Being a Reader of Books

Firstly, today is a sunny day. It is so strange to see rays of sunlight spill into this room, so I wanted to make a little note of that. Secondly, the new Winter Knitty is up. If I weren't still working on David's sweater, I would cast on for Mr Darcy for him.

Thirdly, I just finished reading AS Byatt's The Children's Book this morning and I have all these thoughts running through my head.

Yesterday I wrote briefly about whether I connect with favourite authors because they have shaped my ways of thinking or I connect with these authors because they mirror the way I think? The egg or the chicken?

When I go on one of my solitary walks, I often get sentences or lines of poetry running through my head. Sometimes I just "hear" fragments, other times I get an entire stanza. The regular visitors include Dante Gabriel Rossetti's Silent Noon, DH Lawrence's Gloire de Dijon, and John Donne's Holy Sonnet XIV. Most often, though, I hear TS Eliot. It runs the gamut from his most famous works like Prufrock and the Waste Land to lesser known pieces from Inventions of the March Hare. I view the world through words and many of these words came from Eliot. I am vaguely amused by this - after all, I am not the first nor will be the last to define myself using others' words.

And so AS Byatt. I first read one of her books one week into my university years. All these years later, Byatt is one of those very few authors whose entire oeuvre I have read. I connect with her books - they are filled with solitary bookish women surrounded by a far too material world. Last night I watch an interview with her and closed my eyes when she said: "All I ever wanted was to live a life of the mind." In a world defined by emotions, feelings and exteriors, I am drawn towards her books of ideas, thoughts and interiors.

The Children's Book is exquisite. It is a messy book insofar as it describes a messy world and also is also slightly messy structurally. A proper review would be far too long - you can find good reviews and synopses elsewhere - but it suffices to say that I really liked it. I re-read the final fifteen pages twice and I suspect I will revisit the novel just as I have revisited several of Byatt's other novels.

But am I drawn towards Byatt because I am a solitary bookish woman (bound by class) who just wants to live a life of the mind? Or have I become a solitary bookish woman because I spent my formative years reading books by AS Byatt (and EM Forster)?

Thoughts of a dry brain in a chilly season.

Something about Authors Unexpressed

Brief thought after having watch an hour-long interview with AS Byatt on BBC4: Have the authors whose books I really enjoy shaped who I am as a person, or am I drawn to these writers because of the way I am as an individual?

I need to ponder this and might return to this topic sooner rather than later. I'd be interested in hearing your reactions and thoughts.

In the meantime, enjoy this little Youtube clip of Brian Cox giving an acting master class on "Hamlet" to a two-year-old toddler. It's really, really adorable.

In Kansas City With My Favourite Tattoo

On Tuesday, northern Norway experienced a strange light show. No, the photo you see on your left is not a Photoshopped image. It is the real deal. But what caused this bizarre phenomenon? Bad Astronomy can tell you (incidentally, if you are not following the Bad Astronomy blog, do so! It is great). All that aside, my first reaction was: "Oh my giddy aunt, northern Norway? Philip Pullman got it right!" This reaction was quickly followed by: "Northern Norway? Wonder if there is a Bad Wolf Bay close by..? Oh no, not Rose again?!" And then I realised that maybe I am a bit of a geek after all..

Speaking of which, we watched Duncan Jones' Moon the other night. I enjoyed it, although it did not move me (but I do not think the film intended to move me and I appreciate that). A man stuck on a lunar mining base with a three-year contract about to run out, a robot to keep him company and an unreliable video link to Earth. Space is not a brilliant, adventurous place. It is lonely, cold and remote and it forces people to address questions about human identity, the frailty of memory, and the relationships between Man and Machine. Maybe this sounds dry, but Moon is a good film. Recommended.

And the other side of my geekiness: literature. This photoblog of literary tattoos has me wishing I wasn't so scared of needles, because, seriously, there are some really amazing tats there. One of my favourite songs of this past decade (and just maybe of all-time) is about a literary tattoo: The Lucksmiths' "Fiction"(youtube link)

Oh, and the new Drops Summer Collection has just been unveiled. Voting decides which ones will be given full translation priority, but I just enjoy looking at the patterns. A few look interesting, but, really I'm not that bowled over. Perhaps it's because it's not even Christmas yet and they are talking about summer designs?!

Sunday Round-Up

Borders has gone into administration here in the UK. Its Glasgow flagship store is covered in huge EVERYTHING MUST GO!!! STOCK LIQUIDATION!!! posters. It makes me very sad. I am an independent retailer sort of consumer, but Borders holds a special place in my heart. For years it was the only place I could find in Glasgow and I bought most of my Christmas presents there back when I lived in Stirling. In later years I have come to appreciate its friendly and knowledgeable staff, the excellent craft books section and the well laid-out fiction section. I hope the asset stripped and the liquidation means that select stores will survive - and by that I hope that the Glasgow store will keep going. It is difficult for me to imagine Buchanan Street - Glasgow's main shopping street - without it. Kirsten S. mailed me the other day to let me know that she has listed my Laminaria shawl as one of her ten favourite shawl projects on Ravelry. Thank you so much, Kirsten! The timing was great as I have been glum these past few days for various personal reasons and it is always lovely to connect with similarly minded people (and I really enjoyed reading why she had selected particular shawls). I'd be interested in reading more posts on people's favourites if anybody has links?

