What I’ve Been Reading – June ‘09
Books I’ve finished reading this month:
- Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, Tom Stoppard. ★★★★½
Read this in anticipation of showing a friend the movie for the first time. That viewing has been delayed by various factors, but I was glad of the excuse anyway. Also, plays always seem easier to read if I have seen them on stage or on film previously. - The Passion, Jeanette Winterson. ★★★★½
Stranger than Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, and sufficiently unlike an ordinary novel to leave me feeling as though I hadn’t just read anything, perhaps just listened to a symphony or walked through an art gallery. Often grotesque, always poetic. - Sit Down and Shut Up, Brad Warner. ★★★★☆
While Warner’s schtick wears a bit thin sometimes, I really enjoyed this re-read (possibly my third or fourth?) and anticipate many repeats in the future. The content beind the schtick never gets old, and is always worth reminding myself of. - Sexing the Cherry, Jeanette Winterson. ★★★½☆
I didn’t write anything about Sexing the Cherry right after I finished reading it, which was a mistake; 1.5 Winterson books later, it has mostly receded into the foggy depths of my mind, obscured by intricate clusters of Winterson’s recurring themes and motifs.
The grotesquerie 1 is more obtrusive and gratuitous than in The Passion, and there is only the most tenuous of narrative threads to hold on to, but the book is strewn with nuggets of insight, beauty and delight. I like much of it, and I love the way it folds in on itself towards the end (which added half a star to my rating, in the end). - Boating for Beginners, Jeanette Winterson. ★★★½☆
This was much lighter going, and although I became weary of humorous and/or pointed anachronism in fiction some time ago I rather liked it. Irreverent and sometimes very funny, while still having Things To Say about life and identity and how weird we human creatures are.
- What a great word. Grotesquerie. [↩]
Jokes of Very Limited Appeal, Part III
From rec.games.roguelike.nethack:
Some fundamentalists continue to cite the Holy Buglist as concrete evidence of the eventual Return of NetHack and the subsequent Rapture of RGRN, while others question the very historicity of the so-called “DevTeam” itself. Most rational people fall somewhere in-between.Personally, I do think NetHack seems too complex to have come into existence without a “DevTeam,” but if it does in fact exist I’m not convinced it bothers to interact with the universe it created. I remain agnostic on the issue.
What I’ve Been Reading – May ‘09
Books I’ve finished reading this month:
- Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer. ★★½☆☆
I now believe that it is not just Terry Pratchett; I seriously doubt that I will thoroughly enjoy anything in this vein in the near future. Somewhat odd, since it is similar to what I most often feel capable of writing; perhaps my subconscious always suspects that I would much rather be writing (post?)modern fantasy strewn with anachronisms than reading it. - A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf. ★★★★☆
What issues I have with this book only arise because of developments in feminism and related areas that have come after it; it would be unfair to blame Woolf in any way for not being decades ahead of her time. Besides, I was instantly consumed by adoration of her natural, insightful, humorous manner, and she likes Jane Austen as much as I do (and for similar reasons). This is a lovely book. - Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, Jeanette Winterson. ★★★★★
If A Room of One’s Own is lovely, Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit is sublime. By turns funny and heartbreaking, and with odd deviations from the standard storytelling mode that only drew me in further, it is probably the best thing I have read so far this year. - The Voyage Out, Virginia Woolf.★★★☆☆
Strangely, this had some of the problems Woolf takes other authors to task for in A Room of One’s Own, and I am not sure how satirical it was supposed to be. Apart from a thoroughly infuriating ending and lots of characters making sweeping generalisations on behalf of the author, I didn’t mind it. - Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen. ★★☆☆☆
This reads like it was practice for Pride and Prejudice, and judging by the end result such practice was quite necessary. I will have to read more Austen to find out if I actually like her, or if it’s just P&P.
Tales of Woodford: Day Four (Tuesday)
On Tuesday morning we were greeted by the most scorching incarnation yet of the Blue Screen of Death. My goodness, it was hot in the tent. I rewarded myself for my clever escape by buying a delicious mushroom burger for breakfast.1
Today’s early-in-the-morning gap-filling artist was Grace Barber, from the Seychelles via Perth. Playing what she described as a combination of reggae and African island rhythms, she apologised for her hayfever-stricken voice (although I didn’t notice anything amiss) and had a fake horn section (a Korg synth). I have no real literacy or even frame of reference when it comes to this kind of music,2 but I liked this.
Brothers The Kin followed, as did their not-inconsiderable following; people were standing in the aisles before the set even started. I have to admit to being a little dubious – a couple of pretty boys with lots of teenage girls clamouring to see them? Chances were good that this would not be my kind of thing at all.
But then they started singing. At first I didn’t even realise they were both singing (the joy of singing in unison with relatives), and their voices were very beautiful. Sometimes the performance was marred a little by the younger brother’s tendency to be a diva, or the overshadowing of a melody line by vocal gymnastics, but their musicianship and showmanship made what would otherwise have been a neutral experience very enjoyable.
Particularly notable was the comparison of audience members to cows (clustered under the one available tree – it was a hot, hot day) and some impressive audience participation.
