will make many readers feel represented and give voice to their anger and pain.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Part 2</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> As I thought of how to introduce these reviews I realised my responses to books come in three main categories (though of course it is more of a spectrum): 1) the first is a kind of excited puppy response as in 'Holy Crapola Batman' that is SO good. It's kind of like a phwoah! Most of those books have STUFF - usually a mixture of content, form, style, tone that I might find difficult to parse but are, at the same time, deeply pleasurable. I'd characterise these texts as having an overabundance perhaps: they are complex and they are plentiful. That said, every now and then my excited puppy response comes from a text that is modest but perfectly achieved: that's great too. I don't want to harp on about <a href="http://dancingonglass11.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/easter-reading-and-clarke-shortlist.html">my preferred list</a> but all of those texts fit in to this wow category.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Next come the books that I think I understand fairly well on a first reading and that I can admire but wish for a little more. Or rather, more often than not, a little less: a little less obviousness, a little less direction, a little less repetition of the stuff that I need to remember, a little less telling; and often these days a few less pages too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> The third category encompasses the texts that are bad, mediocre or dull, that are obviously reactionary, that perhaps desperately want to teach me something (I usually already know). They are not all terrible but if vaguely enjoyable then instantly forgettable. I've got to the stage where thankfully I don't have to read too much of the this category: I'm discerning, I've been reading a long time and I have little patience!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> If the first three texts fit too easily in to that third category - and sorry I don't mean to be unkind or dismissive - then the other three are a little harder to pin down. First and foremost I'm glad I read them. You'll find I'm still grumpy about <b>The Book of Phoenix</b> but in many respects it feels like the YA text that the judges seemed to want and at least it has the merits of a crazy kind of energy and righteous politics. I wonder too if Okorofor just isn't for me. I admire <b>Binti</b> but didn't really get on with <b>Lagoon</b> either. I have however found a lot to admire about the novels by Adrian Tchaikovsky and Dave Hutchinson. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As with <a href="http://dancingonglass11.blogspot.co.uk/2016/06/the-clarke-shortlist-2016-part-1.html">Part 1</a> I will assume you've read the books.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> So, I'm not usually shy about criticising books and films but on this occasion I am, a little. Various people whose opinions I respect like this book a LOT - see <b>From couch to moon</b> and Ana at <b>The Book Smugglers</b> <a href="http://thebooksmugglers.com/2015/06/book-review-the-book-of-phoenix-by-nnedi-okorafor.html">for example</a>. I spent an hour reading the overwhelmingly positive set of reviews on <b>Goodreads</b> too to see if I could identify what I was missing. I understand and appreciate many of the sentiments I found but still feel like I was reading a different book.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> These are some of the words I found when I looked back through my notes attached to various passages and paragraphs: guileless, rough-hewn, wholesome, juvenile, outlandish, overwrought, weirdly formal, stilted, raw, angry, righteous, histrionic, dull, crude, portentous. Not good really! Most of those feelings and descriptions related to style. This, for instance is just pure melodrama: “No! Get out of my HOUSE!” he screamed. “You’ve taken enough from me! You will NEVER have her.” Tears flew from his eyes, spittle from his lips. He turned to me, his eye twitching and blazing with warrior’s blood and rage. “I won’t let them take you, Okore.” (81) And this, repetitive and awkward: "This gentle, powerful man who’d understood matter so profoundly that it allowed him to pass through it. How could they kill him? Why?" (214). Elsewhere Phoenix's assertions just come across as bombastic and unnecessary: "I could have resisted Sarah. I was certainly stronger than she. But in me, no matter how hopeless I feel, is the instinct to survive" (76) and on the same page: "The smell of exhaust filled the car. I hated that smell. It was the smell of self-inflicted death." Perhaps some of this naivety and unevenness is meant to give voice to the discrepancies in Phoenix's age but if so then it was a misjudgement. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> And plot wise it's a bit messy and episodic. The worst section is the middle when Phoenix, Saeed and Mmuo are in New York and in the Library of Congress - it's oddly dull and awkward. There are sentences like this: "My eyes were watering from the stress of what I’d just read about Mmuo. Had they really peeled away all of his already special skin, injected it with some sort of sentient molecular shifting compound and then grafted it back on?" (141) Straight out of the comic book of nonsense methinks. Furthermore, for large sections of the novel its heroes are virtually omnipotent so that plot contrivances can be explained away with some new power or other - a situation I find a complete bore. I'm fine without plot but if it is vaguely irrelevant for your purposes then there must be a more elegant way to negotiate it than this. