Attending theatre and browsing the shelves of bookshops I find depressing these days. All the products on offer are marketed through their capacity to hit a buzzword or an issue of the day. When I saw a production of Henry V they seemed to want to convince me that colonialism and climate were the two main themes of this play. No, colonialism and climate are two of the main themes of our day. You will only have a book read by an agent or a publisher if it hits contemporary issues right in the bull’s eye.. Everything aims to comfort you in your certainty. Of course, an important point about literature is that it reaches into the cracks between the slabs of conviction; those ill-defined places that (if this is an interesting product) even the author cannot explain any other way than her or his ambiguous, uncertain text. Fiction is a fumbling investigation; a turning over of soil, not the laying of a foundation. That is why it is a novel and not a treatise.
Monthly Archives: May 2023
May 24: non respondants
It being spring and the weather getting better you find yourself going out a bit more to others (the French call this the other, as though all contacts were emblematic and of the same type) . In this spirit I realise that in the last couple of weeks I have sent emails to people I have not seen for many years. They were prompted by chance moments; re-reading a poem I associated with someone; seeing the job title of someone I used to know randomly somewhere. From the three emails I have winged out (modern people call this reached out, don’t they?) I have received no response. I reached out and they were non-respondants. It could be that they simply want nothing to do with me. I am a poor memory. It could be that they are unhappy with themselves. What have I become? they think when my face pops up from nowhere as a cookie in their mind. I don’t really want to parade my older self to this person from the past. Fair do’s to all concerned, I suppose. I am a notorious getter-in-toucher. I am liable to just pop up on your doorstep; stick my nose into a complicated family situation. I actively cultivate being blithely oblivious. Hats off to me.
May 21: such thing as a free lunch
Last week was a week studded with free events. On Saturday I was invited to the Chelsea v Nottingham Forest match at Samford Bridge. On Wednesday morning I was invited to see the final rehersal of the Budapest Festival Orchestra before their Mahler 9 concert in the evening and at lunch time on the same day I was invited to a meal at the soft opening of a new restaurant in Mayfair. All these outings were free. They all suit me. Football; Mahler; food. Three of my favourite activities. I ask myself whether I should think that these invites are merited in some way. Have I put myself in the way of them? Do they reflect on me or are they just random? Do you get gratuities by frequenting the right sort of people, or perhaps by coming across in the right way? In which case, I have worked for my supper. There is no such thing as a free lunch, they say. But this would imply that I have done something to deserve these events. It would be presumptious to say that I have. They are just chance. A ticket going spare; an event offered as a marketing bait; a chance neighbourly encounter. They are random felicities which have come about through no work or competence on my part. But don’t worry. There will be occasions where I will have to do painful stuff for nothing. On such occasions I will remember the Mahler and bite my lip.
May 7: some consolation
I felt I wanted to watch the Coronation of Charles III on the telly. I was interested in the music and the spectacle. I’m not sure where I stand on the monarchy. I’m kind of for it, though I shrink in horror when I’m supposed to call someone Lady Suchabody or Lord Suchaface instead of Mrs and Mr like the rest of us. If ever they gave me a knighthood or an OBE I’d probably turn it down. I don’t mind Charles though. He was caught between generations and has done his best to try and find a way. I find I resent rich kids with VIP tickets to Glastonbury more than I resent royalists queueing 12 hours to glimpse the royal carriage for two seconds. What an ordeal for Charles, balancing a crown, an orb and a sceptre, as he tries to remember the right response from 800 years ago. It felt a bit like that for me conducting A level orals last week, juggling with timing, the regulations and the responses. Still, there’s some consolation. At least, they’re not making me listen to Take That tonight. I just switched on the telly and there was poor Charlie waving a little union flag and trying to keep interested. He’ll sleep well tonight, poor lamb.
peoplearerubbish 