Desolation Row

Years ago I briefly dated a guy we shall call Jay. Jay was a catch, I guess. He had an incredibly successful career and a beautiful Copenhagen apartment, he was handsome in his expensive suits, and his date nights were always carefully planned with foreign films and meals to match. Relatively quickly I realised that Jay had no friends, just colleagues. He had a family but he had no contact with them (nor any desire to speak about them). Jay was lonely and he had no idea how to transcend this loneliness. We went our separate ways relatively quickly - there was no connection and there never would be.

I watched Steve McQueen's Shame yesterday and for the first time in years I thought about Jay. The similarities between Shame's Brandon (played by Michael Fassbender) and Jay are superficial - the walled-up Self and an absolute inability to connect emotionally whilst seeming succeeding in life - yet I was struck by them. I hope Jay is happier now.

Shame has been marketed as a film about sex addiction and carries an 18 certificate (NC17 in the US) with much hype surrounding Michael Fassbender's nudity. I thought it was an intellectually engaging film - and very pointedly unerotic - and I don't buy that it is about sex addiction. The addiction is the symptom, not the cause. This review pokes at some uncomfortable things (spoilers).

Visually it is just stunning as you would expect from a director rooted in visual art: scenes are very deliberately framed, long shots are used to great effect, and the film is drenched in blue-grey hues. McQueen also uses reflective surfaces very effectively hinting at Brandon's fractured Self. I noted a meta-commentary running throughout the film: Brandon rides the New York subway a great deal and the trains have posters framing Fassbender's face: Medical Enhancement, A Work In Progress etc. Every single detail matters in this film.

Every single detail matters in this film, so I wonder about some  things. Brandon dresses in well-made, yet bland clothes and lives in a stark apartment where you would be hard pressed to find anything expressing personality - except for his records which are all on vinyl. We see him placing a needle on the record (Glenn Gould's The Goldberg Variations) - in a film so careful about each frame, that tiny detail nags.

My good friend Anne saw Shame yesterday as well and we had a long conversation over the phone about it. She liked it as much as me - although like is a strange word to use in this context. It is a thought-provoking film, it is a beautiful film, but it is not a film for everyone. I think it will stay with me for a long time.

A Month Away

Count yourself lucky that I have not posted the blog post I spent the other day writing. It turned out to be a 2,000 word essay on defamiliarisation as narrative device in Emma Donoghue's Room and Lionel Shriver's We Need To Talk About Kevin complete with bibliography and footnotes. If I were still handing out assignments, I would totally ask undergraduates to compare and contrast narrative devices in the two novels. But, you are not getting 2,000 words on literature. Why make it easy for undergraduates? I wish had read Kevin a few days earlier than I did, incidentally. It would have added some much needed quality to my 2011 reading list. I have also been kept busy by a quasi-flu and trying to compile a wish list for my birthday. Wish lists are hard because they need to fulfill a certain list of criteria (mostly to do with my family's location) rather than what I'd love to have in my wildest imagination. So, without further ado, here's my real wishlist:

+ A dwelling similar to this one, but in Glasgow. Also, with very different art. + A puppy, preferably a little crossbreed with a dash of Cavalier King Charles Spaniel (not a purebreed because Cavaliers are awfully in-bred and unhealthy). + Moda "Circa 1934" Jelly Roll: .". collection [of] its typewriter key caps, vintage numbers and ornate medallions.. Rich red, worn yellow, antique white and sage green give you the perfect palette to work with." + 15 balls of Rowan Baby Alpaca in mid-grey. Just because, you know, it's a gorgeous yarn. + Andrew Pettegree's The Book in the Renaissance + A chromatic typewriter + A really, really snazzy DSLR camera - I do like Canon's cameras. + A trip on the Orient Express - art deco decadence for the win! + This poster in a lovely understated frame. + A cherry brooch + This t-shirt - although I should read the book (again? - have I read it?) + You can take the girl out of Scandinavia, but she'll always love classic Danish design lamps. + Another trip to New Zealand. I'd love to show D. Wellington - man, I loved Wellington. Yeah, two months should be plenty. Thank you. + And, finally, blocking wires! I cannot believe I still don't have any!