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> But now take a look at Brit Mandelo's <a href="http://www.tor.com/2015/05/05/book-review-the-book-of-phoenix-by-nnedi-okorafor/">review</a> for Tor because she sees a book I would love to read: an urgent, political novel that avoids becoming a tract. Yet for me the novel often felt unsophisticated and obvious, like being smashed and thrown around by the Hulk. <b>The Book of Phoenix</b> has lots to say about contemporary geopolitics, global capital and the state of the world, the unbridled greed and inhumanity of corporate capitalism, the intersections of racism and sexism with inequality and class tensions, the catastrophic consequences waiting around the corner unless a fight back begins. Can or should we have all these elements in a novel? Of course!! But don't they require estranging metaphors, subtlety, symbolism that seeps down deep into the unconscious and won't let go.... or else, all too easily, they can end up as simplistic and pious - or else, you only succeed in preaching to the converted. And unfortunately the novel's answer is the same one given by numerous superhero narratives since their inception: Phoenix, taking on the role of villain must obliterate everything so that humanity might start again. That it is an African woman doing this, and that Okorafor is being somewhat playful, doesn't take away from the fact that revolution is figured as destruction, that it can only be implemented by powerful individuals and that it is seemingly everyone's responsibility that the world is in such a terrible state. Perhaps for some this will be read as a cry of pain and revolt for large sections of the world that aren't given a voice and whose history is forgotten or rewritten. Perhaps others will accept that Phoenix is the consequence rather than the cause, that her character literalises Armageddon and the hope of renewal. But I can't accept that. To me her actions signify nihilism, moralism and a bourgeois outlook. It's too attached to the ideology of despair and a contempt for any kind of complex solution. God, why can't people get organised in one of these texts, smash the bastards and forge something new? Has all that anti-communist propaganda seeped so far into the American psyche that it can only see and imagine so narrowly? It reminds me of similar concerns and feelings when I finished <b>The Fifth Season</b> though I <a href="http://dancingonglass11.blogspot.co.uk/2016/03/the-fifth-season.html">loved</a> Jemisin's novel. Furthermore the elements of fable and the text's understanding of myths and the stories we believe about ourselves just don't offset its comic book simplicity. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> And yet <b>The Book of Phoenix</b> is such an odd book. And odd is usually a good thing:<b> The X-Files</b> meets <b>X Men</b> or in this case African X Woman. I applaud Okorafor's desire to give a powerful voice to an African woman and I think the better moments are when she writes about the history of slavery and colonialism, and the exploitation of Africa - it's people, it's resources and its culture. And there's certainly energy here, and creativity, and a kind of power - a righteous anger that I could get behind at times. When Phoenix reports on Seven's murder and the destruction of the Backbone it speaks directly to the schizoid, and very dangerous, nature of our times: "Why hadn’t any of those people considered the damage such a huge thing would inflict when it fell? This was fear. And guilt. This was people scratching at their flesh to excise a demon so deep within that it was beyond their grasp." (196). That one passage almost makes it all worthwhile. It manages to be moving too especially when Phoenix visits her mother. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Even if I'm not sure the text earns those moments of grace. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> One of the other things I often liked was how visual it was: "Thick vines and even tree roots quickly crept, stretched and blocked the elevator door. Leaves, branches and stems grew so thick around the guards to my right that they were blocked from view." (26). Many sections like this would work wonderfully well imagined as a comic or graphic novel. I suspect it would suit the declamatory tone too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> There are also some reasonable meta moments: “The beginning and the end always matter.” (176) and the framing devices succeed in complicating the text a little. But do they make <b>The Book of Phoenix </b>a pleasing puzzle - a slidey, slippery thing to resist the reader? Does the mischievousness invocation of Roland Barthes work? The answer for me, as with so much of the text is not really. It's not earned. There are too many points where Phoenix is telling me what to think and feel. It often feels far too literal. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Other readers are obviously seeing something profoundly different in Okorafor's prose and storytelling style. Perhaps I just can't get along with her sensibility? It's a book I didn't enjoy very much but it's unusual and ambitious. I can see why someone would want to reread it and discuss it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <b>Children of Time</b> is I suppose quite a traditional SF text - a novel of wonder and ideas that nods and winks to lots of other bits of SF knocking around in my brain. There was little that annoyed me and much that I enjoyed. Tchaikovsky shows a great deal of skill and ingenuity in holding the two strands of his narrative together. If someone were trying to write SF I suspect they could revisit this novel again and again to learn how to write about complex ideas with clarity and simplicity. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Just a few thoughts then. First there are some GREAT images and scenes in this novel. The human left to live on the spider's world as an exhibit, a zoo animal. Done in just a few paragraphs but long lasting in the desolate impression it leaves. The oddly moving scene when Fabian sacrifices himself to save Portia in the Space Nest (487). Holsten's moving, frantic speech when he has been woken up yet again: "‘What is it about us that we cannot live together in this fucking eggshell ship without tearing at each other? That we have to try and control one another and lie to one another and hurt one another? Who are you that you’re telling me where I have to be and what to do? What are you doing to the poor Gilgamesh? Where did all you freaks come from?'" (439) Just a little bit <b>Planet of the Apes</b> I thought. Also there are some lovely, elegant passages in the spider sections where genetic determinism and evolutionary psychology are questioned quite effectively (see 361 for example). Always a good thing!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">- Another book about the catastrophic future of humans? Is there any other way of imagining at the moment? Can there be, should there be more? Don't know, but I think of this book sitting happily beside <b>Aurora</b> and <b>Clade</b> this year - there's space for all three. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">- The dominance of the females in the spider society is used to draw out the obvious inequality of our own sexual relations. Good, but does the metaphor help us to understand inequality and oppression with greater depth or profundity? Probably not, but if these points are somewhat obvious and didactic they are earnest and well done nonetheless. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">- Just as Holsten bemoans their efforts as too closely tied to the mistakes and evolution of the Old Empire - Homo sapiens and our forbears - then does Tchaikovsky sometimes veer too close to the formulaic as he imagines the evolution of the spiders? In my most cynical moments I couldn't help but think of the stages of <b>Sid Meier's Civilisation</b> game at certain points - rather than their historical counterpoints - as the spiders seemed to go through quite distinct phases. But there are also playful and ironic notes to it all. The text wears its understanding and knowledge lightly and for the most part I really enjoyed these sections. So no massive doubts and the horrible, cynical side of the Beniston brain was silenced fairly easily.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> This novel fits into my "modest but perfectly executed" category. My friend was disappointed with the ending. I think he wanted Tchaikovsky to follow through on the dark heart of his story - of humans unable to do anything other than destroy themselves and others but, even if a little cliched, I loved it. It's the book, along with <b>Ancilary Justice</b>, I'll be recommending to SF newbies for quite a while I suspect. </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Europe at Midnight</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I wrote about Hutchinson's excellent novel <a href="http://dancingonglass11.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/europe-at-midnightor-mundt-in-country.html">at length</a> earlier in the year. It's a bit messy and as with most things I write here, it would have benefitted from a little more time and care but I stand by both the praise and the criticism. In addition I would recommend Helen Marshall's excellent <a href="https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/kitsch-meets-kafka/">review</a> in the LARB. </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The winner</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I'll be in Greece volunteering in a refugee camp when the winner is announced and hopefully full to the brim with more important things. That said if Smythe, Pears or Chambers win I will probably spontaneously combust through anger and, unfortunately, a measure of contempt. In this 30th anniversary the judges had the opportunity to do so much more - to reward all kinds of skill, ambition and exuberance or to do something completely different - perhaps a list of all women. Readers hoping to experience the best of what SF has to offer has been ill-served by this shortlist yet I'm fairly sure anyone will find enough complexity, to enjoy, admire and discuss, in the novels by Okorafor, Tchaikovsky and Hutchinson. For what it's worth I think Hutchinson should win.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> In what I can only think of as a weird kind of revenge I'm rereading Alexis Wright's astonishing <b>The Swan Book.</b> It's making my head fizz, soar and crack. Phwoah!</span></div>
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Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-16827125871261639762016-06-15T11:20:00.001-07:002016-06-29T06:57:09.367-07:00The Clarke shortlist 2016 - Part 1 (Pears, Chambers & Smythe)<div>
