have I done a desk tidy post before?

I was about to entitle this post 'Tidying the Desk' when I had a bit of a deja vu moment, because of course the desk drawers do get out of hand on a regular basis. It has been on my 'jobs to do' list for some months now, and since the fresh layer of snow prevented us from going out as planned today it actually got done. I tend to like to have a nice sense of achievement from my tidying so decided to record the 'before':

'during':

and 'after' phases of the operation:

The other two drawers were a less dramatic transformation. We (by that I mean Dunk) have a very old, very large (4 foot by 6 foot) former 'executive' leather topped desk that fills one end of the bedroom. I use the drawers on one side and his junk fills the other side (and his junk fills the top surface too), it feels like a reasonable arrangement most of the time. On the up side I did find the spare power wire for the laptops, one died (it started smoking!) and the other one is just about holding together and we have been passing it back and forth for weeks.

So I have achieved something on my day off and now I can do something more enjoyable Oh yes, and M now has green hair. Will add a photo later when they have finished and all the green on her face has washed off a bit:-)

Sirius

Sirius by Olaf Stapledon

I bought this book second hand after reading about it in the back of Cats Cradle and was quite intrigued, but in the end disappointed. I am really only writing about it to keep a record of everything I have read, and I wouldn't dismiss it so completely as to forget I read it.

The premise is so interesting, the idea of an animal with a human consciousness, but the more I read the less convinced I was. So this scientist is trying to create super-sub-human intelligent creature. For a start there is a lot of very objectionable vivisection going on here, merely to satisfy one man's curiosity. Eventually he achieves the desired result of a dog with a human sized brain, who is brought up alongside his own daughter, Plaxy. Why he should have arrested physical development was not adequately explained, because he grows up at the same rate as the human baby, with whom he develops a very close bond. The story is related by the future husband of Plaxy, who seeks out the mysterious girlfriend who has deserted him, and finds a very strange family history and even stranger friendship with the dog Sirius.

The book is supposed to be about the nature of animals and the nature of human beings, and what makes the difference. But in the end I found the whole story to be just mistaken. Why would having a bigger brain cause him to learn speech ... not logical since he has not the capacity to form words. Why would it make him think like a human. It makes all the wrong assumptions about the nature of intelligence. Then why would Trelone, the scientist, treat him like a human being, an individual, like a member of the family, and then send him off to train to be a sheepdog as soon as he was mature. The experiment has the logical outcome that of course the creature is not sure if he is a dog or something more, which means he is fighting a constant battle between his wild, animal nature and his intelligence. In the end Sirius is not a very good dog and not a very good human being. And you have the fairly predictable tragic ending, with ordinary people being afraid of something they do not understand. A story of science gone mad, saying far more about humans than about dogs, and very little about intelligence. The book predates wide knowledge about DNA and so Trelone uses hormones to manipulate the subjects of his experiments, but I think the lesson is the same ... beware of playing god.

Galapagos by Kurt Vonnegut

Galapagos by Kurt Vonnegut

I am thinking of adding another ongoing ad hoc challenge to read the works of Kurt Vonnegut. There are only 14 novels and then 10 collections of stories and essays. No time-scale involved, just because I have so much enjoyed the two recent ones, which seems as good a reason as any.

So I picked Galapagos up from Julie's shelf and it was my New Year reading.

The first thing I noticed was that the voice was the same, and coincidentally this book has a very similar theme to Cat's Cradle, the end of the world as we know it. The story of Galapagos is narrated by the ghost of Leon Trotsky Trout (the son of Kilgore Trout, a recurring Vonnegut character). He is reflecting on a million years of human evolution, that has taken place solely on the fictional Galapagos island of Santa Rosalia, all current homo sapiens being descended from a motley group of castaways who landed there in 1986. I was anticipating the story being about the Galapagos and what became of the castaways, but I guess that he used this location for it's symbolic value, it being the place that gave rise to the ideas about evolution. The story is really about the complex background history of each of the characters and how they all make their way to Guayaquil (the main sea port of Ecuador)and then on to the cruise ship the 'Bahia de Darwin', which was supposed to be making a maiden voyage to explore the Galapagos Islands, and ends up saving the human race.

So our main contenders are Mary Hepburn, who's husband died some months ago but she comes on the cruise anyway; Zenji Hiroguchi, a computer wizz, and his pregnant wife Hisako; Selina McIntosh (and her seeing-eye dog Kazakh) and her father Andrew McIntosh; Captain Adolf von Kleist, who's brother also appears but he does not make it onto the ship; James Wait, a con man who's real name the others never have occasion to discover. However most of this cast of characters are killed off, but it's okay because you are forewarned which ones not to get attached to by the asterisks that mark them out for an early death. But as it turns out the Captain is the only male who survives to travel on the ship (although he has no idea how to navigate it) and most of the future world population is directly descended from him and a group of Kanka-bono (fictitious indigenous population) girls, whose presence in the hotel is a weird series of coincidences (and whose names are given at one point but I cannot find it).