So, which things would you love to receive but also know you'll probably never get for your birthday?

Yes She Said

I bought myself two Christmas presents. First of all, I finally became a member of MetaFilter - still the best community weblog the internet has to offer. I have been lurking on MetaFilter for almost ten years, so it was definitely time to take the plunge and cough up those five bucks. My second gift to myself has also been a long-time coming. For years I have been circling Garthenor Yarns and their organic, sheepy goods. Their yarns are produced from sheep kept on organic lands and the yarn is spun with minimal processing and no dyeing. I finally cracked earlier this week and now my Shetland single ply laceweight in 'light oatmeal' has arrived.

Oh, but it is beautiful. It reminds me of the Faroese laceweights I have been using: the same self-assured simplicity and honesty that says 'this has worked for centuries, so why change anything?'. This yarn is as far away from novelty yarns or instant gratification yarns as you can get - and for my money it is all the better for it. Although I'd love to see Karise knitted up in this sort of rustic yarn, I think I'll end up writing an entirely new pattern for it.

Okay, I have also bought fabric but it is less an indulgence than a response to 'oh dear, I have just thrown out half my wardrobe'. I did try to find tops I liked on the high street, but eventually I just went to Mandors and bought several yards of pretty polycotton in their January sale.

I intend to make several Art Teacher tunics - I'll be tweaking the pattern, though. The original Art Teacher tunic had a zip which I confess never using as the tunic easily slips over my head. I'll also lengthen it a tiny bit, make it slightly more A-line and I'll try very hard not to have ironing mishaps during construction. Scout's honour (I was never a Girl Scout).

Finally, I'm going to read James Joyce's The Dead tonight. Why? The story takes place on January 6.

Joyce is one of those authors with whom I have not really made peace (having said that, I think that is everyone's relationship with Joyce). I have read Dubliners from which The Dead is taken. I have made headway into Ulysses and Portrait but never attempted Finnegans Wake. I could happily drown in a sea of Joyce's words - Listen, a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos - but I never connected with him the way I connected with TS Eliot.

Having said that, if you have not read any James Joyce and you recoil at the very idea, sit down and read The Dead. It is a fairly quick read, you won't need a spreadsheet to help you understand it and - best of all - it is wonderful.

Well Still Pretty Good Year

First task of the year: sort out the wardrobe. I should probably not use the word 'wardrobe' as that word implies system, thoughtfulness, and coherence. Most of my clothes stem from the frantic days of arriving in the UK with a suitcase of clothes and needing workplace-suitable attire. As a consequence, most of my wardrobe consists of cheap clothes bought in a state of panic.

Nowadays I lead the charmed life of a freelancer working within a creative industry with ties to fashion. Interestingly this means two things: 1) I have a great collection of pyjamas because I spend a lot of time working in my jammies, and 2) I have discovered that while I do not care much for fashion I do care a lot about style.

So I went through my wardrobe and threw out everything that did not fit, that needed a degree of mending that was at great odds with the intrinsic value of the item itself, or which had been too fashionable when I bought it and thus no longer stylish (I think of style as something which cannot pinned down to a particular time nor place - rather it transcends time and place).

Verdict: I need tops and trousers somewhat badly. I need basic cardigans. And I am not allowed to knit myself any scarves or shawls because I have a lot (note the phrasing: ..knit myself.. which means I can knit for others or for design purposes). I can sew some of the things myself, but what I really need is a focused shopping spree.

I hate clothes shopping.

My neighbourhood made national news yesterday after the recent hurricane felled a few trees, made several chimney pots collapse, and ripped roof tiles off. The police have closed off one street due to unstable masonry. I was safely ensconced at work but was troubled by the amounts of roof tiles I encountered on the way from work. One of the big trees in our back garden has fallen too. It is still blustery out there, but the worst has passed. In case you are curious, I live very close to where the fourth photo in this series was taken.