So it seems I can split the Clarke shortlist into 4 sections - a) can't be arsed b) mediocre if I'm being kind c) quite good really d) very good.</div>
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Here, briefly, I'll concern myself with a) and b) and I'll assume that you've either read the books or can get a quick précis of the plots online. </div>
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And yes, this is a long way from a proper infinity plus/Strange Horizons roundup. I just can't be arsed when there is a lifetime of great books still to read. </div>
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a) <b>Arcadia</b> - read 80 odd pages (out of 736!!!!!!) That's plenty. Life is too short. Don't care. Feels a bit like Harkaway without the skill, the crazy, complex ideas or the politics. And that's being kind.</div>
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b) <b>Way Down Dark</b> and <b>A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet</b>. Normally I would have read these and thought 'pacy YA' and 'Firefly fun' and bought copies for the library. Then I would have happily encouraged the girls to read them, swallowed down my reservations and forgotten them in a heartbeat. But no, someone somehow thought they were good enough for the Clarke shortlist - I would simply ask.... </div>
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Why on Earth would anyone want to reread them? What riches do they hold? </div>
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Because there are no riches here. </div>
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And bear in mind that I wanted Smythe to win in 2014 - or to share with Priest - and I was more than happy to believe Chambers deserved her place on the <b>Kitschies</b> Golden Tentacle shortlist. </div>
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<b>Way Down Dark</b></div>
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So, action films are really hard to pull off right? Certainly if you're in any way discerning. The first <b>Die Hard</b>, <b>Aliens</b>, <b>The Long Kiss Goodnight</b>, the <b>Bourne</b> trilogy, <b>Pitch Black</b>, the latest <b>Mad Max </b>are my favourites. <b>Way Down Dark</b> is an action novel, turned all the way up to 11. Relentless action and not much pausing for thought. Nonstop action and lots of violence. So much action! So much violence! I like violence - especially in films - but here it gets a little monotonous. And btw I don't want to suggest that any of those films are without flaws - there's a lot of silly movie violence where it seems that characters are impossible to kill, dubious plots and so on. It's just that they are two hours long and make my heart beat a little faster. Smythe's writing certainly serves the need for pace and erm, action. And I appreciate that is a great skill. I do. I was relatively content on my first swift read through. But otherwise move along - there is nothing to see. Or enjoy. It doesn't have the visceral thrill or the beauty or the characterisation of those films - few books do - <u>so without anything in the form, structure or writing to return to it's repeat value is nil.</u></div>
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That said Smythe's novel deserves credit for its cast of uncompromising female characters. I think the 14-year-old me would have enjoyed the righteous asskicking, and exciting, second half. Moreover even if there's nothing great about it - I've read it twice and the second time felt like a complete waste of time - there are nonetheless a couple of interesting things worth talking about. There is something of a taunt I think in its mix of Mad Max and Ellen Ripley and especially in its portrayal of the villains of piece - the Lows and their reversion to a chaotic band of grunting Neanderthals over the course of a generation or three. Most of all that taunt is in thinking about how close to savagery and anarchy we humans are. And what are the fine lines in behaviour and morality that separate out the 'just about OK' individuals from the ones that have gone too far and are irredeemable. The trouble is that most of these debates are framed around fatuous distinctions and dichotomies. Agatha's use of torture goes unquestioned. Will Chan kill or not? Yawn....she'll maim, disfigure, shock and leave people to die but can't quite bring herself to do it in cold blood. It's the old 'some violence is necessary, (especially to make this book exciting) but there are limits don't you know'. Many YA novels are well above this kind of fantastical delusion.</div>
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Moreover the text makes very little sense. When the novel begins there is a status quo of sorts with half of the ship 'free' but the novel doesn't give the reader a sense of how that has been achieved. There is evidence perhaps of a slow decay and of stories and rituals that reinforce the power of certain individuals and groups. But what is the ideology that glues the 'free' half of the ship together? How are the balance of forces maintained? Without any kind of organisation or law or the self interest and organisation built around commerce and expansion? How on earth is there enough to eat for heaven's sake? </div>