I find Kevin Mitchell’s decision to perform as Bob Evans a little bizarre. His “solo” performance here, backed up as it was by several other musicians, came across not so much as “Kevin Mitchell performs country music solo”, more as “Kevin Mitchell wants a grown-up band now”. For all his rock-star antics and aviator sunglasses, this was pretty middle-of-the-road stuff.
Few of the new-to-me artists I saw at Woodford had been talked up as much as Doch. Perhaps it was unfortunate that they were the third or fourth group that I’d seen with a trumpet and Eastern European influences; perhaps the blame lies with the sound engineers at The Grande, who once again let muddy, bass-heavy sounds assault my ears, or perhaps I was just getting burnt out by days of Woodford and no longer properly receptive to new music. Everyone else absolutely loved this show, so I am confident in saying that the problem lay with me.
My favourite thing about this set was the pillar of rising gravel dust kicked up by the dancing people and illuminated by the beam of sunlight that came in through a gap in the top of the tent. My least favourite thing was the air-ukelele that the bandleader appeared to be playing with his trumpet.
Arriving (extremely) early for the next heat of the band competition, I was fortunate enough to catch the tail end of another Hey Rosetta! set. This time complete with violinist, they put on as great a show as before: the cellist’s bow was worn ragged and at one point he ran around the stage waving a tambourine, the electric violin added a wonderful dimension to the sound, and my notes indicate that at one point I was moved to write down “hee hee skinny white boy arse dance”.
Afterwards the members of Hey Rosetta! were signing copies of their CDs at the merch tent, and despite my general lack of interest in such things I took advantage of the opportunity to talk to them. There was quite a clump of fangirls centred around the singer, leaving the more interesting end of the band (mmm, bass and cello) vulnerable to my conversational attack. So I chatted a bit to Romesh and Josh (ooo, first name basis), found them to be friendly and interesting and somewhat shellshocked by the transition between Canadian winter and Queensland summer, and promised to try to send them audience members for their Melbourne show.
During this time I also noticed that the guitarist is Very Tall. Goodness gracious!
I don’t have any notes from the band competition heat from that day, but I remember even now how impressed I was. The competition was a perfect illustration of why I value creativity within constraints so highly; give people something to bump up against and all of their energies are concentrated into a smaller space, so that (unless they get the sulks about the constraints and don’t try) the result has a focus and quality that’s often missing otherwise.
After wandering around aimlessly for a bit I claimed a spot on the hill to watch Dougie MacLean. Something of a Scottish folk legend, he had the sort of unassuming air that tends to win me over. Another victim of the extraordinary heat, he apologised for displaying his Scottish legs and suggested that it would be a “short” concert.3 I wasn’t paying a great deal of attention during his set, but nice folk songs and a Scottish accent meant he couldn’t go too far wrong in my book.
Ducking into the Empire tent, I saw the last part of The Grimstones, a charming, dark little fairytale about a family of monsters and freaks. The marionettes reminded me quite strongly of Tim Burton fare like and , and the musical accompaniment did nothing to dispel that impression. I liked that they had two narrators, one speaking and one signing; unfortunately, the nature of the venue meant that it was quite difficult to see what was happening on stage most of the time.
Next came the performance I was actually at the Empire to see: with Miss K. Sadly, this turned out to be a nasty, homophobic piece of cabaret trash instead of the boundary-pushing queer cabaret I had somehow been led to expect. I left very quickly indeed.
As a result, I had some extra time on my hands and didn’t feel the need to collapse into sleep just yet, so I trekked up to the Amphitheatre (my one and only visit for the festival), where Augie March would be playing later. As luck would have it, this meant that I saw The Boat People finishing up, playing the one song of theirs I knew: “Awkward Orchid Orchard”.4 A lovely little song, and a nice little band, the kind of thing that makes me wish Triple J didn’t play so much junk nowadays so that I could keep listening and hearing good stuff.
Ah, Augie March. Since I have paid no attention to them at all, but some of the songs from that album put down particularly strong roots in a tumultuous period in my life. Seeing Augie March live tends to mean a pleasant mass of unfamiliar but listenable sound seeded with wonderful nostalgia bombs.
I lay on the hill and let the bombs fall where they would.
- OM NOM NOM. [↩]
- I have been reflecting recently that all of the music I like is exceedingly white. I usually stand still at concerts, too. [↩]
- Cue groans from the audience [↩]
- That song also happens to have one of my favourite music videos of recent times. [↩]
The Shape of Things to Come
I have an idea.
It’s crazy, but the crazy ideas are usually the good ones.
My plan of action is:
First: Finish the small projects I’ve started and am now dragging my heels about finishing. I need to prove to myself that I’m ready to commit to doing something properly, and using a new thing as an excuse to abandon things that are no longer new is no way to prove anything good.
Second: Pin down the crazy idea, no matter how much it wriggles, and draw an invisible, indelible outline around it (leaving room for wriggling. I try to be kind).
Third: Test the waters and prepare the way.
Fourth: Make something amazing.
I’m not allowed to say more at the moment, because I have to complete steps 1) and 2) first. Crypticism tastes so good sometimes.