Knitting-wise: I'm swatching for a few designs. Reading-wise: I have finished two books so far this year, although the less said about the second book the better (it was not my idea).

Happy Hogmanay

Here's to 2012..

A Year in Books: 2011

2011 was the year when my boyfriend read more than 110 books. I am not sure if that number includes re-reads, but it might tell you a bit about our household. I read 45 books, up from 21 in 2010 and 38 in 2009. That tells me two things: 1) I read more crap this year which means 2) I was more stressed this year. I am nowhere near the 110+ books read by my Other Half - then again, he does not knit! 2011 was also the year I finally signed up for GoodReads which influenced my reading a great deal. As my profile shows, I found adding books somewhat addictive. I began reading more and - crucially - I began reading better books. I began using my local library a lot more and I kept track of my to-read list via GR too. Huzzah for getting organised!

The worst reads: Alan Hollinghurst disappointed me big time with the Man Booker long-listed The Stranger's Child. Hollinghurst is one of the finest writers of his generation, but TSC just did not deliver. It read like a reiteration of everything he has ever written filled with token, tired literary allusions. Emma  Donoghue's 2010 short-listed Room made me angry. The Testament of Jessie Lamb was long-listed for the Man Booker prize this year. The first chapter was spectacular: a dystopian novel with a feminist bent. Oh yes! Unfortunately life is cruel and the rest of the book was a poorly-constructed and badly-written teen novel. I felt like giving up reading after Zadie Smith's On Beauty. And don't get me started on Lev Grossman's The Magicians. I really read far too many bad books this year.

The honourable mentions: Margaret Atwood's In Other Worlds: SF and the Human Imaginationwas uneven but well worth my time. While Atwood writing about other authors is not her at her most interesting, I really enjoyed the section dealing with her childhood and the general overview of genre.  Jasper Fforde redeemed himself with both the delightfully metafictional and whimsical One of Our Thursdays is Missing and the far more sinister Shades of Grey. Jonathan Stroud's The Ring of Solomon was good - Stroud is quietly turning himself into a very reliable source of entertaining YA fantasy novels - and actually the book rekindled my desire to read. Isherwood's Goodbye To Berlin and Lermontov's A Hero of Our Time were both unsurprisingly solid. Finally, Susanna Jones' The Earthquake Birdwas a quirky, psychologically interesting read which reminded me of Murakami mixed with early Iain Banks.

The very good reads: After a year of mostly disappointing books, I re-read a few of my favourite novels.

AS Byatt's Possession: A Romance was one of those re-reads. I love it with quiet intensity as only a lonely girl who grew up surrounded by books could love a book about lonely people surrounded by books who in turn love reading about lonely people surrounded by books. Another re-read was Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre. It floored me.

My best new read of the year was China Miéville's Embassytown. How interesting that in a year when mainstream literary fiction faltered so spectacularly a so-called genre novel took on all the hard questions and pulled it off flawlessly. Embassytown is not only incredibly well-written and tightly-plotted - it is also a challenging, sophisticated read that delves into the philosophy of language and notions of identity. It is absolutely splendid and deserves as much praise as possible. How very silly that some people will not give it a try because it is speculative fiction, gasp.

Moving Forward: I am not such a fool that I will announce how many books I will read next year. I will crash and burn out if I make any such pledges. However, I do hope that I will read far better books next year. This year was a real downer in terms of quality - even the books I thought would be decent reads turned out to be on the dubious side of things (HOLLINGHURST!)

Margaret Atwood's In Other Worlds mentioned the concept of 'slipstream' books which can be 'defined' as "the fiction of strangeness". I looked into what kind of book that may be and the loosely-defined canon include so many of my  favourite books and authors that I will probably use the 'canon' as a source of inspiration (sans John Barth). I have never been able to pinpoint what type of books I enjoy but I might have a new vocabulary. We shall see.

(2009 entry; 2010 entry)