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And the trouble is, all of this has implications for the figuring of humanity. Even the 'free' people are a bunch of selfish cowards or potential rapists in <b>Way Down Dark</b>. In a crowd they cheer when a trader is beaten and thrown to his death. Fine, if you want to discuss the ability of humans to revert to barbarity let's have context, social forces and ideology because the inability or refusal to give those details means the text just becomes a reactionary tract that crystallises silly notions about human nature. People are awful. Blah, blah, blah, tell me another one. Unless, miraculously you're Chan and you have a conscience. Despite the fact that we are told she is not special. A lot. </div>
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And let's not fool ourselves, this bunch would have died out decades ago.</div>
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And then there are nuggets like this: "Our stories are something we make for ourselves, not something we’re born into" (Ch 10, loc 3121) Chan assures us, which speaks to the other side of liberal ideology I guess - tokenistic idealism over materialism any day. </div>
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During the last big fight in Chapter 11 Smythe tries to make it all a little more discursive and problematic but just succeeds in making the text even more annoying, offensive and hypocritical: </div>
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"<i>Jonah is watching, waiting for me; and so is Mae. I can’t let her see me kill Rex. I need her to believe that life isn’t just death and revenge. I would let Rex go, but I can’t. The war would end another way if I did. She’s ceaseless, and she’s had too many chances. I have to end it, I know that, but it doesn’t mean I want Mae to see it</i>."</div>
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And: "‘<i>No,’ I say. ‘You’re already done.’ She is in so much pain. She’s devastated, ruined. I do not need to lower myself to murder. Agatha was right, in the end. You can make your own story. And this is my story. You can be better than them."</i></div>
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Arrggghhhhhhhh!!!!! Laughable, bizarre and dishonest. If only it were ironic. Nothing in Smythe's work so far - I've read all but one - had led me to believe he could get it so wrong. Hopefully this is a one-off. </div>
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The cynic in me can only wonder if the Clarkemind wanted a YA novel on the shortlist to broaden its appeal. If that is the case then either <b>The Death House</b> or <b>Railhead</b> could have offered some grace, gravitas and imagination. </div>
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<b>A Long Way to A Small Angry Planet</b></div>
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I gave the reread a half-hearted try but I just can't bring myself to read it again.</div>
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My memory (and a little skim) is that there is far less to criticise than there is in Smythe's novel. And that it was kinda fun at various points. That's it. </div>
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If anyone can convince me I missed out on some profundity then I'll contemplate the full-monty<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> reread.</span></div>
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Next time....I promise to be slightly less grumpy about two of the other novels (and repost my discussion of the one that should win).</div>
Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-24620383518055384262016-06-08T08:52:00.000-07:002016-06-09T00:07:10.572-07:00A bit more Clarke and some recommendations<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Not much depth here I'm afraid. Busy!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">First, I've managed to read a few more of the books on the Clarke submission list. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">First up I reread <b>Ancillary Justice</b> and then read <b>Sword</b> and <b>Mercy</b>. I enjoyed them a lot. They are intelligent, fun and satisfying. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Throughout <b>The Watchmaker of Filigree Street </b>my evil fairy companion sat on my shoulder whispering "stop now, it's NOT worth it". I didn't listen because there are some things Natasha Pulley does really well. She is concise and evocative in her scene setting and there are passages in the first half that are particularly good at making you think about space, time and perception. However, much of that good work is wasted and the last third annoyed me a great deal - not just because the last chapters have to explain so much - please don't explain to me!!!!! - but because the novel wastes it's poetic and metaphorical potential (especially the synesthesia) and can't do anything interesting with all its STUFF - especially terrorism and imperialism. And the things she does with one of her main characters, Grace - especially in making her so inexplicably mean and stupid, is bizarre. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Quite a lot better is Al Robertson's <b>Crashing Heaven</b>. I read this on the basis of Christina Scholz's <a href="http://www.strangehorizons.com/reviews/2015/09/crashing_heaven.shtml">review</a> at <b>Strange Horizons</b> and because Robertson seems such an <a href="http://www.allumination.co.uk/">interesting</a> bloke. Well worth a look if not as good as I was hoping for.