Our only other main 'character' is Mandarax. Mandarax is a small hand held device, created by Zenji Hiroguchi. In it's initial incarnation it is purely a language translation computer, but this later version is something of an encyclopedia, and is the only possession that they take with them to the island. The knowledge it contains becomes less and less useful to the castaways, as their island is entirely devoid of any trappings of civilization, but their life (and the book) is punctuated by it's ability to provide the perfect quotation for any given situation.

"Doubt of whatever kind, can be ended in Action alone." (Thomas Carlysle) This one I particularly liked and it is the idea that spurs Mary on to tackle the problem of their lack of babies. They have been there ten years and know nothing of the collapse of the world economy and the arrival of a virus that has rendered all human females sterile, and thus ensured the end of the human race. So thanks to her ingenuity we don't die out entirely, but we do go in to different direction. Leon (our narrator) continually insists that the human race's main problem is their huge brains and their insistence on thinking too much and making things too complicated, and that thanks to a million years of evolution (living on the island) humans are much happier and more suited to their environment.

So, an interesting, and very thought provoking book. Like Cats Cradle it is totally surreal and the cast of characters are a real oddball collection, but you come to admire their ingenuity and determination. I am looking forward to reading more of his work.

Work of Genius

If you visit over on Dunk's Blog you can see a film of us making our snow polar bear (have a little patience as it takes a minute to load). He worked on this for two days to get the music to match the few moments of film exactly. The first part is taken by the webcam, taking one photo every 20 seconds, and the piece at the end was taken on the digital camera, and then spliced together. Today the bear looks a little the worse for wear and is listing slightly to one side, though still just about upright.

Then yesterday the girls made this wonderful igloo, by the same hollowing out method.

They can just about lie inside it but not quite sit up. Many years ago we made one in the back field that could fit three children in, though it's roof was supported by branches as it was so wide.

I have been out delivering the last two days. We had three days worth of mail in the office and the bosses finally decided it was okay for us to go out by van. So apologies to anyone who has been without their post this week and please bear with us, your intrepid postie will will get round to you in the end. Confess I am dreading the thought of more snow tonight:-(

Polar Bear

We shunned the traditional where snow construction is concerned and decided on a polar bear this year. It is a bit hard to see it well because of course it is camouflaged in the snow:-) but here is M lying underneath it just to prove that it is actually standing on four separate legs, and it has been pretty cold today as it is still standing. Tish wants to do an igloo in the front garden now.

I spent my entire working day today just sorting as we had both Wednesday's and Thursday's post and three people missing, hopefully a bit more will get delivered tomorrow.

And for the new year I thought I would try a new layout, but am not sure about it, not that keen on any of the ones on Blogger but have not the skill (or inclination) to do my own.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year to all in Blogland. We celebrated, as is traditional, with the Ridley Birks family in Manchester. Here is a slightly badly framed photo taken with the camera perched on the bookshelf using the timer so we could all be in it together.

After a few days with Lewis, Jacob and Rachel in Newcastle we return home and find ourselves snowed in. I went to work this morning and was back in bed at 7am after we were told the lorry was not even coming up from Gloucester. This is how the garden looked in the dark, we have nearly a foot of snow. We may go out later and build something.

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf.

I have to tackle this now so that I can return the book to Julie tomorrow, she says she wants to try reading it again, having struggled with it in her 20's, and I agreed it was definitely not a book for a young woman. I can imagine that if I had tried reading it when younger it would have been very difficult to find a point of contact.

It was quite interesting to read on the wikipedia page that it was criticised initially for it's inaccessibility to ordinary readers, because my superficial reaction was exactly that. "Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself" is probably one of the most well known and quoted opening lines, but I got so bogged down in her unfathomable sentences that I was left wondering if she actually remembered to buy the damn things, and whether I cared at all. With many books the disclosure of the story is an essential element of the reading, making re-reading a marginally less satisfying experience. But in Mrs Dalloway nothing of any note happens, so I am hoping that I might follow the writing better second time around.