Finally, congratulations to long-time blog friend, Emme, who has just had a baby boy. I love how she tweeted the news before anything else. That's how a social network expert handles big news.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/business/2009/nov/26/borders-goes-into-administration

Work As If You Live in the Early Days of a Better Nation

I do not know how many of you have read Alasdair Gray's excellent dystopian novel, Lanark: a Life in Four Books? It takes place partly in Glasgow and partly in an imaginary Glasgow, known as Unthank. In Unthank the characters are forever chasing sunlight whilst seemingly dying of a symbolic disease known as 'dragonhide' (Yes, well, Lanark isn't your average book). Right now I am feeling like I'm living in Unthank-Glasgow and not Glasgow-Glasgow because sunlight seems just out of reach and like something I vaguely remember from a dream. I have a lot of time for Alasdair Gray. He is one of those novelists I am never sure whether people will like or not. I tend to recommend Poor Things as the gateway to Gray's oeuvre: it reads like a postmodern feminist Frankenstein; it is exuberant and giddy; and it is wildly entertaining.  Unlikely Stories, Mostly is a rare beast: a short story collection which feels like a cohesive book and which is also a compulsive read. The stories ranges from short childhood snippets to the fantastic typographic fantasy of "Sir Thomas' Logopandocy" about Sir Thomas Urquhart (it remains my favourite piece by Gray).  Lanark tends to divide people - my boyfriend still cannot believe that I like a book that nasty and unpleasant, but then again he has not read Gray's 1982, Janine which is Gray's tour-de-force in sheer unpleasantness and utter despair (and I really like that one too).

I once spent a lot of time looking at how Alasdair Gray imagines the Book as an object. 1982, Janine is not only a typographical wonder (at one point the protagonist attempts suicide which is portrayed in visual poetry) but its hardcover is beautifully decorated by Gray himself. I always try to get hold of Gray's books in hardcover whenever I can because underneath the dust jackets, you get elaborate beautiful books. Gray also writes his own blurbs, controls the typesetting and draws his own illustrations. The Book of Prefaces is as close as Gray has come to a postmodern Gesamtkunstwerk. The book is beautiful, of course, but Gray adds an extra layer by writing prefaces to the selected prefaces and writing prefaces to those prefaces. It is all rather dazzling.

And as fate would have it, I have ended up in Glasgow. Alasdair Gray lives just a few streets down from me (I may have said "Good afternoon, sir" once or twice), my local pub features his artwork and my boyfriend has drawn him at art class. Strange how these things work out.

Read more about dear Ally Gray and his artwork or his writing and remember that Poor Things is the best place to start. Meanwhile I shall continue to chase sunlight.

A Strong Brown God (And Soup)

I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river Is a strong brown god—sullen, untamed and intractable, Patient to some degree, at first recognised as a frontier; Useful, untrustworthy, as a conveyor of commerce; Then only a problem confronting the builder of bridges. The problem once solved, the brown god is almost forgotten By the dwellers in cities—ever, however, implacable. Keeping his seasons and rages, destroyer, reminder Of what men choose to forget. Unhonoured, unpropitiated By worshippers of the machine, but waiting, watching and waiting.

- TS Eliot; from "Dry Salvages"; Four Quartets.*

The flood season has begun, in other words. Just south of the Scottish border, a policeman is currently missing as a bridge collapses in the floods. Early this morning I went for a walk along our nearby river, The Kelvin. I have never never seen it this high, although I know one of its bridges was swept away in a flood years back.

On the second photo you can see a bench where I sometimes sit knitting on sunny weekend afternoons. Not much chance of that happening right now! If we get any more rain, I think the pathways around the Kelvin are likely to be closed off. Luckily the river runs in a gorge, so there are no immediate threats to buildings in this area.

As you can imagine it has really been dreich lately so last night I made a warm, delicious soup:

Sweet Potato & Chilli Soup (serves an army of six)

1 red onion, roughly chopped 1 red chilli, de-seeded and roughly chopped 2 large carrots, diced 3 garlic cloves, peeled and roughly chopped 2 big sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into walnut-sized chunks 2 cups of veg stock (or more, see instructions) ½ tin of coconut milk ½ tsp of cayenne pepper 1 tsp of ground cumin salt to taste (amount really depends upon the type of stock you use) 1 tbsp of olive oil optional extras: handful of shredded cheese and dash of paprika

1. Heat the oil and add onion, garlic, chilli, cayenne pepper and cumin. Cook for about 5 min. at medium heat. Add carrots and cook until onion softened. Add sweet potato chunks. Add as much stock as will cover the veg. Put lid and cook until all veg have softened. This will take about 25-30 minutes.

2. Blend the soup - try to aim for a consistency between super-smooth and chunky. Take care you do not splash any of the hot soup on yourself (she says looking at her left hand). Add coconut milk and stir until well-mixed. Serve in bowls with some good rustic bread on the side. I put some shredded (lacto-free) cheese on top and dressed it with a dash of paprika, but I can be a bit poncy at times.

Substitutions etc: I used coconut milk because I'm lactose intolerant. You could easily use double cream, natural yoghurt or regular milk instead. If using milk/cream, you could also add a tin of chopped tomatoes and use basil and marjoram instead for a slightly more Mediterranean taste. Instead of sweet potato you could use butternut squash or even pumpkin. The sky's the limit.

(*Or, as someone said earlier this week: "water is patient".)