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I love Philip Reeve's books. <b>Railhead</b> isn't quite Reeve at his best but since he and Frances Hardinge can write the socks of just about everyone else writing YA it doesn't matter. Very good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Nothing to vaguely challenge any of the fantastic books </span><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">on my </span><a href="http://dancingonglass11.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/easter-reading-and-clarke-shortlist.html" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">list</a><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I still plan to finish reading the shortlisted books but I can't whip up any <a href="http://dancingonglass11.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/shortlists-discussions-clarke-kitschies.html">enthusiasm</a> at the minute. However check out <b>Everything is Nice</b> for more forthright <a href="https://everythingisnice.wordpress.com/2016/05/19/the-clarke-award-shortlists-vs-longlists/">discussions</a> about the future of the prize. Martin is also compiling reviews of the shortlisted books <a href="https://everythingisnice.wordpress.com/2016/06/06/reviewing-the-2016-arthur-c-clarke-award-shortlist/">here</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I also made a decision to try and read a bit more fantasy this year. This is in response to my dissatisfaction with two widely admired novels, Zen Cho's <b>Sorcerer to the Crown</b> and Aliette de Bodard's <b>House of Shattered Wings</b>. I should say that I read both novels with a degree of pleasure and I'm recommending Cho to all the girls at school. [it's a girls school!] However de Bodard's novel in particular felt like a text that wanted to tell me about imperialism and ruling class duplicity rather than a novel that wanted to tell me an interesting story first and foremost. It's BSFA win baffles me. I appreciate that the skill of creating subtle and suggestive metaphors and juxtapositions must be exceedingly difficult and hard won. I appreciate too, obviously, I hope, that both writers are trying to give voice to characters and histories that have been much neglected in fantasy and sf. Unfortunately I'm comparing and contrasting with writers like Nalo Hopkinson and Helen Oyeyemi who are doing it in much more interesting ways (see below) rather than the generic mass market crap that fills the Waterstones fantasy shelves. Anyways, hopefully this will be one project that I can come back to again and again this year in an attempt to analyse how texts as rich and disturbing as <b>Viriconium</b> work. Yeah, sorry, the benchmark IS high.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I began with Richard Morgan's <b>A Land Fit for Heroes</b> trilogy. I've still got <b>The Dark Defiles </b>to read, hopefully in the next week or two, but it is fascinating and often brilliant so far. More soon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And yes, I am slowly making my way through the new collections by Oyeyemi (<b>What is not yours is not yours</b>) and Hopkinson (<b>Falling in Love with Hominids</b>) and finding them hugely rewarding. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"><strong>Great books</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Before I launch into an excited torrent of 'you must read this' I have one slight disappointment to report. I admired Sarah Perry's singular and weird <b>After Me Comes the Flood</b> last year and so my expectations were high for <b>The Essex Serpent.</b> There ARE lots of things to admire about it and much is staying with me: the sense of place, the evocative and poetic writing about nature, certain scenes and images, plus I think you cannot help but discern Perry's wisdom and kindness. But it didn't work in other ways, perhaps most of all because the tone didn't feel right. It felt too light for its darker themes and metaphors to live vividly. I felt the presence of some of the great nineteenth century writers, especially Dickens but couldn't feel their weight. Nor did it achieve either the great storytelling of Sarah Waters or the meditative density of say, Woolf. I feel kind of guilty for feeling this way, so much so that if reviews and criticism emerge that convince me I'm wrong I'll happily reread.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And now......read THESE!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The Vegetarian </b>- Han Kang. All the hype is fully deserved. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Mend the Living</b> - Maylis de Kerangal. Intense and euphoric. I'd go as far as astonishing. Take a look at Mike Harrison's review <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/mar/05/mend-the-living-maylis-de-kerangal-review">here</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The Beauty </b>and, even better, <b>The Arrival of Missives</b> - A</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">liya Whiteley. I'm giving these to EVERYONE!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Central Station</b> - Lavie Tidhar. My thoughts <a href="http://dancingonglass11.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/central-station-lavie-tidhar.html">here</a>. Novel of the Year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>The Emigrants</b> - W G Sebald. Even trying to avoid hyperbole......this is one of the best books I've ever read. I can't remember any text - fiction or non-fiction - that has brought the past to life so vividly, that has made me want to read so slowly so as not to miss a single detail, idea or thought - even knowing that I'll have to reread again and again to even glimpse some of the subtlety and craft at work. 'Sublime' is the only word that fits. Now 2016 will be the year of Sebald as this is the first I've read and I mean to read them all, greedily.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">Elsewhere on the interweb:</span><br />
