mange tout

I'm going home. Back to Australia.

I've been conscious of wanting to leave before the days get too short so it's odd to be asked to leave the day of the equinox. Looking out my front window this morning, I had that feeling of I get when boarding a plane on my way home after a holiday. While I'm away, time seems to stretch out into a new type of life. By the end of a week or two I am in a new routine and home seems to be something belonging to someone else. Then I get on the plane, and walking through the door, finding my way to a seat, buckling in with my book and water bottle within reach, gaing out the window, all these things that are so much a pattern and a part of regular life that they connect me back to everything that's normal and un-holidayish and the time away seems to fold in on itself, to concertina. We've been in London for over a year and our holidays have been going elsewhere. And I'm looking forward to going home. But standing at the window I felt again the way it felt when being here was really new to me. When I noticed the variations in the colours of green leaves on the trees.
 

I notice so much more about things when seeing them for the first time, or the lst time. Colours seem truer when they are strange. Time seems longer in a new place. What was that book where a man, given only a short time to live, stretched that life out as far as he could by sleeping in a different room every night?

Things I've noticed about London:

• people wear parkas, even in summer
• the angle of light is so different. You seem to have a shadow even at midday. It's as though the sun rays brush against your skin instead of bursting through. Greens are yellower. There are birds called magpies but they don't seem to swoop.

Bit of a waste though, to report that I've finally worked out what mange tout is. It sounds so exotic. Turns out it's just snow peas.

Krakow, late May 2008.

Marrakech, May 2008

Avenue Q

I went to see this muppet musical with a couple of friends on the Friday before Christmas (hello John and Nick!) and had a thoroughly good time.

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it when the first puppeteer (dressed in grey to indicate that you’re not meant to pay him any attention) appeared on stage, moving orange-skinned new college graduate Princeton into Avenue Q. But once Princeton’s packing boxes joined him in singing What do you do with a BA in English? I knew that these were fabric people I could identify with. Poor Princeton, looking for a purpose, having studied literature, I do so relate.

It’s a very enjoyable show – you’ll like it most if you remember the Cookie Monster – here converted into Trekkie Monster, with an addiction for porn instead of cookies – and Bert and Ernie – here revealed in all the fullness of their sexual confusion (come on, admit it, you always had suspicions about Bert!) and Gary Coleman. It’s a show with a story, crazy as it might seem, about how we live now. There were times I just about cringed. Sometimes when someone has a crush on you, Kate Monster sings, they’ll make you a mix tape to give you a clue. What woman can’t see herself in that? And then there is the cheery truth recognised in songs like Everyone’s a little bit racist, real pathos in the Bert-character’s insisting that he has a girlfriend, who lives in Canada, and perhaps funniest of all, the Bad Idea Bears (two pastel-coloured teddies who pop onto stage with suggestions about what Princeton should do with the last of his money – spend it on beer – and in one outrageous scene, playfully waving a noose at him and sulking off when the temptation is rejected.)

And silly as it might seem, there’s real character growth from the opening song It sucks to be me to the finale where puppets and humans together realise that all their problems are only for now. I’d recommend it to anyone.  

September seems to have gone missing...

I've been busily working on my new manuscript!

Meanwhile, it's October, so it's time for:

Chestnuts roasting at the greasy spoon,
JD nips that someone pours,
Yuletide carols being sung out of tune,
And folks dressed up like Santa Clause.

It’s all because
A breakup or a family fight
Adds to Christmas stomach ache.
Tiny tots with their greedy eyes bright
Call out for new toys that soon break.

They know that Santa’s on his way,
He’s loaded but he’s still flying in his sleigh,
And every mother’s child is gonna cry,
Demanding toys she can’t afford to buy.

But now I’m offering some words of cheer
To kids from one to 98
Although you feel cold and see flying reindeer
It’s only something you ate.

Edinburgh and books.

I've recently returned from Edinburgh where I went to holiday, and attend the Book Festival and catch up with friends. One of those lovely breaks from reality. I'll have more to say about some of the writers I saw speak, later. Meanwhile, I'm doing my bit for the book trade by reading as many of the Booker Prize longlisted titles as I can find/afford/muster any interest in, so I'll be putting some reviews on my book review pages. Here's a start (though I have to apologise for the jagged line the images make going down the page, I've spent as much of my life as I am willing to spend trying to get them into a straight line)...


Nicola Barker: Darkmans


Brilliant and exhausting and all but impossible to review, all the same I made an attempt here:


http://kimberleystarrreviews.blogspot.com/2007/08/nicola-barker-darkmans.html








Peter Ho Davies: The Welsh Girl

A beautiful though flawed book, which I found very moving. Lengthy review here;

http://kimberleystarrreviews.blogspot.com/2007/08/peter-ho-davies-welsh-girl.html



Ian McEwan: On Chesil Beach

I read this lovely book earlier this year and some of my thoughts are now here, http://kimberleystarrreviews.blogspot.com/2007/08/ian-mcewan-on-chesil-beach.html

Catherine O'Flynn; What Was Lost.

An excellent first novel, reviewed here;
http://kimberleystarrreviews.blogspot.com/2007/08/catherine-oflynn-what-was-lost.html



Mohsin Hamid: The Reluctant Fundamentalist

Not a bad book but far from brilliant. Mini-review here;
http://kimberleystarrreviews.blogspot.com/2007/08/mohsin-hamid-reluctant-fundamentalist.html

I think therefore I... something.

I've been reading Jonathan Letham's Vintage Book of Amnesia after Joyce Carol Oates' recent review, and today came upon a fascinating article by Oliver Sacks ('The Last Hippy') telling the tale of a young man indoctrinated into the Hare Krishnas in the early 70's. The man's massive, ultimately mind-destroying tumour was camouflaged by the group's belief that his symptoms, from failing eyesight to increasing passivity, were manifestations of enlightenment. By the time he was rescued by his parents, various neural pathways allowing the creation of new memories had been completely destroyed. He was no longer able to comprehend even his own blindness, and was bewildered at the suggestion that he try learning braille. From the remaining clues available to it, his mind must have been assembling something that passed for vision. What horrifying things cults are, and how amazing the capacities of the human mind.

It's interesting to read about amnesia because of the writing I'm doing at the moment, and because I had an odd encounter with my own memory while shopping today. Looking for a new perfume, a careless spray of Chloe Narcisse sent me into a timewarp (perhaps the scent of particles is more interesting than their acceleration?). I was glad to emerge back in 2007 (with a bottle of something quite different*) before facing the rest of my day. I would have wasted a lot more time without access to several incontrovertible facts I've learned in years since I used to wear it; that the only skirt length that will ever suit me is 22 inches; that flat shoes aren't as comfortable as they look; that items reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffanys -- however apparently desirable -- will really only suit small, skinny, graceful girls. Writing it like that, it doesn't seem a lot to have learned, not a long list of reasons to be glad my consciousness hasn't been eaten alive by a cult. I wish I knew more about life by now; maybe all I've really learned is that I'll never know much at all.

(I'd intended, here, to make some further connection to the amnesia article, but I've forgotten what it was.)

* speaking of cults, this is how the marketing people describe the fragrance I chose; a wondrous fairy tale, come true through the magical force of believing in your dreams. Sui Dreams is an emotional energy that breeds inner strength, transforming a single fantasy into a million realities. Awaken to Anna's powerful world of possibilities... a world rooted in her remarkable originality, creativity, and of course, her heart. A fragrance as haunting in its complexities as your dreams. Rich and sparkling, sweet and transparent. Keep your dreams with you all day.
But I bought it anyway, because it smells nice.