This was a very hard book to read. What it made me think of most was Olive Kitteridge (by Elizabeth Strout) and the way the story was not so much about Mrs Dalloway but that she was the glue that held it all together. And she was not a very sympathetic character, in fact I don't think I liked anyone very much. There is the stream-of-consciousness element to her writing, but it is all written in third person, so you still feel as if you are looking in from the outside. Woolf is like a bee with ADD, hopping from flower to flower, from character to character, absorbing their essence but flitting on as soon as something new appears. It follows Clarissa (Mrs Dalloway) on her shopping expedition, meeting an old friend, Hugh Whitbread but then the bee is distracted by the mysterious car that causes a crowd to gather and then the aeroplane skywriting and then the bee finds Septimus and Lucrezia sitting in Regents park, and then gets distracted again by Maisie Johnson, just walking past and asking them directions, and finding them both 'queer'. It pauses by each person, allowing us to get a moment inside their head, so by the time you are 40 pages in you are lost, having left Clarissa far behind and wondering just what this book is really about.

I did get to the stage when I began to read the writing in a stream-of-consciousness way, to stop trying to make sense of the sentences but just let them roll over me. I stopped expecting any progress in the story, though Big Ben strikes the hour at regular intervals through the book to mark the passage of time, almost to bring both the reader and the characters back to their senses, and remind them there is a party to go to. This quote below is a single sentence with Clarissa's thoughts and actions blended seamlessly, a good example of the way the book reads (and I just love the expression 'this secret deposit of exquisite moments'). Tish (who dictated it for me) said it reminded her of the way the bible is written.

"It was her life, and, bending her head over the hall table, she bowed beneath the influence, felt blessed and purified, saying to herself, as she took the pad with the telephone message on it, how moments like this are buds in the tree of life, flowers of darkness they are, she thought (as if some lovely rose had blossomed for her eyes only) ; not for a moment did she believe in God; but all the more, she thought, taking up the pad, must one replay the daily life to servant, yes, to dogs and canaries, above all to Richard her husband, who was the foundation of it - of the gay sounds, of the green lights, of the cook even whistling, for Mrs Walker was Irish and whistled all day long - one must pay back from this secret deposit of exquisite moments, she thought, lifting the pad, while Lucy stood by her, trying to explain how

"Mr Dalloway, ma'am" -

Clarissa read on the telephone pad, "Lady Bruton wishes to know if Mr Dalloway will lunch with her today." (p.42-43)

Her other stylistic penchant is 'why use one adjective when six will do'. I think here she is describing love and religion, represented by the person of Miss Kilman (her dislike of whom you can well understand):

"The cruelest things in the world, she thought, seeing them clumsy, hot, domineering, hypocritical, eavesdropping, jealous, infinitely cruel and unscrupulous, dressed in a macintosh coat, on the landing" (p.191)

Miss Kilman has an equally vehement disdain for Mrs Dalloway, and she regards her "with steady and sinister serenity" (p.198)

I find this is just the most marvellous selection and use of words, and this is what marks out Woolf's writing as above and beyond. It is the way that she can use the absurd description above, and yet really get to the root of Mrs Dalloway's feelings, and in other places use one word so deftly and precisely (here talking of Hugh's wife):

"She was one of those obscure mouse-like little women who admire big men. She was almost negligible." (p.112)

It is a book all about the writing. I could not tempt you to read it by describing the story or the characters, or even the sociology, for there is quite a bit of social commentary going on in the background. It is the words, that at first make it so difficult, but are in the end the thing worth reading. Most writers would just tell you the time if that was what the story required, but not Virginia Woolf:

"Shredding and slicing, dividing and subdividing, the clocks of Harley Street nibbled at the June day, counselled submission, upheld authority, and pointed out in chorus the supreme advantages of a sense of proportion, until the mound of time was so far diminished that a commercial clock, suspended above a shop in Oxford Street, announced, genially and fraternally, as if it were a pleasure to Messrs. Rigby and Lowndes to give the information gratis, that it was half-past one." (p.154-5)

Since I may have lost most readers by now I will stop quoting, though I have not even touched on the story of Septimus Warren Smith, a remnant of the Great War, suffering from the effects of his experiences, who's troubled life seems to be there as a sharp contrast and disruption to the comfort and control of Clarissa's. I am looking forward to reading more of Virginia Woolf because I hope they will be as challenging as this one.

It is funny how the mind makes it's own connections, (as an aside, an essential part of understanding the nature of human learning but I will leave the education debate for another time) and I found this tiny quote referring to old Miss Parry (Mrs Dalloway's aunt): "She would die like some bird in a frost gripping her perch." (p.247) and it reminded me so forcefully of a D.H. Lawrence poem that I had to go searching for our copy of The Rattle Bag to look it up. It is entitled Self Pity:

I never saw a wild thing
Sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself.