These are my days...

"It's a real horse!": War Horse and suspension of disbelief

2012-03-05T14:08:00.001Z

Suspension of Disbelief:

The point at which you must abandon allscepticism and accept what goes against your knowledge. To believe theunbelievable.

This last weekend Ifinally got to see the National Theatre’s production of “War Horse”. Thisproduction has been running in Londonsince 2007 and has met with acclaim and rapturous reviews. Playing routinely tosell-out audiences, tickets are like gold-dust but fortunately my good chum J(who has been forgiven for persuading me to read Stephanie Meyer) used hertheatre mafia connections and got us some top seats four rows from the frontfor the matinee on Saturday.

At risk of echoingthe rest of the world, “War Horse” is a simply brilliant piece of theatre. Thetale of a young boy’s devotion to his horse, Joey against the backdrop of theFirst World War is based on a children’s book by Michael Morpugo. What couldhave been a trite and overly-sentimental story becomes something truly beautiful,with amazing stage design, a soundtrack that will rumble around your head fordays and an exceptional cast.

But all this hasbeen said before, and far more eloquently than I can manage. What struck meabout “War Horse” was my personal emotional reaction to the piece. My eyeswelled up a few scenes in and didn’t stop for the rest of the show. The intervalfelt like an age and not once did my mind drift off to what I might have fordinner afterwards. I spent the rest of the day sporadically bursting withacclamations and weirdly resenting those in the audience for the eveningperformance. I don’t even like horses. “War Horse” grabbed me by the brain anddidn’t let go. Having had a day to muse on this, I can tell you why this issuch an amazing piece of theatre and why everyone should see it. “War Horse”masters the audience’s suspension of disbelief.

Suspension ofdisbelief is crucial to appreciating theatre but I think that as we grow olderwe are driven to cling to our natural scepticism. We never quite give ourselvesover to the story as completely as when we are children. For a child, the linesbetween reality and fiction blur. Our experiences of watching films or playsare boosted by our innocent wonder. How often have you watched a favouritechildhood film or read a book again, and been disappointed by the fact that itjust isn’t as good as you remember? It’s because we’re wearing our grown-upglasses. That’s not to say that you won’t enjoy the show, but your emotionalinvestment is limited by what your adult knowledge will allow.

The horses in “WarHorse” are the creations of The Handspring Puppet Company, worked by threeperformers per animal. The stage design offers the perfect environment for thesuspension of disbelief needed for “War Horse”. The set is minimalist. Theactors stand in at times for fence posts. A sea journey is conveyed by modelships being carried across the sea. A ripped shred of sketch book stretchedacross the stage is the canvas for a series of drawings that illustrate thescenery of the English countryside or the horrors of warfare. Nothing on stage isportrayed realistically in the world of “War Horse”, which makes it easier tosustain the illusion that the puppets are real animals. This, combined withpowerful and genuine performances from the cast make the world of “War Horse”just irresistible and utterly believable.

This is why “WarHorse” is such a powerful piece of theatre. From the moment the tiny foaldanced onto the stage I was won over. This was a real horse. This was Joey. Notsince I was a child have I recalled giving myself so wholeheartedly over to a storyand it’s a wonderful feeling. After the much deserved, standing ovation, wewere honoured to be given a backstage tour with long term cast member andfriend of J’s, the absolutely charming Danny Dalton. Standing before the staticmodels of the horses, waiting for the evening performance, I was wowed by thetechnical genius that has gone into these creations and again by my ownaffection for it.

Backstage with Joey

This is what is truly outstanding about “War Horse” and about alltheatre when it is done well. For the duration, that world is the real world. Asyou emerge, blinking from the darkness of the auditorium, it will be as if youare waking from a dream. And that dream will stay with you forever.

Judging by the cover: is a book jacket important in a digital world?

2012-03-02T09:24:00.003Z

As I mused in myfirst post on this blog, the digital age of publishing is changing the way the book coverworks. In recent years, especially living in a city like London, even if you weren’t glued to thebestseller lists it was hard not to notice which books were hot. Back in thefirst half of the last decade, you couldn’t move on the underground without acopy of a Dan Brown novel in your face. More recently the distinctive orangeand white design of David Nicholl’s “One Day” was lined up in front of intentfaces on the morning commute. Book covers were free advertising and I don’tmind admitting that on occasions I have been moved to purchase a book I haveseen in the hands of a stranger.

The old adage, “don’tjudge a book by its cover” is valid for most things in life, but for actual books, Iwould argue that one should pay close attention to the cover. It cancommunicate many things: the genre, the target audience or the age group thisis aimed at, the publisher and sometimes the style of the writing is hinted at.Of course the faithful book blurb will give you more but sometimes you don’tget as far as picking up the copy and looking at this. Often it’s the frontcover design that turns you on, or sadly makes you skim over to the next one onthe shelf. Publishers spend small fortunes and days of deliberation on bookcovers. A book cover won’t make a bestseller on it’s own but it sure as hellgives it a shove in the right direction.

But in a world wherewe can hide our reading material on little faceless devices where can the bookcover wield its power? I think you only have to look at the way that eBooks arebeing marketed to see that covers are still very much a game changer.

The iBookstore showsiBooks on screen displayed on a shelf, face out (the publisher and author’sdream!). The covers are there in full Apple-display beauty. They are the firstpoint of contact between the book and the author with their reader.

Amazon Kindle have aless impressive display, as they market Kindle titles in pretty much the sameway as paper books, with a thumbnail image that you can click to enlarge. Kobofollows suit but with a slightly larger file size for the covers. Nonetheless, thefirst contact a consumer has with a title is clicking on its cover.

If anything publishers have to be smarter with their cover designs. No longer can they rely on spot UV varnish and foil blocking to make a book stand out on the shelf. The touchability of a book is taken away in the digital realm and the impact must be entirely visual.

I am a Kindle ownerand one of my chief disappointments in the device as it stands is the lack ofattention paid to covers. It’s not that it is in black and white, it's the fact that my booksare listed as titles when I want to see the cover designs. Frequently when Iskip to the cover page of a book I am reading I am saddened to see that ratherthan producing a kindle friendly black and white version of the cover, thepublisher has added some sad little placeholder with a title in Times NewRoman. This is not what I want. Covers are important to me.

Good covers still stand out. And certainly with the flurry ofself-publishers on Kindle, the bad covers stand out even more. It shows thatthe book is serious, professionally produced (and by this I don’t necessarilyby a publisher), that the writer has taken time to polish their product beforeputting it before us.

So long live thebook cover. May it continue to do good work in its new digital world.

Pigeon English by Stephen Kelman

2012-03-01T08:30:00.000Z

Shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize in 2011, I know I am late to the party with this novel. But sometimes a book grabs you by the collar and holds you close until it’s done with you. “Pigeon English” by Stephen Kelman was one of those books. I read it on a recent business trip to Belgium and almost missed my train stop on my journey out to deepest Flanders because I was so engrossed.

The debut novel from writer Stephen Kelman is the story of eleven year old Harrison Opoku, newly arrived from his home in Ghana to a brave new world in a South London housing estate. Harri is in London with his older sister, Lydia and his mother, leaving his father, grandmother and baby sister Agnes behind in their homeland until the family can afford to be together. Thrown into the confusing and menacing world of the Dell Farm Estate, Harri witnesses the aftermath of a stabbing and the subsequent death of a young man and embarks on his own murder investigation.

Harri is the narrator of his own story and Kelman captures brilliantly, the mixture of wonder and misunderstanding that is a young boy navigating a new world. His concerns are simple; how fast can he run in his charity shop trainers, how he can get closer to the fair Poppy Morgan and whether there will be proper goal posts in heaven. Harri’s innocence is under constant assault from the world around him; from his sister’s sexually aggressive friends and the ever present dark cloud of the Dell Farm Crew, a gang of violent hoodies who are in turn appealing and dangerous for Harri.

Harri is good, sweet, kind and funny. And as well as maintaining Harri’s distinctive and convincing narrative, Kelman also manages to expertly draw his characters. His friend, Jordan, is a young boy bristling with promised violence and anger. Lydia is a girl on he cusp of womanhood, looking for a way to fit in and protect herself and her family. Even the thuggish characters from the Dell Farm Crew appear as confused young men struggling to assert themselves and gain respect from their peers, making some tragic and horrific mistakes on the way.

As well as describing Harri’s own Ghanaian and London slang-peppered speech, the title also refers to the odd addition of a pigeon who visits Harri’s high rise flat. Kelman gives voice to the bird who acts as a kind of guardian angel for Harri and a second narrative voice, giving us at times foreboding musings on the nature of human existence. It’s an interesting idea, and certainly anyone who lives in London will recognise the pigeon as the city’s constant companion but it’s clumsily slotted into the novel and makes for the only weak point.

I read the book, not knowing that it was inspired by the tragedy that befell Damilola Taylor, an eleven year old Nigerian boy who bled to death in a Peckham stairwell in 2000, having been stabbed by two twelve year old boys, but, as a reader you cannot ignore the parallels. The novel is tender, endearing and at times funny, but also horrific, raising social questions about poverty, drugs, violence and the frustrations of a youth trapped by these things. A brilliant, important and haunting book.

Why I love Horror Films

2012-02-22T21:13:00.000Z

When I tell people that I enjoy watching horror films, reading horror books and generally being horrified by stuff they usually look at me through narrowed eyes, as if picturing me at home sharpening my axe, wearing a boiler suit and a ski mask.

The truth is that I don’t harbor homicidal tendencies or latent desires for bloodshed and death. When faced with the real-life horror that I see on the news or sometimes, unfortunately, on the streets of the place I live, I have been known to sob uncontrollably, overwhelmed by sadness. Yes, I can safely assure you that I am not a psychopath but give me a good horror film and I am as happy as Freddy Krueger in a high school full of narcoleptics.

This is why I love horror films:

You can be scared but safe.

A no-brainer to start with. For some people, myself included, being scared is enjoyable when you have the reassurance that you are safe. People have always enjoyed this feeling, which is why the horror genre has been so successful in literature through the centuries. Watching a horror film is like riding a rollercoaster (although oddly, I hate rollercoasters). You are turned upside down, you feel yourself falling into oblivion, you scream and you laugh because you know that you are held in tight by your seat. With a horror film, you know it will end. You know it’s just a film.

Pushing boundaries.

Although some would argue that horror has become less adventurous in recent years, it has always been a genre that has pushed the boundaries in what is acceptable. Art that breaks taboo has always been the most interesting to me. Whether it’s pushing the boundaries of our reality or our taste, horror is the genre that is constantly on the move.

The lure of the dark side.

My first experiences of watching horror were snatched glimpses when my parents thought I was in bed and were enjoying a video. The desire to see something wrong, something bad, something forbidden has stayed with me into my adult years and fuels my desire for more of the scary stuff. The horror genre is the film from the wrong side of the track. It rarely wins awards, recognition or great reviews and that makes me love it even more.

Horror can be funny.

Let’s go back to the rollercoaster again and listen. Is it just screaming we can hear? Nope. There are people laughing as well. There is something about fear that makes us laugh. I’m not sure that the great directors expect you to guffaw at their chilling masterpieces but it’s a very human reaction and part of the enjoyment.

Even the bad films are good.

Horror is the only film genre where a truly bad film can be brilliant. Really bad horror films still have the unique power to engage and delight the viewer through their sheer awfulness. For example, I recently had the pleasure of watching “Zombie Women of Satan”, a British made film from 2009. Made on a budget of £40,000, I will admit my expectations were low. The bonkers story of how Pervo the Clown (yes, Pervo) and his band of chums uncover a zombie research library and basically spend the entire film being chased around by mainly naked and bloodied young ladies is not going to win any awards but it entertained me and made me laugh. I didn’t finish the film feeling that I had wasted an hour and a half of my life, like I have with other films. With horror, bad can be good.

Bad. Yet good.

Utter brilliance.

There are some horror films which are just bloody brilliant. “The Exorcist”, “The Omen”, “Halloween”, “A Nightmare on Elm Street”, “Rosemary’s Baby” and “The Wicker Man” are just amazingly good films and complete classics. And those from more recent years: “Scream” managed to combine humour, a witty awareness of the genre and a truly scary psycho-killler; “The House on Haunted Hill”, a remake that made brilliant use of flickering and fast camera shots to present a view of the supernatural that creeped me out more than I ever expected; “Ring” in the original Japanese version (and yes, the US remake had me jumping at my own shadow on the way home from the bus-stop too) and “Paranormal Activity” with its slow and dreadful build up to the final shocking scene which I replayed in my head for days.

All these films have bumbled around in my brain for years after I first welcomed them into my living room. They are, quite simply, great films.

So next time you are perusing your film choices on a Friday night, consider a little zombie action, a few psychopaths, maybe a handful of vengeful ghosts or a child born of Satan. And remember, it’s only a film.

American Horror Story: Scary just went mental

2012-02-05T12:12:00.000Z

So the final episode of television series “American Horror Story” aired here in Blighty this week. I was left utterly unmoved by the phenomenon that was “Glee” so I did not tune in because of the names Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk but rather because I am fascinated by anything with the word “horror” in the title and this trailer...

American Horror Story FX Trailer

So what was the verdict?

“American Horror Story” is ridiculous. There are so many horror genres in this piece of television that it feels like it has a personality disorder. Blurring the lines between homage and overkill it has so many references that it will leave the average horror fan breathless. Mashing together “The Amityville Horror”, “Rosemary’s Baby”, “The Omen”, and even the more subtle horror that is “We Need to Talk About Kevin”, it feels at times like the creators just couldn’t decide which toy to play with. The storyline is completely bonkers demanding the viewer does more than just suspend their disbelief. In fact you might as well just hurl that thing out the window. You won’t need it in this haunted house.

Saying this, I am utterly hooked and will be tuned in for series two which has already been commissioned. Why? The series was visually enthralling and really beautifully shot. The creepy credits alone were enough to sell me on episode one. Leaving any sense of reality at the front door, the viewer finds a story that is compelling and a cast of characters that you just don’t want to stop watching. Indeed, you don’t have to because when you die in this house, you don’t go anywhere. At one point towards the end I actually struggled to recall if there were any characters left who hadn’t bitten the dust.

Ben struggles to keep count of who is dead so far

“American Horror Story” is about a haunted house. Not haunted by just one ghost but dozens. A crazed doctor, an amoral dentist, a mother grieving for her baby, a wife grieving for her marriage, a teenage psychopath, a deformed child locked in the attic, evil twins, a gay couple and even the tragically famous Black Dahlia. The house even comes with its own shape-changing housekeeper, Moira who can’t decided whether she is a one-eyed old woman or a sex kitten in a french maid’s outfit. Add to this mix the newly acquired spirit of a murdered young mistress and a shiny leather gimp outfit and you have yourself a party.

Yes. That is a gimp suit.

The overriding theme of “American Horror Story” is infidelity and the damaging affect it has on families and homes. Ben, played by a rather hot and often naked Dylan McDermott is a psychotherapist who takes refuge in the arms of a student when his marriage to Vivienne played by Connie Britton hits the rocks. It is the attempt to recover their shaky relationship that drives them to the surprisingly cheap mansion that is the “Murder House” and straight into a story of nightmares. Various other stories are all laced with infidelity and the moral of the story seems to be “don’t cheat, it will lead you to a sticky end.” Wise words.

So by the end we’ve seen murders, demon spawn, ghost-sex including some girl-on-girl kinkiness, fatal accidents, suicides, massacres, revelations and stories of gore and horror. The final dollop of crazy for me was the Christmas celebration in the final episode. Bonkers.

The impeccable Jessica Lange, whom I fell in love with at aged sixteen, when I saw her play Blanche Dubois on the London stage, is stunning as smoky, Southern Belle, neighbour Constance and I am pleased to learn she is back for series two. Series two is also said to move away from our “murder house” which I think will be a welcome move. I am eager to see what is left in the horror pot for Murphy and Falchuk to unwrap for us.

I'm sorry... what?

Roll on the next installment.

Why Jonathan Franzen is wrong about eBooks.

2012-01-31T07:47:00.001Z

Today’s newspapers reported some recent comments made by author Jonathan Franzen about digital books at a literary festival in the US. Now Franzen is generally thought to walk on water by the literary establishment and not without reason. “The Corrections” was an amazing book although I have yet to read his latest book “Freedom”. Having read his most recent comments I felt the urge to blog a response, because quite frankly I think Jonathan Franzen is wrong about eBooks.

"Ebooks are damaging society" from the Daily Telegraph

Says Franzen:

“I think, for serious readers, a sense of permanence has always been part of the experience. Everything else in your life is fluid, but here is this text that doesn’t change”

Already I am on the offensive against the use of the term “serious reader” which quite frankly makes him sound like an elitist snob. Franzen’s own novels of enormous import are available as eBook editions. Does this mean that if I read it on my Kindle that I am somehow a less “serious” reader than someone reading that same book in print?

But then Franzen goes on to paint an apocalyptic vision of a world of digital literature

“I fear it’s going to be very hard to make the world work if there’s no permanence like that. That kind of radical contingency is not compatible with a system of justice or responsible self government.”

All this because of eBooks? Really?

What is this “permanency” that Franzen thinks is missing? Perhaps he is thinking of the first Kindles which infamously had a pre-loaded George Orwell novel remotely deleted due to copyright issues. The classic argument that a paper book is a thing that lasts is an old one, wheeled out by many digital-phobes. But centuries of bigotted book burners have shown that paper is not indestructible. It burns, it rots and it fades away. Anybody who works in a publishing house knows that modern day manuscripts aren’t stored on paper. They are stored digitally.

Franzen seems to suggest that the digital format means that the text is in current flux. He asks whether F.Scott Fitzgerald has ever needed updating. The answer is of course no. And of course “The Great Gatsby” Kindle edition is exactly the same text as the Penguin Classic paper edition. The idea that somehow digital editions will mean that our classics are changed or lost to us, is just ignorant.

I am reminded that a mistake with the typesetting of “Freedom” lead Franzen’s publishers to recall over eight thousand paper copies of the book. What a waste. The eBook was corrected instantly.

Franzen’s ramblings are sentimentally driven and insensible. He sounds like the droves of people bleating about the “smell” of books, the “feel of a book in your hand” and the supposed emotional detachment of reading from a screen rather than a page. It’s the inevitable push against change and the human urge to preserve the status quo.

It’s fine if Franzen doesn’t like eBooks. It’s fine if he prefers printed books. But rather than just admit this he tried to dress up his prejudice in something that sounds like a reasoned argument but is, in essence just his own personal views.

I love printed books too, and the idea of a world without them makes me sad. However, the fact is that the world is changing and eBooks are here to stay. People who read them can be “serious readers”. Ebooks will not cause the breakdown of society or the breakdown of literature and art. There is really no need to be afraid.

Happy reading, whatever format you choose.

"eBooks are damaging society" says author Franzen, from the Daily Telegraph

Don Giovanni and the power of a really good "bad guy"

2012-01-30T13:50:00.000Z

Last weekend I had the absolute privilege of seeingthe London Royal Opera House's latest production of Mozart's Don Giovanni. Now, I am not an opera buff but I do enjoy the music, the theatre andI especially enjoy Don Giovanni.

Don Giovanni is based on thelegendary Don Juan, a fictional seducer of women and all round cad. The operaopens with Don Giovanni's long suffering servant Leporello waiting outside a housewhilst his master attempts to rape the lovely Donna Anna. He fails in thisendeavour but succeeds in murdering her aging father, the Commendatore as herushes to his daughter's aid. Other characters include Zerlina, a peasant girlwho comes perilously close to falling for Giovanni's charms, her new husbandMasetto, and Donna Elvira a noblewoman besotted and betrayed by Giovanni. Thismotley crew make it their mission to expose and bring Giovanni to justic forhis crimes and the opera ends with the ghost of the murdered Commendatoreappearing before a defiant Giovanni to drag him into hell.

I've seen this opera three times now. The last production I saw was by Opera Up Close where the story was updated and Giovanni was that most modern of villains, a London banker. The production at the ROH is more classical but Gerald Finley's Giovanni was no less wicked and no less seductive.

Gerald Finley as Don Giovanni at the ROH

What I love about this opera, and this story is thecharacter of Giovanni himself. He is a sexual predator and a cold-heartedmurderer. In short, he is a total git. But my word how the audience lovehim! Most of the comedy in the opera comes from Giovanni's exploits. Wegiggle as in one song Leporello tells us that he keeps a catalogue ofwomen Giovanni has bedded by force or otherwise, 640 in Italy, 231 in Germany,100 in France, 91 in Turker and in Spain 1003. We smile as he plans aparty so drunken that he expects to bed at least ten women. It's funny when heis stalked around the stage by Elvira who plays the part of the obsessiveex-girlfriend who turns up to scupper his fun, but we secretly hope that hewill find a way to carry out his mischief. In the Royal Opera House productionI saw, a final tableau showing a jubilant Giovanni with a half naked young womanin his arms in hell, extracted impromtu cheers from the audience.

It is often said that those that take revenge areleft empty once that revenge is exacted. The remaining characters discuss theirfuture plans in the last scene of the opera, sounding almost bored anddisappointed that their all-encompassing quest for vengeance against Giovanniis over. It's a horrible anti-climax after the fire and drama ofthe ghostly Commendatore and the cries of Giovanni as he is dragged intothe inferno. Something is missing from that final scene, it's a happy ending sure- but it's boring. For what are they to do now that he is gone? Where isthe spark, where is the excitement? Where is the point?

A really good "bad guy" makes a storyfly. Bad guys give stories the fire, the tension, the thrill that just wouldn'tbe there otherwise. A bad "bad guy" can just leave a story flat andemotionless as my apoplectic review of Twilight showed. If your bad guysucks, then your story sucks.

The wonderful poet Lord Byron encapsulated theanti-hero within life and poetry (one of his epic poems was of course Don Juan, although his was a gentler version of the seducer). Although theopera was written and premiered a year before Byron's birth, Giovanni capturesthe essence of the flawed hero that later came to inhabit the poetry of Byron.He is the arrogant and unapologetic disrupter of the social norm but he is alsoseductively attractive. A really good "bad guy" can reach a cultstatus just not touchable for your standard hero. Some of the other characters that jointhe upper escehelons of evil as truly good "bad guys" are FreddyKrueger (before he became a comedy figure), Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights,Randall Flagg from Stephen King's "The Stand", "AmericanPsycho" Patrick Bateman, Snape from the Harry Potter series, the demon Crowley from Supernatural and Dracula.

That's why this opera fascinates me. It shines alight on that little part of all our psyches that makes us root forthe bad guy. For a world without wickedness is just plain dull. As Eminemsays, it would feel "so empty without me".

The Literary World But With More Laughs "How I Became a Famous Novelist" by Steve Hely

2012-01-21T15:10:00.001Z

I picked up this book having seen a plug at the end of the Kindle edition of the Pulitzer Prize winner "A Visit From the Good Squad" by Jennifer Egan. Described as a " blistering evisceration of culture and and literary fame, a roguish loser sets out to write the bestsellingest bestseller of all time... the horrifying tale of how Pete Tarslaw's "pile of garbage"... became the most talked about, blogged about, read, admired and reviled novel in America. It will change everything you think you know - about literature, appearance, truth, beauty, and those people who still care about books."

I was sold at "bestsellingest".

Steve Hely is a comedy writer and has Letterman's Late Show, 30 Rock and The Office (US version) on his CV already. Thankfully I was not disappointed. This guy is funny and this book is for anyone who has ever stared in disbelief at shelves in a bookstore and wondered how many more times the same cover/plot/characters can be wheeled out.

Hely's narrator and hero or anti-hero is Pete Tarslaw, a lazy, degenerate lay-about who is also smart and self-deprecating. I loved him immediately. His recollection of attending university was that "I could do whatever I wanted, which it turned out was not very much plus drinking".

Pete's world is turned upside down when he received an invitation to the wedding of his ex-girlfriend. Driven by the familiar urge we all have to somehow defeat those who have broken our hearts, Pete decides to become a novelist. Other motivations include a general wish for riches and a writerly charisma powerful enough to seduce some college girls.

Pete does his research in the local bookstore and lays out his rules of writing a bestseller. A highlight of this book for me, and one of the many moments that I cried with laughter was the fictional bestseller list at the end of chapter two. Here are a few samples of the titles on offer in Hely's world of bad books:

The Balthazaar Tablet by Tim Drew

The murder of a cardinal leads a Yale Professor and an underwear model to the Middle East, where they uncover clues to a conspiracy kept hidden by the Shriners.

A Whiff of Gingham and Pecorino by Jennifer Austin-Meyers

On a hilltop villa in Sicily, an American divorcee finds new love with a local cheesemaker involved in a blood feud.

Expense The Burberry by Eve Smoot

A young woman in Manhattan spends her days testing luxury goods and her nights partying and complaining.

Pete writes his novel in a prescription drug-fueled frenzy. The result is "The Tornado Ashes Club", a book that includes a murder, an innocent man accused, a road trip and flashbacks to the Great Depression, the Second World War and post-war Mediterranean and Peru, with a country singer thrown in for good luck.

The rest of the book is a delightful send-up of the publishing industry, book critics and the writer’s Mecca, Hollywood. Publishers are compared to frantic parents, desperately hurling toys at a the reader, a screaming toddler, praying that something stops the whining. Critics are derided as unspeakable beasts: “what monster chooses the job of telling people how bad different books are?” Film makers are different though, thinks Pete - “The literary con game is to write some bullshit and convince people it’s good. But the Hollywood game seemed to be to tell its customers “Here’s some bullshit. You’ll pay for it, and you’ll like it”.

Each chapter is opened by an extract from Pete’s book or one of the other delightful caricatures that inhabit Hely’s fictional literary world. It’s clear that Hely is a great writer to understand how to write so fantastically badly. The latter half of the book loses momentum after the “car crash” that is the ex’s wedding but the ending is brilliant and left me, a devoted book lover, with a glimmer of hope for the literary world.

Having worked in publishing for twelve years, I often find myself sighing in frustration at the current state of the book world. This is a world where Katie Price outsells an entire Booker Prize list with one novel. And she didn’t even write it! Sure, everyone is reeling from the topple into digital but the move towards blind following of celebrity (no matter how irrelevant that celebrity might be) is something that makes me incredibly sad.

This is one of the reasons why I think Steve Hely’s book is timely and important, as well as being a bloody good laugh.

How I Became a Famous Novelist by Steve Hely is available from all good bookstore (although you may have to climb over a mountain of chick-lit to get there) for £7.99 or for the bargain price of £1.99 on Amazon Kindle.

Birdwatching: Not just for geeks

2012-01-07T17:50:00.005Z

When I was young there were a number of things that I imagined I would be in my adult years: a rock star, a reclusive bestselling author, Prime Minister, a vampire, Madonna... pretty much the standard list. What I never expected was that one day I would become a birdwatcher. Yes, I confess it. I am a birdwatcher.

I blame my husband entirely for my new found passion for our winged friends. I am new to the world of birds and more likely to spot than name a species (I have been known to invent my own names in a failed effort to appear expert) but I am hooked.

Birdwatching doesn’t get you a lot of cool points. They sequester themselves away for hours on end in smelly hides with their equipment for the short-lived thrill of a little brown bird who may or may not emerge from the reeds of a river bed. The stereotype tells us that they are socially inept, solitary, obsessive and let’s face it, a bit geeky. When I tell people that I am a birdwatcher they blink at me with a mild disbelief (or amusement, I can never tell). I am not your typical birdwatcher. I really don't like getting muddy and I will put on a face of makeup to go on a country trek. But I think birdwatching is something that everyone should have a go at. I think birdwatching is cool and here’s why:

Nature is bloody brilliant.

I’ve always had an interest in nature but until I started watching birds I never really appreciated the turn of the seasons, the creaking past of another year. Birds are our constant companions and some of them even seem to like us. Other animals tend to shy away from humans but birds are always around us, in our gardens, on our streets and in our cities. They are the gateway to the rest of the natural world for me.

A male Chaffinch in Oxford City Centre, taken by me

Birdsong.

Possibly the most beautiful sound in the world (aside from the popping of a wine cork or your boss telling you to take the rest of the day off) is birdsong. Living in a city, it’s easy to miss it but just stop for a while and listen. I guarantee that sixty seconds of the morning chorus on your way to the bus stop will lighten your day more than any amount of coffee. However, it’s when you’re out in the fields, the woods, the great beyond that this sound reaches its full power. To stand amongst a throng of singing birds makes your heart sing.

A Robin at the WWT Centre in London, taken by me

Bird names.

Chiffchaff. Golden Oriole. Brambling. Corncrake. Temminck’s Stint. Coot. Bluethroat. Even Tolkein would struggle to come up with names as good as these. Brilliant.

A Moorhen at the WWT Centre in London, taken by me

Cuteness.

Most hardcore birders would sneer at my next reason but birds are so bloody cute! I have spent hours in my garden chatting to my resident Robin from my bench. He is adorable. Also, Spring and early Summer, as well as being perhaps the most glorious time of year for wildflife is the prime time for bird-cuteness as the young start to fledge. Who wouldn’t spend a few hours in the outdoors for a glimpse of this little guy...

A baby Blue Tit, stolen from the internet (I'm not that good!)

Quiet and calm.

One of the reasons I fell in love with birdwatching was the sense of complete calm that comes over me when I am settled into a hide, binoculars to my face, just patiently scanning the beautiful vista in front of me. Equally, there is a certain grounding to be found in striding over the countryside understanding that whatever is happening in you life, nature is chugging along and a thousand other creatures are also working for their survival around you.

The thrill of discovery.

One of the reasons people cite an antipathy towards giving birdwatching a try is that they think it will be boring. True, there is a lot of stillness, waiting and anticipating in birding. Nature does not always perform for us. I have been on many an excursion where the lack of action has been quite disappointing. But when you spot something great, something new, something beautiful or even, if you are lucky, something rare, it really is thrilling. For a second you feel totally privileged that this tiny creature has allowed you, a mere human a glimpse into its private life, a look at something wonderful. It’s a great feeling.

Yes, birdwatching is cool. And you don’t need to invest in an expensive piece of kit to indulge. Get your trainers on and head to your local park or woodland. Listen, look and enjoy. If you like it, try out one of the many birdwatching centres around the UK.

We visited the The London Wetland Centre today, one of our favourite spots.

Here you can rent binoculars and wander around one of the most strikingly beautiful man-made wetlands viewing a wide range of species all within the Heathrow flightpath and in view of the tower blocks of Hammersmith. Utterly brilliant.

Or if you don't fancy the great outdoors, simply hang some sunflower hearts or a suet treat in your back garden, or even outside your flat window and I guarantee you will have visitors that you will soon be in love with.

Incidentally, today we saw Lesser Redpolls, a Jack Snipe, Widgeons and a male and female Stone Chat. So there.

Scrooged: The Best Christmas Film Ever...

2011-12-16T21:32:00.002Z

Without a shadow of a doubt my favourite Christmas film of all time is "Scrooged", a 1988 American comedy starring none other than Bill Murray (hmm, there seems to be a theme developing on my film bloggage). A modernisation of the classic Dickens (and only Dickens I have ever been able to stomach) "A Christmas Carol" this is a brilliant, brilliant film, and here is why...

First of all, this Christmas film stars BILL MURRAY. Oh what can I say about Bill that hasn't been said before. He is a comedic genius, a brilliant actor and a discerning one, which,in a world where remakes and other crap are hurled at our cinema screens on a weekly basis, makes me love him even more. In "Scrooged", filmed four years after the success of "Ghostbusters" he plays Frank Cross, a television mogul and our modern-day Ebeneezer Scrooge. Frank is at the top of his profession, he is rich, he is respected and he is a total bastard. From firing his staff on Christmas Eve for daring to question him, to asking a man to staple antlers to a dormouse's head, there is nothing that this man will not do to further himself and his career. And the pinnacle of this career will be the live-action broadcast of Dicken's immortal classic "Scrooge" (damn you Americans, it's "A Christmas Carol"!) on Christmas Eve.

Also, this film includes a zombie. How much more could you ask for in a festive treat? John Forsythe (or Blake Carrington as I remember him) is the first "ghost", Frank's mentor Lew who returns to his office as a corpse straight from the golf course, who fountains out scotch like a sprinkler through his decaying body. The other three ghosts are no less impressive. David Johansen is the Ghost of Christmas Past, a chain-smoking taxi driver with a New York drawl ("Face it, garden slugs got more outta life than you.") Carol Kane is my favourite as the Ghost of Christmas Present, a delicate pixie with a voice that could grate cheese and a penchant for violence ("Sometimes you have to slap them in the face just to get their attention!") And, finally, a hideous Jim-Hensen-in-Hell-style contraption is led in for the ghost that all men fear, the Ghost of Christmas Future.

Oh Frank, let's not fight...

Alfre Woodward as Grace, Frank's long suffering assistant, fills the shoes of Bob Cratchett with her mute son Calvin stepping in as an utterly adorable Tiny Tim (a role often given over to sickeningly punchable little urchins). We also have Eliot Loudermilk played by Police Academy's Bobcat Goldthwait as the poor unfortunate tossed out of the building and his job by Frank on Christmas Eve. He appears throughout the film in varying states of desperation as he drowns his sorrows before appearing for the finale to give that wonderful trademark voice of his a good showing. Finally we have the beautiful Karen Allen, as Frank's long lost love and charitable angel of good deeds, Claire. And my god, if you don't shed a tear when she appears for her final scene you are made of stone.

Niagara Falls, Frankie baby

The lessons of the story remain the same but the details are pure eighties and it always fascinates me how relevant these still are today. The eighties was the era of Wall Street of course and the motto of "greed is good". Of course Frank is not a trader but he is a hard-hearted and stinkingly rich guy who has trod over many people to get where he is; the corner office of a mirrored Manhattan skyscraper. Now we stand two decades away from this film with protests around the world against corporate injustice and "big money" at the expense of the little people and a general sense that the mess that we're in is from decades of selfishness and avarice.

Living in London for the last decade I am also profoundly aware of how many shivering figures I walk past on the street on my way home to my warm house. For a comedy film, the scenes depicting New York's homeless are both touching and thought provoking. There are people who need help and to float past with your eyes averted is to close yourself off from life. For what is the Christmas spirit if we don't carry it with us all through the year?

Do it for Eva!

I can't help also but think about the hold the media has over the holidays and indeed over the rest of our lives. Frank's desire for people to be afraid to miss the Christmas Eve show mirrors all those must-see shows we are now bombarded with. The need to see, to watch overrides the need to experience and live. But what are we missing whilst we are glued to the latest episode of X-Factor? (Clue - it's not on the other channel!) All I can say is that Ghost of Christmas future's face is a television screen.

Murray's portrayal of Frank from a dark miserly soul to enlightened Christmas fan is beautiful to watch. He really appears to relish the chance to play the bad guy. But it is the final scene that gets me right in the chest. Finally seeing the light, Frank interrupts the live show and Murray gets a chance to speak directly to the film audience through the camera lens. His wild-haired, wide-eyed and impassioned monologue on the joys of Christmas, life, love, generosity and being merry is one of the most brilliant things I have seen on film. Riding his comedy high, this is a sermon worthy of the best preachers. Culminating with a whole cast rendition of Al Green and Annie Lennox's "Put a Little Love in Your Heart" this is way more uplifting than Dickens. Over to you Frank...

"It's Christmas Eve. It's the one night when we all act a little nicer. We smile a little easier. We share a little more. For a couple of hours we are the people we always hoped we would be... It can happen every day! It can happen to you! I believe in it now."

Have a Merry Christmas. Everybody.

11.22.63 by Stephen King

2011-12-14T22:18:00.000Z

Last month Stephen King published his fifty fourth novel "11.22.63". First of all, let me say that I am a huge Stephen King fan. I think he is one of the best storytellers to put pen to paper and a keen observer of human nature. However, it was with a whimper of vague relief that I finished this giant tome earlier today.

In "11.22.63" King combines one of the great American stories and one of the great literary premises, the assassination of President Kennedy and the idea of time travel. In an interview King admitted that he first had the idea for this novel in 1971 when he was a school teacher but found the research required too overwhelming to manage at the time. With hindsight he is glad he waited but I can't help feel that this story was allowed to stagnate in his brain for too long as what has come out is a bloated and messy novel, with just a few hints of the greatness I know Stephen King is capable of.

Let's start with the premise. Our hero Jake Epping, a divorced school teacher is convinced by his local diner proprietor, Al to go back in time and stop the Kennedy assassination from happening. They are going to do this through a little hole in time-space-reality at the back of Al's diner marked by what appears to be an invisible concrete step that spits you out into 1958. Hmmm. I wasn't convinced.

Even less convincing was the fact that Al managed to persaude Jake of the importance of his mission at all. They barely seemed more than acquaintances at best and whilst Al was adamant that a world with JFK would be a better one, little was done to show us that Jake held deep seated convictions of his own in this vein or indeed that he thought much of Kennedy at all. In fact Jake admits several times during the book that his historical knowledge is basic, at best so what on earth would cause him to hold so fiercely to the idea that saving Kennedy would be a good thing? Throughout his time-travelling adventures Jake refers frequently to the "butterfly effect" with some wariness. What kind of effect on history is he having just by being in 1958? However, he never seems to contemplate that making an enormous change like saving a US president from assassination would have any effect other than good on the course of history, specifically stopping the Vietnam War from ever happening. I found myself harking back to "The Dead Zone" where the hero has a glimpse of a terrifying future and sets out to change it in the present. Jake had no idea what he was letting himself or the world in for and still launched himself into the task with what seemed to me to be ill-informed gusto. For most of the book I just wasn't sure that what he was doing was right and that was the major problem for me.

So Jake heads back to 1958 and takes the pseudonym George Amberson. What we have from here on out is an all out nostalgia trip. This is the land of King's childhood, which having read "On Writing" a half autobiographical look at his craft, I know is a precious memory to the man. Everything tastes better in the past . Everything is cheap. Everything is pure and innocent. Although it must be said that King's view is not entirely rose-tinted as hefty reminders of racism and prejudice are scattered throughout just to remind the reader how far we have come.

There was a shining beacon of excitement for me when George/ Jake visited post-"IT" Derry and encountered some familiar faces. Call me a geek but I love it when King pulls his worlds together into one SK universe. The frisson created by the undulating violence and horror of Derry is mirrored for an instant when George/ Jake finally arrives in Dallas to carry out his mission (in fact Dallas isn't done any favours at all by King, he clearly hates the place) but then that is lost again as George/ Jake moves to small town Jodie and becomes... a school teacher. Exciting stuff. We are then treated to what, to be honest seemed like endless pages of school and small town stories interspersed with scenes where George/ Jake occasionally stalks would-be assassin Oswald and his family.

The main storyline for the seemingly unedited mid-section is the love story of George/ Jake and school librarian Sadie . A likeable couple, I didn't really want them to fail although I felt that we spent a little too much time with their blossoming romance at the expense of the pace of the story. What really dismayed me about this romance was the physical side. Stephen King has never been great at sex scenes but these were bad. Really bad. Sadie and George/ Jake might be having a great time in bed, but I honestly just wanted it to be over. Apparently King has been nominated for a Bad Sex Award on the back of this book and I can truly say that it is well-deserved. *shudder*

Although I would never profess to be enormously knowledgeable about the details of the Kennedy assassination, King has clearly found some time to do some homework on this. The "real-life" characters of the Oswalds and their acquaintances are really cleverly and brilliantly portrayed, particularly as there is little real interaction between our hero and narrator and those people. Oswald is an immature, unstable wife-beater but the character is not two-dimensional, as his overbearing mother and his family's poverty are shown as examples of the things that went wrong for this troubled man.

In terms of horror there are very few classic King moments, but this is no real disservice to the book. Aside from the inevitable force of violence that is Oswald, the other villain of the piece is the past itself which we are constantly reminded is "obdurate". Turns out the past doesn't want to be changed, which again makes you wonder why George/ Jake is so insistent to bend it to his will.

*SPOILER ALERT*

And the assasination itself? Well, King leaves us in no doubt as to his views on the many conspiracy theories about that day. However, what could have been a really interesting ending is frankly a little rushed and a little overdone. We are treated to a narrative that covers exactly one hour in a 2011 where Kennedy survived and we get a potted alternative history that throws some curve-balls at some well-known names and is generally a bit depressing. But we get no real answer as to whether this happened because of Kennedy's ongoing presence or just because time doesn't like being messed with. The moral of the story seems to be "what will be will be" which I am happy with as a general rule for life, but it kind of made me wonder why I had to read nearly 1000 pages to get to that.

*SPOILER OVER*

This book is not badly written, indeed I think King is incapable of writing something truly bad, but it does lack some structure in places and I will echo many fans' view that King's editors have gone on a really long holiday and don't show any signs of coming back. In the same interview I mentioned earlier, King said that he didn't think that people in their twenties and thirties really "got" what happened on that day in November 1963. King claims it was his generation's 9/11 and, indeed it has been crystalised in history as one of those "everybody knows where they were when..." moments. As a thirty something, I was not even thought of in 1963 so maybe this is why this book hasn't resonated with me as it has with so many other readers. My collection of Stephen King horrors has pride of place on my shelves and had this latest offering been what I had hoped for , a shiny hardback edition of "11.23.63" would have joined my tatty paperback collection. As it stands, I bought this in Kindle format and I won't be buying the paper edition.

Sorry Steve. I still love you, though.

"Sint": Festive horror from Amsterdam

2011-12-07T20:49:00.001Z

As part of my job I spend quite a bit of time in Amsterdam, and one of my favourite times to visit is the very beginning of December. Like many other European countries, the Dutch celebrate Saint Nicholas or Sinterklaas on December 5th. Not to be confused with Father Christmas or Santa, Sint Nicolaas is the original red-clad giver of presents and he is a big deal in the Netherlands.

Sinterklaas arrives around the end of November in Amsterdam by steamboat from his home in Spain. Accompanied by his controversial helpers, the Zwarte Piet (Black Peters), he tours the Netherlands until December 5th leaving presents in the waiting shoes of children. The whole event is comparable with Christmas, with huge marketing campaigns and television shows dedicated to the characters.

Sinterklaas and his questionable friends

So it was with glee that I listened to a colleague tell me last year about a new film from Dutch director, Dick Maas that presented this lovable figure as a bloodthirsty, supernatural creature who unleashes a wave of horror on an unsuspecting Amsterdam.

To say that this film met with shock in the Netherlands is an understatement. People didn’t take kindly to their children’s favourite Dutch folklore figure being portrayed as a hideously disfigured murdering ghost in film posters. Complaints lead to the poster being changed from the more explicit design on the right to what I think is a better and indeed, scarier poster on the left.

New and old posters

I finally managed to procure a copy of the DVD this year. Our opening scene shows us the familiar mitre-topped figure of Sint Nicolaas terrorizing a village in the 15th century. Tired of the exploitation and violence, the villagers set fire to his ship burning the bishop and his gang to death. A quick fast forward to 1968 and we see a hideously deformed Sint risen from the dead as he slaughters an innocent family on the night of December 5th leaving one traumatised young survivor, a young boy called Goert. For when the moon is full on December 5th, Sintaklaas is unleashed and he isn’t bringing presents. And so a festive horror is born.

The nods to horror past, particularly one of my favourites, John Carpenter’s “Halloween” are evident. We follow three teenage girls home from school as they talk about boys and the fact that one of them is not as sexually active as the others. Hmmm, familiar. Goert is now a cop, a figure of authority albeit slightly more manic and hysterical than Dr Loomis.

Unlike classic US horror “Sint” breaks some of the horror rules. Our virginal heroine is not so virginal and, indeed is not our heroine. We in fact have a hero in the shape of her latest squeeze, Frank. Characters are introduced and ruthlessly bumped off, women and children too. Nobody is safe from Sinterklaas.

Cute. And doomed.

The film is also quintessentially Dutch with a teacher jokingly berating the kids for giving each other dildos for presents and references to the fact that the girls are from South Amsterdam and therefore more posh than Frank.

Frank was pleased that Lisa liked her new dildo

There are some great scenes with a gang of zombie-like Zwarte Piets slaughtering a gang of friends, also dressed up as Zwarte Piet. Police reacting to sightings of the figure of Sintaklaas in a city where everyone is dressed in a red mitre hat. And a crazed Sintaklaas racing along the canal house roofs as gravelly voiced and no-nonsense cop, Van Dijk says “That’s the trouble with Sinterklaas. Everybody likes presents but you always end up with a load of crap that you don’t really want.“

Not to be taken too seriously, this is fun and inventively gory horror story which is worth watching with subtitles rather than dubbed for the great delivery by some of the actors.

Yay! Its Sinterklaas!

So, happy Sinterklaas Amsterdam. I noticed it wasn’t a full moon this year so I think we’re alright for another year.

View the Trailer for "Sint"

Vampires with some Zombie on the top: "The Strain" by Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan

2011-11-28T13:05:00.001Z

Never able to resist a Kindle bargain or a vampire story, I picked up this novel for a few pounds. Published in 2009, this is the first in a trilogy of books written by crime writer, Chuck Hogan and directorial genius Guillermo Del Toro. It seems that Del Toro took more of a directorial role in the writing too. In an interview around publication he states that he handed Hogan a 12 page outline and Hogan fleshed out the bones. The resulting sprawling novel is almost a blueprint for a film or televison series, so filmic is it's approach. The top quality book trailers produced to publicise this book suggest to me that Del Toro always envisaged this on the screen.

In the opening chapters we see the arrival of a Boeing 777 at JFK airport, New York. Much like the ship that brought Dracula to the shores of England, there is something on board this vessel. The passengers are all dead with the exception of four survivors. The authorities suspect some kind of virus and the plane is quarantined. The very modern fear of contagion is what drives the initial unease. Then, as if we needed a larger sense of foreboding, following the arrival of this haunted behemoth, there is a solar eclipse. Oh yes, it's vampire apocalypse and it's kicking off in New York.

In contrast to the romanticised hybrid of vampires we have been given in recent times, the vampires here are utterly dehumanised and quite disgusting. Colonised by the virus in the form of visible blood worms, they become mere vessels for a blood hunger. They also don't bite as such, instead the virus creates an extending proboscis that protrudes from the mouth and acts as a feeding mechanism. Their blood is also white, making for some oddly sickening death scenes.

Vampire rules are very important and differ from writer to writer. Thankfully these vampires didn't sparkle (see my rant on Twilight here) but I felt that the writers couldn't quite decide whether their vampires were based in science or myth. This is a virus not a curse, so religious symbols and garlic won't save you. What does destroy them is silver, UV light and of course direct sunlight. However, confusingly there are distinctly "unscientific" ways of detecting a dormant vampire, as their reflections are changed in silver-backed mirrors although why that is never really explained. And oddly they need an "invitation" to cross over bodies of water. Again this is never really explained and indeed, it makes Manhattan an odd choice for a visit for a vampire with designs of world domination.

The choice of New York becomes apparent later with ground zero becoming a prominent setting, cleverly juxtaposing another modern horror with the ancient horror of the blood-sucker. The setting of the American suburbs also works well as a setting with the first half of the book is a series of urban vignettes as various characters face their loved ones transformed.

Dr Ephraim Goodweather from the New York disease control unit, is our flawed hero. Unsurprisingly Eph is brilliant and dedicated to his work but also a recovering alcoholic, divorced and going through a custody battle. His character is clumsily held up to comparison with his ex-wife's new boyfriend, an immature, unambitious and ignorant man who may as well have vampire-bait written across his forehead. Eph spends a lot of time battling with disbelief which gets quite boring and the writing almost clangs at some points with lines like "Eph too had been turned. Not from human to vampire but from healer to slayer." Ugh.

In another, almost laughable nod to Stoker, the role of Van Helsing is taken by Abraham Setrakian, a Romanian Jew haunted by memories of a monster who preyed on the inmates of concentration camps in the Second World War. Aging and with a heart condition, but still inexplicably able to weald a silver sword effectively, I did warm to Setrakian although again the characterisation is clunky, as is the dialogue.

Chief villain is of course the dark figure of the Master vampire and much is made of his size, his strength and his power. So it is bizarre when he finds Eph and his team enough of a threat to pay him a personal visit. The Master's side-kick and enabler is Eldritch Palmer a dying billionaire. To say Palmer was a cartoon cliche is an understatement as I couldn’t help but imagine him as The Simpson’s Mister Burns. More interesting is the chosen vessel, Gabriel Bolivar, a Marilyn Manson-esque goth, rock star. There are some great scenes where he removes his make up to find his face transformed by the virus and when an encounter with some sexy groupies nearly turns into a bloodbath.

Despite the cliched characters, the actions scenes were great but I can't help but feel cheated. Del Toro is widely recognised as a horror genius and what started out as a great premise eventually bubbled down to a series of bad dialogues, cliches and predictable outcomes. The book promised a reinvention of the vampire but actually I felt that the writers just threw a whole heap of zombie onto the genre and the result was really lacking. I would recommend Justin Cronin's "The Passage" if you like your vampires in epic proportions but maybe wait for the movie on this offering from Hogan and Del Toro.

The story continues for another two novels "The Fall" and "The Night Eternal" all published by Harper Collins.

You can view the book trailers here:

The Strain - Jail scene

The Strain - the dog shed

What I learned from Ghostbusters...

2011-11-14T13:53:00.001Z

When there's something strange in your neighbourhood you know who you're gonna call. Sci-fi and comedy genius in the same film? It can only be "Ghostbusters", arguably one of the funniest films ever made.

This is another film that defined my childhood. I can still recite parts of the script word for word and it cemented my deeply held conviction that Bill Murray is a goddamn genius and needs to be worshipped. I love you, Bill!

Here is what I learned from "Ghostbusters"...

You know who to call

Libraries are always haunted.

Never walk alone in a library. You will encounter a ghost. And the further away from the check out desk you are, the more likely you are to see a ghost. Of course with government cutbacks the ghosts will have to ship out and maybe start haunting some branches of Waterstones soon.

Shhhh...

The private sector expects results but you can bum around if you work at a university for quite a long time before they kick you out.
Clearly if you work at a university you can spend years doing spurious research and flirting with young students before your boss gets wise.

Scientists are cool and science can explain everything.

I am total dunce when it comes to science but this film convinced me that it is the highest calling. Scientists are brilliant. There is also something reassuring in the fact that there is an explanation when weird stuff happens. And there's always someone you can call...

Every workplace should have a fireman’s pole.

I would certainly enjoy Mondays more if my journey to accounts downstairs involved sliding down a pole. Staff motivation is very important.

If you hear growling from inside your fridge, don’t open it.

Indeed, if you hear growling from inside anywhere unusual like say a coat cupboard, it’s best to leave it. You really don’t want to know what’s in there.

Just leave it...

"Print is dead."

Almost.

Crazed cult leaders should not be granted planning permission.

They will only build a giant gateway to hell and you’ll have a right mess on your hands in a few years.

Potential disasters should always be compared to cake products.

Baked goods add a level of tension that other food just doesn't manage. Imagine the size of that twinkie.

The magic word is “please”. Always.
This is a rule to live by if there ever was one. But you still can't see the storage facility.

If you don’t know how it works, it’s best not to mess with it.

Don’t press a button if you don’t know what it does. You could unleash an army of ghosts on an unsuspecting city and cause a massive explosion.

Demonic demi-gods have surprisingly short memories.

“Are you the Keymaster?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

…

“Are you the Keymaster?”

“Yes, actually I’m a friend of his. He asked me to meet him here.”

Possession can be a valuable pulling tactic

Nerds who want to get laid by hot girls should consider demon possession. It's clearly a great way to meet ladies and you get to participate in the biggest interdimensional crossrip since the Tunguska blast of 1909.

People who are possessed by demons speak with gravelly, deep voices and say really weird stuff.*
"During the rectification of the Vuldrini, the traveler came as a large and moving Torg! Then, during the third reconciliation of the last of the McKetrick supplicants, they chose a new form for him: that of a giant Slor! Many Shuvs and Zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Slor that day, I can tell you." Louis Tully.

If someone you know starts speaking like this you can probably guarantee that they are hosting some kind of ancient demi-god.

Sheena Easton is a favourite of Sumerian gods.

So, Gozer is a destructive Sumerian god with the power to choose any form. And the form Gozer chooses looks suspiciously like eighties singer, Sheena Easton. The only logical conclusion is that “9 to 5/ Morning Train” was a massive hit in Sumeria.

Sheena

Gozer the Gozarian

If someone tells you to empty your mind, it is physically impossible not to think about something weird and inappropriate.

Try it.

If your girlfriend turns into a dog, don’t despair.

With a bit of work she can still turn back into a sex kitten. Everybody has their off-days.

Sometimes it’s okay to cross the streams.

There’s a long list of stuff you shouldn’t do but sometimes, just sometimes you should break the rules. There is definitely a slim chance you will survive and everyone will love you.

New York is one of the best places on the planet.

“I love this town!”

If someone asks if you’re a god, you say yes.

Oh how I love this film!

*see also The Exorcist

My "Twilight" torture in tweets

2011-11-11T12:30:00.001Z

I once watched a documentary where cranky critic, Brian Sewell was ranting about “The Da Vinci Code” by Dan Brown. I agreed with nearly everything he said until the interviewer asked if he had actually read the book. Brian scoffed “Oh dear god, no!” Uh oh!

So when discussing the Stephanie Meyer Twilight series with one of my oldest friends J last weekend she reminded me that in fact, my pinot grigio fueled assertions that the books are “pants” needed some reading to back them up.

The Twilight series has sold over one hundred million copies, been translated into over thirty languages and is widely recognised as a publishing phenomenon. In its wake a flurry of vampire novels have hit the shelves aimed at the teenage market. The story is simple: teenage girl meets hundred year old vampire residing in the body of a seventeen year old, hot boy. They fall madly in love. Much touching and sighing happens and then her life is threatened by a crazed hunter vampire. He saves her, they live happily ever after - or rather they go to the prom which is the American teen version of “happy ever after” of course.

Now, give me a good vampire and I’m happy. My high school exam coursework was an examination of the evolution of the vampire in fiction using Stoker’s “Dracula” and Rice’s “Interview with the Vampire”. You could say that I am a bit of a fan, so Twilight should be bearable, right?

I had watched the film of the book and it had left me strangely cold. I was bored, but I wasn’t offended. I was therefore, ill-prepared for how the book would make me feel. I think this is best expressed with my Twitter feed from this week. Not wanting to drive my poor husband to distraction I took to the internet to express my feelings on this book. What ensues is a series of 140 character rants interspersed with some sadly, ignored attempts at intervention by my good friend Thriftygal of Body of a Geek Goddess

GoldCaro

So, one of my rules of life is that you cannot have a valid opinion of a book until you have read it. So I have agreed to read Twilight...

GoldCaro

Spent my lunch hour reading the first three chapters of Twilight and feel I have uncovered a new disorder for the modern world #twilightrage

GoldCaro

In the chapter I read last night Bella had a think about Edward, cooked some fish and wrote an essay on Macbeth #Twilightrage

Thriftygal

@GoldCaro put it away! It just gets worse! It’s so badly written!

GoldCaro

@Thriftygal I’ve started so I have to finish.

GoldCaro

Chapter 11. Bella and Edward eat lunch, watch videos in Biology class and discuss her favourite gemstone. WTF? #Twilightrage

Thriftygal

@GoldCaro seriously, save yourself!

GoldCaro

@Thriftygal Gaaargh

Thriftygal

@GoldCaro it will not make you happy. Abandon!

GoldCaro

@Thriftygal I must finish it! It’s my Everest... or something more shit. It’s like my mountain of crap and I must conquer it!

Thriftygal

@GoldCaro at least drink while you’re reading, might dull the pain of the lumpen prose

GoldCaro

@Thriftygal good idea!

GoldCaro

Chapter 13. Edward tells Bella he wants to eat her and she gets drunk on his vampire Old Spice. And they say romance is dead.

Thriftygal

@GoldCaro Give up! It only gets worse!

GoldCaro

@Thriftygal Now he’s admitted to watching her whilst she sleeps! Doesn’t every girl dream of being stalked by a sparkly, hundred year old?

Thriftygal

@GoldCaro It’s my fantasy!

GoldCaro

Chapter 14. Edward lights up the kitchen with his beauty (!) and admits he is a stalker. Bella heats up a lasagne and is dazzled a lot.

GoldCaro

For the love of Dracula WHEN WILL SOMETHING HAPPEN in this book? So far Bella has whined, Edward has chuckled, lots of anxious touching...

GoldCaro

And lest I forget there was that lasagne that Bella heated up... Gargh! #Twilightrage

GoldCaro

Action? Not really. Bella meets the vampire parents in their MTV cribs style pad. They are like, so cool #Twilightrage

GoldCaro

Can’t help but fantasise about the possibility that this is all an elaborate ruse to eat Bella. Thanks #supernatural series 6 #Twilightrage

GoldCaro

Chapter 17 highlight Bella’s dad calls Edward “Edwin”.

GoldCaro

Chapter 18 and something is happening! Scary vampire guy wants to eat Bella - but then everybody does so why are we surprised? #Twlightrage

GoldCaro

Scary vampire James has “light brown hair and regular features both nondescript”. I mean WTF? Give him SOMETHING Stephanie! #Twlightrage

GoldCaro

Just realised that in my fury I have failed to spell Twilight correctly twice this morning. Damn you Meyer!

GoldCaro

Chapt 19. Okay stuff is happening but I am finding it really difficult to care. Throw her to the crazy vampire guy!

GoldCaro

And what kind of mental conversation happened where Bella's mum revealed the last,soul-destroying words she said to her dad??

#twilightrage

GoldCaro

Mummy Bella "So darling, if you ever need to get your father to just shut the hell up you use these magic words..." #twilightrage

GoldCaro

Bella "Thanks mum, that will come in handy if I am ever being pursued by a non-descript, blood-crazed vampire & need to get away in a hurry"

GoldCaro

"He'll know that we'll know that he's listening. He'll never believe I'm actually going where I say I'm going" actual line from #Twilightrage

GoldCaro

Losing the will to live with Chapter 20. This is utter guff. #Twilightrage

GoldCaro

have no idea what chapter we're on now. Bella was lured/ saved and Meyer chickened out of writing an action scene #Twilightrage

GoldCaro

And as Bella and Edward's relationship reaches new levels of passive-aggressive - the end is in sight! #Twilightrage

GoldCaro

After what seemed like another 400 pages of hyperventilation, scowling and the most god-awful dialogue I have ever encountered.. it is over

Thriftygal

@GoldCaro you mean you’re not reading the whole series?

GoldCaro

@Thriftygal Not a chance.

Yes, Twilight is badly written (NOTHING happens for nearly three quarters of the book!) and has some of the most turgid dialogue I have ever encountered. Bella is an unlovable whinger with a penchant for sado-masochism and Edward is a bullying and astonishingly immature (for a hundred year old) vampire with a twisted sense of romance. The rest of the characters are so two dimensional I definitely expected some of them to become token vamp-victions (but as I said, nothing happened). The only source of real tension in the plot was a vampire villain who is not once but twice called average and non-descript by Meyer… fascinating stuff.

If anyone out there is considering reading this book “just to see what all the fuss is about” - DON’T. As Thriftygal pointed out, “it will not make you happy”. I suggest instead that you read this amazing collection of blogs Mark Reads Twilight

Mark Reads Twilight Archive

which is not only one of the funniest things I have ever found online but also, having discovered it around chapter thirteen became the only way of staying sane this week.

Finally, a quick apology to my dear friend J (who has known me long enough to know that it would come to this) for this sarcastic and ranty blog post. I couldn’t help myself. But I know she’s had a good week and it’s her birthday so I hope she will forgive me. J, I came so close to buying you a Twilight birthday card...

“I hate that guy...”: My problem with unloveable narrators

2011-11-05T09:05:00.002Z

This was a recent conversation in our house:

Mr G: How is your book?

Me: Meh...

Mr G: Why’s that?

Me: I don’t know. It’s not badly written but there’s something about the characters. The narrator is such an idiot.

Mr G: Yeah, you never like books where you don’t like the main character.

Me: ...? Maybe.

This was a conversation about “Snowdrops” by A.D Miller, one of the Man Booker nominees for this year. To be honest, I was a little surprised that this book made it onto the shortlist. As I said before, it wasn’t badly written and I think it has suffered in reviews because it was on the shortlist.

Meh...

What really bugged me about “Snowdrops” was the main character and first person narrator, Nick Platt. He was immature, selfish, willfully stupid and, I felt, completely self-deceiving. As a result the entire experience of the book was clouded for me. I resented spending my morning commute, my evenings and my snatched lunch hours with Nick Platt and I finished the book with an uncomfortable simmering resentment.

It lead me to think about my book-nemesis. The book that evoked a twenty minute rant at my husband when I finished it (mainly because he happened to be there rather than because I held him responsible) and that I demanded be taken immediately to the charity shop (it still sits on a bookshelf in our loft as my husband thinks it’s amusing to see my reaction to its ongoing presence in our house). It’s “The Dice Man” by Luke Rhinehart and it was the narrator that was the centre of my disdain. I hate that guy. Basically I think that Rhinehart’s dice experiment is a mid-life crisis dressed up as philosophy - and bad philosophy at that. How can you argue that you are being driven in your decisions by chance or fate when the choices you give to the random dice throw are your own selection? (At this point I stepped away from the computer lest this turn into a twenty minute on-screen rant...)

Rubbish

And yet I have read many books where narrators made questionable moral decisions, were selfish, stupid, cruel and generally a bit rubbish and I have not hurled the book across the room in disgust. I clearly don’t have to see a new best friend in every narrator in order to get on board with or even love the book. Realistically there were other areas where “Snowdrops” could have been improved. The secondary characters were stereotypes and the story was a little predictable.* But for me, it’s all about Nick and isn’t dismissing a piece of writing on such a level just lazy?

Shortly after finishing “Snowdrops” I read the book which won the 2011 Man Booker prize, the sublime, “The Sense of an Ending” by Julian Barnes. A compact one hundred and fifty pages, this is, in my opinion, the best thing Barnes has written to date and a worthy winner of the prize. The narrator in this title is Tony. Tony is self-involved, arrogant, judgmental, inconsiderate and at various points downright cruel. But we are all these things at various points in our lives. What made me warm to Tony was that he was aware of this. In fact the book itself is about the realisation that our own version of our personal history is edited to our own design and that the bare truth is often far from what we remember it to be. Tony has self awareness and if I delve deeper, this is what makes me so angry about the characters of Nick and Luke.

Brilliant

Books are an intense and highly personal experience. Unlike a film which engages your undivided attention for perhaps two hours, a book is part of your existence for many hours, days and even weeks. For that time the book lives with us, it shares our meals, shares our journeys to work, our head-space - we even let it into our bed. And the characters in that book come with it. We can’t help but have emotional reactions and each one will be different.

Who hasn’t had the experience of reading a “classic” or a book with great reviews and wondered what all the fuss was about? And would Dan Brown be sitting on his massive pile of money if there weren’t a good few people in the world who didn’t want to punch that smug git Robert Langdon in the face? One of the reasons we have such a rich world of literature available is that the audience for it is so diverse. So I think I can live with my prejudiced views on Nick Platt and Luke Rhinehart... I really hate those guys.

* In its defence “Snowdrops” had its weaknesses but the sense of place it created was really something. A.D Miller’s Russia is vivid and brilliant.

As a feminist... a little rant on the Daily Mail's Liz Jones

2011-11-04T13:30:00.004Z

Something odd was trending on Twitter yesterday. Justin Bieber fans added to the frenzy, perplexed that their idol was not the "top tweet" by asking "Who is Liz Jones?" Liz Jones, as we grown-ups know, is a writer and the cause of the furore was this piece of "journalism"

Warning - high risk of spluttering and swearing when read

Now the Femail section of the Daily Mail is not something I would usually choose to read. Whenever I catch a glimpse of it over the shoulder of a fellow commuter I am immediately seized by panic. For the newspaper with the biggest female readership in the UK, its messages are terrifying. Your ovarian reserves are running out. You've left motherhood too late. You can't have a career and children. Your husband is about to leave you for a younger model. Your sex life isn't as good as everyone elses. Your favourite brand of hair dye will make your face fall off. Your children are being stalked online by unstoppable fiends. And of course everything, absolutely everything in our wonderful, modern, Western world is slowly pouring cancer into your body. It's enough to make anyone reach for a glass of wine (which will either make you live longer or give you cancer too depending on what day of the week it is).

So, Liz's latest offering was about "sperm stealers". Yep, apparently when a woman hits thirty she becomes so baby-crazed that she will consider any method no matter how deceptive or downright stupid to get herself fertilised.

"A 2001 survey revealed that 42 per cent of women would lie about using contraception in order to get pregnant in spite of their partners’ wishes"

Really? Who the hell did they survey? Nobody asked me! Liz's source is suspiciously light on information.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Liz didn't always want children. Oh no. Dirty, smelly creatures who would have stilted her magnificent career (the Pulitzer is in the post) and ruined her figure. Now brace youself, It took all my will power not to hurl my office chair through my computer screen when I read this...

"As a feminist, I looked down on mumsy types..."

Gaaargh! As a feminist? Really? What sort of half-arsed version of feminism has she signed up to if she feels the need to look down on any other woman let alone women who have dared to reproduce? Bloody hell.

Moving on, Liz gives us an example from her own crazy days as a thirty something as proof of this unspoken urge to reproduce at any cost. Trevor was an unambitious, low earning and seemingly paranoid young man living with his parents. Score! Liz invited him to move in and apparently fed him Marks and Spencer ready meals (which if she ever read the Mail would know is NOT the way to "keep your man happy") and this, she says was reason enough to lay a claim of ownership to Trevor's product. For Trevor didn't want kids. And perhaps he was brighter than Liz gives him credit for, because he insisted on using a condom. But our wily Liz has a plan! Oh yes, she waits until Trevor is asleep and sneaks off to the bathroom with the discarded prophylactic and takes what is her's. He owes her after all those chicken tikka for twos, after all.

Now, aside from the general "EWWWW!" factor of this - clearly Liz needs some lessons in the birds and the bees.

"As it turned out, my attempts to get pregnant by Trevor failed"

No? Really? But it was such a great plan!

For starters sperm survives for a very short time outside the human body. Aside from that the makers of condoms generally want their product to work so tend to add spermicide to make sure the job is done. Basically Liz was onto a losing streak from the start.

It also begs the question - how desperate do you have to be? Having a child is one of the most difficult things we have to face in our lives. It's hard enough not to screw up our own lives without the responsibility of a tiny creature who relies on you for everything. Liz hasn't exactly done a great PR job for Trevor, and whilst we all talk disparagingly about exes, I think it's fair to say that he wasn't what she regarded as a "catch". Why on earth select this man for procreation? If she was really that desperate couldn't she have used some of her journalistic wealth to purchase some good stock from a sperm bank?

Liz then goes onto the crux of her article, which is a stark warning to men. Watch out lads, women are out to get your sperm and they will stop at nothing.

"So let me offer a warning to men wishing to avoid any chance of unwanted fatherhood: if a woman disappears to the loo immediately after sex, I suggest you find out exactly what she is up to...I do believe that any man who moves in with a woman in her late 30s or early 40s should take it as read that she will want to use them to procreate, by fair means or foul, no matter how much she protests otherwise.

If there are any men out there even contemplating getting close to a woman in her late 30s or early 40s, I suggest you tread very carefully. "

As if women didn't have enough to contend with in this crazy world without men thinking this kind of crap. And to have another woman confirm it. In the newspaper?! In a world where young girls are made ill by the need to be as thin as the computer-enhanced models on magazines, where rappers sing about bitches whilst being stroked by a gaggle of scantily clad and dead-eyed dancers, where there are parts of the world where women are less than second class citizens and regularly deal with sexual and physical abuse - there is a great need for Feminism. And Feminism has little or nothing to do with Liz Jones' philosophy.

But we live in a society of free speech and free expression. Perhaps Liz really believes that she needs to warn the men of this world about crazy doxies like herself? Either way, if people keep writing this kind of crap it just gives the rest of us a chance to prove how wrong it really is.

Keep the faith, sisters!

What I learned from "Halloween"...

2011-10-30T18:19:00.000Z

So, Halloween is one of my favourite days of the year. It’s chilly, it’s dark, kids have fun and I have an excuse (as if I need one) to watch horror films. I love horror films. One of my earliest memories is of staring through the crack in the open door to our lounge as my parents watched “A Nightmare on Elm Street”. What I saw was so fascinating, so intriguing I just had to see more. And the fact that my mother had to have a large whisky before bed in order to sleep after that film just compounded the knowledge that this was something brilliant.

So, years on, John Carpenter’s “Halloween” remains a solid favourite of mine and I revisited this film this weekend in honour of the date. This is an amazing film that has already been decanted into the “how to survive a horror movie” rule book in the brilliant “Scream”.

Here is what I learned from “Halloween”...

You cannot be too smart.

Poor Laurie. Her friends are confident, sexy and don’t care about school. They always have boyfriends. Laurie is teased for her sense of responsibility, she worries about leaving her chemistry books behind and thinks that “boys don’t like me because they think I am too smart”. But it’s Laurie who is still standing at the end of the night. You can never be too smart.

People probably aren’t having as good a time as you think they are.

Laurie is stuck with both the kids now. She stares over at the house across the street where her friends are with their boyfriends and sighs “Everybody is having a good time tonight”. Of course, she can’t know that her friends are being horribly massacred by the nightmare figure of Michael Myers, but the lesson remains. We all look around and think, “wow, everyone is having a better time than me” and that ain’t necessarilly so!

Knitting is cool.

You can use the needles as weapons against crazed psychopaths and make a nice scarf.

Listen to children, they tell the truth.

“There’s no boogeyman” says Laurie firmly to little Tommy. Oh yes there is, love. Kids are pure and without all of our awful preconceptions. We should listen to kids. They speak the truth in their simple way, and ignoring them is just plain stupid. Of course there is a Boogeyman and we should all have our knitting needles ready.

You can’t kill the “Boogeyman”.

The seminal rule of all horror movies. The bad guy is never dead. Never let your guard (or your knitting needles) down.

Evil exists in the everyday.

What strikes me most about the end of this film is that the final shots aren’t of tears, terror or a frantic search for Michael. They are of the sofa, the lamp, the everyday things that surround us. Is this showing the aftermath of evil or the fact that evil exists in the everyday things? Haddonfield is the perfect setting for this film. Suburban, quiet and unsuspecting. And the lesson is that evil doesn’t always appear in dark and dangerous places but can rear its head in your home, your town, your bedroom. Be afraid. Very afraid.

Always leave room for a sequel.

To be continued...

A Life Worth Living - Steve Jobs

2011-10-09T18:43:00.000+01:00

“Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes... the ones who see things differently - they’re not fond of rules... You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can’t do is ignore them because they change things... they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.” Steve Jobs

Radio Four wakes me up every weekday morning at six so the first thing I hear is the headline of the day. On October 6th, the headline was that Apple founder Steve Jobs was dead at fifty six. Fifty six is way to young to be checking out but the news shocked and saddened me more than I had expected.

What followed was an outpouring of grief from the public. I visited the Covent Garden Apple Store in London on the 6th to find an understated board with a picture of Jobs placed outside the front. People were gathering, talking and laying flowers.

Not taken with an I-Phone.... dammit

From the news websites, I saw that there were similar happenings around the world as people gathered at their local Apple emporium to hold I-Phone lit vigils and mourn a man that they had never met. Steve Jobs was an inventor, a brilliant salesman, a businessman and a multi millionaire - but what had he done to deserve such reverence?

Some people talk about the cult of Apple, and I can understand that. I am writing this blog on a Macbook Pro and my husband is surgically attached to his I-Phone. But I am not one of the people who queue up to be the first to hand over their cash for the latest version of the I-Pad. That the products and the company have changed the way we live in the West is undeniable but what appealed to me about Steve was that he clearly loved what he did.

Lots of criticism has been leveled against Steve Jobs and Apple as a company. The factories where they produce their shiny gadgets have a massive child-labour problem. Steve Jobs didn’t give enough to charity for some people. These are valid points for discussion, of course. But Steve Jobs never painted himself as a humanitarian. It wasn’t what he wanted to be. Steve Jobs was a tech-guy, a computer man, a nerd. He believed in what he did. And in that, he reached for the sky.

Steve Jobs loved what he did for a living. He always loved it. You have only to watch the many presentations on Youtube to see that this was a man driven by passion and belief that what he was doing was important and brilliant. He said in an interview in the Wall Street Journal in 1993 “Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn’t matter to me... Going to bed at night saying we’ve done something wonderful... that’s what matters to me”.

How many of us can say that the job that drags us from our duvets every morning means that much to us? How many of us can look at what Steve Jobs achieved and the sheer joy he took from it and not feel envious? What we can learn from him is that life is brief and life is precious. Spend it doing what you love and it will be a life worth living.

“We don’t get a chance to do that many things, and every one should be really excellent. Because this is our life. Life is brief and then you die, you know? And we’ve all chosen to do this with our lives. So it better be damn good. It better be worth it.” Steve Jobs

What I learned from "Labyrinth"...

2011-09-22T20:51:00.000+01:00

So, this week I turned thirty three. My sister J and her girlfriend won the contest for best card with this photoshopped offering. Fantastic.

Me and the Goblin King

I watched Labyrinth for the first time at the cinema in 1986. I was eight. I promptly commandeered a billowy white shirt, a waistcoat and ran around my back garden writing on walls in pink lipstick. This went on for some years. I was smitten. Laybrinth is one of those movies that has stuck with me into my adult years. I still get goosebumps when I hear the first bars of the music as the film starts. The ballroom scene remains one of the most oddly romantic things I have ever seen. I’ve shared knowing looks with colleagues and friends over the years as we share our mutual appreciation. For my sisters and I, it’s a seminal part of our childhoods.

It's further than you think

If you haven’t seen this film (shame), this isn’t a review and will contain spoilers. Labyrinth is the story of a young teenage girl (a fourteen year old Jennifer Connelly in her film debut) wrapped up in a world of fantasy and childish possessions who unwittingly gives her baby brother to Jareth, the Goblin King (David Bowie). To get Toby back she has to solve Jareth’s Labyrinth and find the way to his castle. What ensues is pure fantasy and joy, made perfect by the the creations of genius puppeteer, Jim Henson.

Things aren't always what they seem in this place

So I have been thinking about this film a lot this week, and wondering what it is that makes it so special. Sure the effects were okay, the puppets were cute, Jennifer Connelly was beautiful and then there is David Bowie’s trousers. Essays have been written online about the symbolism, the hidden meaning, the coming-of-age story behind the film (and the trousers) and I won’t repeat them. What I want to explore is why this film means so much to me. Self indulgent, maybe. But it’s my birthday.

This is what I learned from Labyrinth:

Life isn’t always fair.

Sarah’s journey sees her morph from petulant teenager to capable woman. In the first scene as she runs home in the rainstorm she cries “It’s not fair” and she says it often enough for Jareth to later chide her: “You say that so often. I wonder what your basis for comparison is”. When Hoggle makes the same complaint when she steals his jewels to elicit his help, she realises that indeed, life isn’t fair “and that’s just the way it is”.

Don’t say it if you don’t mean it

“I wish the goblins would come and take you away” says Sarah as she closes the door on her crying brother. It is a matter of minutes before she regrets this and learns her first lesson. “I didn’t mean it” she pleads with Jareth but it is too late. It is when Sarah finally realises the weight and importance of the words from her book that she defeats Jareth with that elusive line, “You have no power over me”. Sarah has realised the danger of speaking without thinking first and more importantly the power of her own words.

We all have to accept our responsibilities

The start of the film sees Sarah locked in her own indulgent fantasies and losing track of time. She is late getting home where she is supposed to be looking after her baby brother, Toby. Her railing against the “wicked stepmother” manifests in the story she tells to poor, grizzling Toby: “this girl was practically a slave”.

When Toby is taken, Sarah realises that it is her responsibility and her’s alone to get him back. The Labyrinth is daunting but she realises that she must press on. Her final acceptance of her role as protector of Toby comes when she takes the final leap in the Escher style room at the end.

Things aren’t always what they seem.

The Labyrinth looks impenetrable and impossible. It isn’t, there are hidden doors. Ludo looks like a vicious monster. He isn’t, he is a sweet and loyal friend. Jareth’s monstrous machines like the Cleaner and the guard at the castle, look powerful and unstoppable. In fact they are run by cowardly goblins. When Sarah escaped from Jareth’s ballroom fantasy, she falls into what looks like her room. It isn’t, it’s a trap to entice her to stay where it is comfortable and familiar.

The lesson? What looks impossible isn’t always. What looks frightening, sometimes isn’t that bad. What looks familiar and safe isn’t always. Which leads me on to my next Labyrinth lesson.

Should you need us

Trust in yourself

In his first scene Jareth taunts Sarah saying, “You’re no match for me” and rather than challenge this she pleads for her brother’s return. By the end, Sarah is a changed girl and faces down he Goblin King with a new found confidence. He backs away from her nd she is unhesitating. Throughout her journey Sarah starts to trust her instincts, from solving the puzzles along the way, to trusting in her new friends. She knows at the end that she must face Jareth alone and she is not afraid. She trusts in herself.

Don’t expect Prince Charming to make it all better

Okay, so Jareth is an odd “Prince Charming” (although, those trousers....) but in Sarah’s fantasy the Goblin King is in love with her and he is the one that takes the cursed baby away and frees her from the slavery of babysitting. Sharp eyed viewers will have seen a man who looks suspiciously like Bowie in the photograph of her mother on Sarah’s dresser. Jareth is born of Sarah’s childish romantic fantasies.

Of course, Jareth proves that he is not the hero Sarah wants from the start, but one of my favourite scenes is the showdown between Sarah and Jareth when she faces him alone having fought her way to the castle. In a last attempt to persuade her to give up her quest, Jareth offers Sarah her “dreams”. Sarah has already seen some of what Jareth has to offer and rejects him and as the glass ball representing Sarah’s dreams is thrown into the air by a defeated Jareth, it becomes a bubble and bursts. What he was offering wasn’t real at all.

I can never remember that line...

There is a time to put away childish things.

When Sarah returns to her home with baby Toby she gently tucks her beloved bear into his crib and then starts to slowly pack her things away into drawers,. Again, sharp eyed viewers have spotted that all the elements from the Labyrinth in Sarah’s bedroom. She essentially locking away the remnants of her childhood fantasies. She is letting go of the fantasy of the Labyrinth and accepting that she is growing up.

Keep a place for childish things...

Okay, bit of a contradiction but hey, life is full of those. Just because you can’t stop the passage of time, doesn’t mean that you can’t and shouldn’t keep a little place for your childish dreams (like a much loved film...). Sarah tells her friends that “sometimes, for whatever reason in my life, I will need you, all of you.”

Those trousers...

Of course, my sister J will say that the real lesson to be learned from Labyrinth is when a tight trousered Goblin King offers you your dreams in return for a screaming baby - you say yes! She still maintains that our baby sister would have been a fair trade. Hey, she would have enjoyed being a goblin. And “it’s only forever, not long at all.”

The horror of commercialism - "The Mall" by S.L Grey

2011-09-18T13:13:00.000+01:00

I picked up this book on a bit of a whim over the summer. As my profile admits, I am a horror geek and the author blurb sold me within seconds: “S.L Grey is a mysterious, genderless persona who savours the adrenaline rush of writing and reading cutting-edge horror.” Apparently S.L also has an M.A in vampire fiction and has animated horror films. Brilliant.

I’ve since found out that S.L Grey is in fact a writing duo, Louis Greenberg and Sarah Lotz from South Africa. The book is written in alternating chapters from the points of view of the two main characters; Rhoda, a spiky, British black girl and drug addict and Dan a wiry , middle class, white Afrikaans underachiever. Dan works in a bookshop and spends his days wondering why girls don’t like him and feeling superior to his customers. Rhoda has a massive chip on her shoulder, and a big problem in the form of a missing child who she was watching when she decided to take a trip to the mall to meet her dealer. This is where the story begins.

Thrown together, Rhoda drags Dan into her mission to find the missing kid and the two of them sink, drawn by mysterious text messages, deeper into the bowels of the after-hours mall. The book then descends into a series of weirder and weirder events as it becomes clear that Rhoda and Dan have moved beyond the reality of the mall into something darker and distinctly more disturbing. What they find at the end of the tunnel is a consumerist nightmare which is one of the most original premises I have read in a horror novel.

It is testament to the great characterisation in this book that two, frankly unlikeable characters greeted me at the start but I found myself increasingly fond of Rhoda and Dan as their journey progressed. Part of the charm of these characters was their humour and also the way their individual stories unwound as they pressed on through the mall. The setting of Johannesburg really informs the story as well as commenting on post-apartheid South Africa.

What is most striking about this book is that the horror is created without a single vampire, zombie or other classic monster in sight. The horror is what lies behind the bright lights of the shopping mall, it is born of those familiar brands and logos that fill our vision each day and the unspeakable possibility that the rot lying beneath is preferable to the glossy deception. The world created in The Mall is simultaneously familiar and strange; it is nauseating, abhorrent and yet oddly logical. It is by turns fascinating and terrifying.

The Mall is funny, clever, imaginative and most importantly stays with you long after the last page. All in all this is a great horror and I will be watching keenly for the next offering from S.L Grey.

Ten years ago...

2011-09-11T17:33:00.000+01:00

This week the Guardian newspaper has published a series of short stories written by contemporary authors from around the world who examine the post 9/11 world.

Temple of Tears by Geoff Dyer looks at the breakdown of a relationship in San Francisco as the towers fall on the other side of the country. Our Dead, Your Dead by Kamila Shamsie takes us to Karachi, where a group of young journalists try to figure out how to mark the anniversary as bombs explode around them. The Second Death of Martin Lango by Helon Habila from Nigeria is an intriguing tale of possible mistaken identity. Echo by Moroccan born Laila Lalami looks at a woman’s attempt to reconcile herself with her parents’ past and deal with the reaction to her own beliefs. Second Skull by Rob Magnuson Smith examines the fallout of the Iraq war on one tragic family. And Willl Self’s iAnna introduces us to a new breed of psychiatric patient who can only interact with the world by assuming she is viewing it through an I-Pad.

What intrigued me about these stories was that they weren’t focused on the attacks themselves but rather what comes after, what happened next.

New York 2008

Events like those that happened ten years ago in America inevitably make you take stock. This weekend, we were visited by some of our best friends. As we sipped our wine late into the night, we remembered where we had all been this time a decade ago.

I was about to turn 23. I had been living in London for just under a year. I was single and I had yet to meet my future husband. Each day I rode the Central line from my rented flat in Stratford to my office in Tottenham Court Road. I was working in my first job in publishing for a small independent publisher. My office was a four story London town house just off Bedford Square in Bloomsbury. When I started my job, most of my work was done by fax and it had only been a few months since internet connection was fed to all computers in our little office.

On this day, just after lunch my colleague bounded up the three flights of stairs to my desk on the very top floor and called out, “Look at the news. A plane has just flown into the World Trade Centre”. The BBC website was struggling with the flow of traffic but we were online when we watched with horror as a second plane arced round in the sky and hit the second tower. It was the first time I had watched news happening live online.

Ten years on, we live in a world of 24 hour news. Events are lived out before our eyes. Technology has advanced with break-neck speed and we now carry slick mobile devices that allow us to surf the internet wherever we might be. The internet has become as necessary to our modern lives as running water, and is now a bloated and overwhelming cacophony of voices. We talk about the “War on terror” and Islamophobia. Wars, started in the months after those tragic days, are still rumbling on in the dusty deserts of the middle east.

As human beings, we like decades. They are neat. We box things into ten year gaps, fashion, music and events. We use them as labels. We give them more emphasis than other anniversaries. But as I read these six stories I couldn’t escape the feeling that today is not a day to close the box on ten years. We will always be living in a post-9/11 world.

Central Park, New York in 2008

You can read the short story collection on the Guardian website by clicking on the link below:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/series/9-11-stories

Made in Britain by Gavin James Bower

2011-09-06T20:12:00.000+01:00

I've blogged recently about the joys of finding new writers and writing styles in the e-book format for mere pennies and I am pleased to have proved myself right, having just finished Made in Britain by Gavin James Bower. This is Bower's second novel, the first being a novel set in London's modelling world Dazed and Aroused. (Turns out that Mr Bower is a former model himself and really terribly easy on the eye - bonus.)

This second novel is a world away from the subject matter of the first, and focuses on a trio of sixteen year olds living in Burnley. The book is the story of a teenage love triangle between Charlie, the bad boy; Russell, the goth; and Hayley, the virgin. Far from pandering to stereotypes however, these characters are crafted with empathy. These are characters that will stay with you. The prose is short (just 200 pages) and to the point but there is a real tension in the book, a sense that this cannot end well.

The novel charts these three lives through the pivotal time that is the GCSE exams. We see Charlie's slow descent into the world of drugs and crime as he is sucked into a local gang and his struggles to deal with an abusive and alcoholic father. Russell longs to escape and dreams of a life in Leeds away from his depressed and clingy mother and spends his days trying to avoid tormentors. Hayley is caught between giving into her own longings and the drives of the sexualised society around her, and being the good girl that her widowed father so badly wants her to be. All three are "good kids" and I found myself with a real affection for them all.

The overwhelming presence in the book is the the town, though. Bower grew up in Burnley so this is his hometown, and he writes with a passion. You can almost taste the bitter disappointment, the despair and the downright rage of the inhabitants. Drugs are ubiquitous and are mistaken for a means of escape but are inevitably the trap. Waj, the brilliantly menacing drug dealer is one of the few characters who doesn't partake and is therefore able to walk away. Everyone else is bound into the framework, unable to move.

Frequent references to the lack of job opportunities and the demise of the manufacturing in the North as well as poignant remarks about the scars of the race riots, pepper the book and the lives of these three kids. They are told to work hard, to do well at school but when Russell visits the local library he finds it closed "until further notice" and Charlie knows that even with good results university is way beyond his reach. He cannot see why playing by the rules and a life of unemployment and poverty would be better than the drug deals that are filling his holdall with more cash than knows what to do with. Charlie’s story is truly tragic as you see door after door close on him and realise that there is no way out. It throws an ever harsher light on the current debates about the availability of higher education to children from these areas and backgrounds and indeed on the motives behind the recent riots in Britain.

At the base of this story is of course sexuality. But rather than a gentle blossoming flower portrayed in some older coming of age tales, sex is thrust upon these kids with a bang. Charlie's experiences are in a haze of alcohol and drugs and seem to bring him little joy. Russell is dreaming fruitlessly of a love that is pure and romantic but ultimately unrealistic. Hayley is confused by what is expected of her, what her deceased mother would want and what she wants. Her final scenes are heartbreaking. The only piece of the puzzle I felt was a little stiff to fit was Hayley's teacher, Mr Mitchell. I understood his role as the predatory male but I felt that Hayley's character really didn't need this to convey vulnerability.

Covering racism, homophobia, drug abuse, domestic violence, depression and suicide - this book is not an easy read but I would argue that is not a completely bleak outlook. What you are left with is a sense of injustice and tragedy but also of the goodness of people, of our children. In a time when finger-pointing and talk of “feral youth” is rife, it’s good to remind ourselves that the world these kids are living in, is not necessarily the world they want and it definitely isn’t the world they made.

Made in Britain is available in Kindle format for £1.99 at the moment.

Reasons to switch to "E"

2011-09-04T15:53:00.000+01:00

Ever since I was a little girl I have loved books. My bedrooms were always full of them. I studied them. I treasured them. They were behind my choice of university course, my choice of career. I have worked in books for ten years and married a man who shares my passion, so our house is now full of books. Stories, cookery books, history, nature, music, film, poetry, plays - you name it, it’s here. The book is the highest form of art. Something sacred and beautiful.

So when my husband sheepishly suggested that he might get an e-reader two years ago, my response was “Over my dead body”. So, it is strange to find myself sitting here on a rainy Sunday afternoon with a red leather-clad Kindle sat next to me. Stranger still when I admit that I am hooked. I have fallen in love with reading all over again. I dream about hours spent with my e-reader as I struggle through the week at work. It has opened up new worlds of literature for me. It has reinvigorated my devotion to the book.

Object of desire

This is why e-reading has me hooked:

1: They are incredibly easy to read from. Okay. “So is a book” I hear you cry, but honestly, there is a difference. The e-reader is lighter, you can hold it easily with one hand and more importantly you can turn the page with one hand. This is brilliant for a seasoned London commuter like myself. No more waiting for the next tube station to roll up so you can loosen your iron grip from the pole and turn the page. Reading in bed also becomes a new joy. No more pinning pages back or holding a huge tome aloft over your weary head. That thousand page paperback that made your wrists ache fits snugly on your e-reader and in your hand.

2: E-books open up new reading experiences. As the publishing world comes to grips with this brave new world, pioneering companies are using e-books as an opportunity to present new and exciting projects, often for free or for very little to readers. Often you will find bargains, free chapters and sometimes even free books from publishers keen to introduce a new writer. Smart publishers have realised that e-reader owners tend to be vociferous readers by nature. They read a lot, they talk about books, they blog and tweet about what they are reading. In a world where word of mouth can create publishing phenomenons like One Day by David Nicholls this is a massive marketing tool. Also digital editions don’t have the production and cost restrictions that paper editions do. Giving away a few hundred copies of a paperback may be more than a publisher’s marketing budget can bear but digitally, it’s possible if it means that those freebies generate into real sales. As a result I have found myself more open to experimentation than I have been in a long time. I’m more willing to give authors a try and that can only be a good thing.

3: Any book is available to you whenever you want* Saturday morning with a cup of tea and the Guardian review section. See a book that you think looks good? Want to read it. You can. Straight away. In fact, if you’re lucky you’ll find that the publisher is doing a cut price e-book edition to launch the book and you don’t have to wait an age for a paperback edition to come out. Who really reads hardbacks nowadays?

*Okay not any book. There have been a couple of instances where I have been disappointed to find a book unavailable in the format I want, The Blood Books by Tanya Huff being one, but I think this is changing fast as publishers realise that there is a market for this. Build the e-book and they will come.

4: Space! For my husband and I, books have always been a big part of our expenditure but nevertheless I would limit the number of times I visited my local bookshop for the simple reason that I knew I would come home with at least three new paperbacks. There is only so much room in our little pink terraced house. And holidays had become a battle of wills between me and our Samsonite as I attempted to shove eight books (including my standard 900 page Stephen King holiday read) in with our sun cream. This year we took our Kindles. We didn’t have to spend the weeks leading up to our break agonising over what to take. We took everything. In my handbag. On the plane. After a horrific fifteen minute period where Mr G’s screen froze (soon remedied by rebooting) we both agreed that technology was a wonderful thing. We read Caitlin Moran’s How to Be A Woman at the same time on our sunbeds. Brilliant.

5: Free stuff. There is an entire chart on Amazon devoted to free Kindle books. I’m not suggesting you fill your boots entirely from this list. It needs some serious sifting but with close attention you can pick up some good things. Classics for a starter are all free. Dickens, Bronte, Austen, Shakespeare, Hardy, Wilde and the rest of the great and the good are all free on your e-reader.

Some other stuff about e-readers:

Anyone can be an author. A good thing and a bad thing. Amazon is currently overrun with self-published authors. Some good. Some bad. Very bad. And you can’t rely on the reviews to make judgements on this, so be warned. But on the other hand, what is the harm? You’ve made a mistake and you find yourself on chapter one of some guy’s attempt to recreate the Da Vinci Code with strippers. No worries. Click out. Delete. Move on.

But occasionally you stumble upon something great. A voice that speaks to you and makes you wonder why this was sent home from the publisher’s slush pile with a “thanks but not for us” note. Some of these authors have already made names for themselves like Amanda Hocking. Without the projection her voice was given by Kindle publishing would her books have made it into the great wide world? Maybe. But maybe not.

What are you reading? In January 2011 Kindle readers started to pop up in numbers on the London underground. Amazon’s big push of the device for Christmas 2010 meant that where I had seen one or two of these curious creatures before the holidays, by new year there were literally hundreds. I am not ashamed to say that it was peering over a neighbour’s shoulder on the Northern Line at the screen that convinced me to give up my paper principles and join the digital set. But what was missing from this wave of e-readers was the sure fire sign of a bestseller. The sight of a line of identical covers propped up against a row of faces at 8.30 on a Thursday morning. The last time I recall a book infesting the Underground so successfully was Dan Brown. Sure, there have been others and there will be more but what paper did was make it patently obvious that everyone, and I mean everyone was reading this book. And therefore you should be too.

With the e-reader revolution the book cover is a secret. You can’t see what the person next to you is reading unless you hover worryingly over their shoulder. This in all certainty is the reason behind the booming business in erotica and Mills and Boon in digital format. Whilst I miss the rows of covers in train carriages the lack of covers on show has lead to another surprising development in my reading life. As I trot into my office, head bowed to my Kindle screen, my colleagues are asking me more and more “ What are you reading?” It’s lead to more conversations, more discussion, more recommendations.

It doesn’t mean the book is dead. The book is not dead, or dying or even feeling slightly weak in the stomach. The book is not the paper it is written on. E-readers are not stopping readers from picking up paperbacks. I still value and treasure my book collection and I still add to it. Books are becoming more beautiful with the rise of the digital age. They are items you want to touch, experience and own. Just walk around your local bookshop to see the stunning editions coming out of our publishing houses. Books are objects of desire.

So, I’m a convert. I’m excited about what is happening in the world of publishing right now. So excited that I’m off to curl up with my Kindle and a glass of wine and lose myself in a book.

Me and my Kindle, sitting in a tree...