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana";">Really enjoying Jonathan McCalmont's <a href="https://ruthlessculture.com/">discussions</a> of the short story collection <strong>Sisters of the Revolution.</strong></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana";">Discovered <a href="https://couchtomoon.wordpress.com/">From couch to moon</a> and Gautam Bhatia's <a href="https://anenduringromantic.wordpress.com/">blog</a>.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana";">Practically Marzipan is always <a href="http://www.practicallymarzipan.com/blog">good</a>.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana";">I love following what Ana reads <a href="http://www.thingsmeanalot.com/">here</a>.</span></li>
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Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-569275337275155139.post-16097393873356744842016-05-19T05:29:00.001-07:002016-05-20T01:42:29.070-07:00Central Station - Lavie Tidhar<div>
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<em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When Boris Chong returns to Tel Aviv from Mars, much has changed. But his vast, extended family continues to pull him back home.</span></em><br>
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<em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Boris’s ex-lover Miriam is raising a strangely familiar child who can tap into the datastream of a mind with the touch of a finger. His cousin Isobel is infatuated with a robotnik—a cyborg ex-Israeli soldier who might well be begging for parts. Even his old flame, Carmel—a hunted data-vampire—has followed him back to a planet where she is forbidden to return.</span></em><br>
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<em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Rising above all is Central Station, the interplanetary hub between all things: the constantly shifting Tel Aviv; a powerful virtual arena, and the space colonies where humanity has gone to escape the ravages of poverty and war. Everything is connected by the Others, powerful entities who, through the Conversation—a shifting, flowing stream of consciousness— are just the beginning of irrevocable change.</span></em><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I admired <b>Osama</b> and <b>The Violent Century</b> a great deal and I loved <b>A Man Lies Dreaming</b> but <b>Central Station</b> is a novel </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">to fall in love with. Tidhar, it goes without saying now, is a fantastic writer and his new book is a rare and glorious thing, full of sublime ideas and beautiful, evocative prose:</span></div><div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"Boris Chong, who had once been beautiful, when she was beautiful, in the soft nights of spring long ago as they lay on top of the old building filled with domestic workers for the rich of the North, they had made themselves a nest there, between the solar panels and the wind traps, a little haven made of old discarded sofas and an awning of colourful calico from India with political slogans on it in a language neither of them spoke. They had lain there, and gloried in their naked bodies up on the roof, in spring, when the air was warm and scented with the lilacs and the bushes of jasmine down below, late-blooming jasmine, that released its smell at night, under the stars and the lights of the space port."</i> (P7)</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> The story of <b>Central Station</b> "that vast space port which rises over the twin cityscapes of Arab Jaffa, Jewish Tel Aviv" and a community of characters that live and work within and outside it is full of longing and sensuality, smells and sounds, textures and tastes. It's a novel set in an extraordinary, mind blowing, far future about ordinary people trying to live their lives with dignity.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> As often with sf I'm not entirely confident of my intertextual imaginings as my sf reading is so patchy* but I couldn't help but think of various other writers. Tidhar's novel is weird and wonderful in the manner of Philip K Dick and Cordwainer Smith; it is generous, calm, intense, elegant and dreamy especially in the way Tidhar connects his short stories into an organic whole, <b>Martian Chronicles</b> stylee. I kept thinking of Mike Harrison's <b>Light</b> too - in the ease with which the novel introduces difficult and surreal concepts and ideas but also because, as Robert MacFarlane has written "His [Harrison's] books gleam with the lustre of found beauty and brief happiness: moments of being that exceed the claims of market forces. This aspect of his work is, I think, what led Michael Moorcock memorably to christen him "an anarchist aesthete". There are no candy cane epiphanies or take-home morals – just occasional light-flares from unexpected sources and surges of sensation that might make existence worth enduring." Don't misunderstand this comparison - <strong>Central Station</strong> is very different too, most surely in its hopefulness and the hues of romanticism that colour it. Finally the novel put me, happily, in <strong>2000AD</strong> space - that space that first fully engaged me in sf - all that detail, a tone carefully and knowingly constructed, all those ideas, many of them inspired by 60s and 70s sf, and a pulp sensibility, less present than in the other novels, but still there in the ether. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> In previous novels Tidhar has used metafictional devices to investigate and complicate history and politics. That self reflexive impulse is still present in the new novel - a central character is a bookseller fascinated by genre and storytelling, and make sure you remember the prologue - but it's less central to the structure and has a gentler purpose. Otherwise there is much in the form and structure to appreciate and linger over: the use of those evocative lists and careful juxtapositions, an intriguing narrative voice, plenty of jokes and references to ALL kinds of stuff (<b>Star Trek Voyager</b> and Peter Davison era <b>Doctor Who.</b>....well, maybe I was imagining some of them!), plus a singular pleasure and play in language and style.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> One of my complaints this year, against even the better fantasy and sf texts is that they're so caught up in ruling class intrigue. Sure it can be a useful lens through which to examine power, greed and imperialism but part of me finds it increasingly difficult to connect with those stories any more. One of the delights of <b>Central Station</b> is that it successfully interrogates the legacies of war and imperialism, of poverty and immigration, of belonging and identity but does so with a cast of characters who exist on the margins but are still fundamental to the fabric of life: shop keepers, children, priests, workers, refugees, forgotten soldiers, beggars, lovers, romantics. In large part the novel is a testament to family and community, steadfastness and determination:</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"<em>Oz meant “strength,” in Hebrew. But the real strength, Miriam thought, wasn’t in intimidating helpless people, who had nowhere else to turn. It was in surviving, the way her parents had, the way she had—learning Hebrew, working, making a small, quiet life as past turned to present and present to future, until one day there was only her, still living here, in Central Station."</em> (P19)</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> So yes the lives that Tidhar gives us here may still be precarious and prey to larger forces in society but there is satisfaction to be had in the shapes and stories of everyday life, in the surprise and ardour of loving, in friendship.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <strong>Central Station</strong> is a rich, complex and satisfying work of art. It manages to be spectacularly lyrical (I was going to write 'literary' but stopped myself) and spectacularly sfnal too. I'm not sure it has ploughed down into my unconscious like a Harrison text or as novels by Robson and Fagan have this year but I realise that doesn't matter. It's more of an aesthetic pleasure - the pleasure of language and ideas, of cerebral oohs and aahs and of wonder. It is metaphorically rich in its thinking about the relationship of places and spaces to time, memory and history. It is meditative and kind. It is daring and full of grace.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> It is a novel to fall in love with.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">[Hold on though, isn't there a but? There's always a but....</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well the conversation I've been having with myself, in my gloomy, 'how on earth is humanity going to last another 100 years' and 'how the hell is there ever going to be peace in the Middle East' way is about whether <strong>Central Station</strong> is just too hopeful and unrealistic. On one level it IS fascinating that my pessimism about Palestine/Israel and my rage at the increasing barbarity (and stupidity) of Zionism impacts on my ability to accept sf tropes. Anyway, thankfully I've been able to tell that part of me to shut up and stop being stupid. Perhaps of all regions on this planet the Middle East deserves a little hope. And it certainly deserves this novel. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That winning side of me remembered too that I have a treasured CD/DVD of the West-Eastern Divan orchestra with Daniel Baranboim playing Tchaikovsky's Fifth that I haven't watched for a while. Maybe I'll watch it again tonight again, for the umpteenth time, and let that hope breath a bit longer.]</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">*So, after I wrote this I couldn't resist a bit of detective work. First there's <a href="http://www.tor.com/2016/05/10/five-classic-science-fiction-stories-that-helped-shape-central-station/">this</a> lovely article at Tor about influences, a good interview <a href="https://www.kirkusreviews.com/features/lavie-tidhar-shapes-stories-holocaust-influences-a/">here</a> and a small paragraph on Lavie's blog <a href="https://lavietidhar.wordpress.com/2015/07/02/announcing-central-station/">here</a>. I shall be reading <strong>Miguel Street</strong> and C L Moore asap.</span> </div><div><br></div><div><br></div>
Dancing on Glasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17053503237265583015noreply@blogger.com0