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Post Midnight Classical
Oct. 26th, 2020 12:05 amA couple of quiescent moods -
Maurice Ravel - Gaspard de la nuit
Federico Monpou - Musica Callada, Book 4
Enjoy
Maurice Ravel - Gaspard de la nuit
Federico Monpou - Musica Callada, Book 4
Enjoy
Oct. 26th, 2020
Book 82 - David Nicholls "Us"
Oct. 26th, 2020 07:26 amDavid Nicholls "Us" (Hodder Paperbacks)
Us is a book that, at first sight, has a very well used subject at its core – married couple, mid-life crisis, marriage breaking down once the kids have left home. It’s a tale that’s been told so many times you’d think there was nothing new to say about it. However, David Nicholls effortlessly bats away such concerns and envelops us instantly and entirely in the life and love, the thoughts and deep angst of his central character stuffy, uptight, nerdy scientist Douglas Petersen. Douglas’ wife Connie has told him she wants to leave him, just as their only son is about to leave for university but their proposed summer holiday, the Grand Tour of Europe, has already been booked and paid for and so all three of them embark on what is likely to be their last trip as a family. Douglas hopes to use the break to win back Connie and avoid the breakdown of everything he cherishes.
There’s much to love about this story, narrated by Douglas, as he unfurls for us in exquisitely wrought details the twists and turns of life; the choices made and the consequences that follow, the joys and the tragedies that shape and mold personalities and relationships. There is so much to tell too, that we can’t help but feel we know these people personally; their penchants, their eccentricities. By the end of the book we certainly know Douglas inside and out; his self-confessed inadequacies, love of order, his logical mind that won’t let him feel the art, his earnest attempts at intimacy with an artistic and impenetrable son with whom he can’t seem to get to grips, all make him sweet and endearing, despite his tightness. The trip becomes overrun with his eager organization, to make things better and fumbling attempts to hold onto the woman he has loved for twenty years.
Us is a book that really makes me think about individuality. How different children can be and not necessarily a cute combination of all the best qualities of each parent. How difficult some parent-child relationships end up and while we might want to plan for that child’s best interests, the choices ultimately have to lie with them if they are to be happy. Just because someone doesn’t follow our suggestions or advice doesn’t mean they don’t love us. The key to Douglas finding peace was in allowing people to be themselves without having to control and direct them.
There is an emotional roller coaster running through the book, Us is at once funny and heart wrenching, while having a slapstick quality in parts; the scrapes Douglas finds himself in at times made me laugh out loud. It is primarily a book about change and notably, Douglas does change once he is off on his own and plays to his strengths in the midst of a very stressful (but at times very funny) sequence of events proves to be a turning point. When he forms a tentatively romantic connection with a Danish tourist called Freja, I began to see a definite glimmer of hope in the darkness for him and I relished the possibility that an improved and stronger Douglas might exist post-Connie.
Us is an emotional, funny, touching, revelatory look at relationships, at what makes us imperfectly human, and the many different types of love of which we are capable.
Us is a book that, at first sight, has a very well used subject at its core – married couple, mid-life crisis, marriage breaking down once the kids have left home. It’s a tale that’s been told so many times you’d think there was nothing new to say about it. However, David Nicholls effortlessly bats away such concerns and envelops us instantly and entirely in the life and love, the thoughts and deep angst of his central character stuffy, uptight, nerdy scientist Douglas Petersen. Douglas’ wife Connie has told him she wants to leave him, just as their only son is about to leave for university but their proposed summer holiday, the Grand Tour of Europe, has already been booked and paid for and so all three of them embark on what is likely to be their last trip as a family. Douglas hopes to use the break to win back Connie and avoid the breakdown of everything he cherishes.
There’s much to love about this story, narrated by Douglas, as he unfurls for us in exquisitely wrought details the twists and turns of life; the choices made and the consequences that follow, the joys and the tragedies that shape and mold personalities and relationships. There is so much to tell too, that we can’t help but feel we know these people personally; their penchants, their eccentricities. By the end of the book we certainly know Douglas inside and out; his self-confessed inadequacies, love of order, his logical mind that won’t let him feel the art, his earnest attempts at intimacy with an artistic and impenetrable son with whom he can’t seem to get to grips, all make him sweet and endearing, despite his tightness. The trip becomes overrun with his eager organization, to make things better and fumbling attempts to hold onto the woman he has loved for twenty years.
Us is a book that really makes me think about individuality. How different children can be and not necessarily a cute combination of all the best qualities of each parent. How difficult some parent-child relationships end up and while we might want to plan for that child’s best interests, the choices ultimately have to lie with them if they are to be happy. Just because someone doesn’t follow our suggestions or advice doesn’t mean they don’t love us. The key to Douglas finding peace was in allowing people to be themselves without having to control and direct them.
There is an emotional roller coaster running through the book, Us is at once funny and heart wrenching, while having a slapstick quality in parts; the scrapes Douglas finds himself in at times made me laugh out loud. It is primarily a book about change and notably, Douglas does change once he is off on his own and plays to his strengths in the midst of a very stressful (but at times very funny) sequence of events proves to be a turning point. When he forms a tentatively romantic connection with a Danish tourist called Freja, I began to see a definite glimmer of hope in the darkness for him and I relished the possibility that an improved and stronger Douglas might exist post-Connie.
Us is an emotional, funny, touching, revelatory look at relationships, at what makes us imperfectly human, and the many different types of love of which we are capable.
Monday Musings
Oct. 26th, 2020 01:05 pmPopped into town and purchased some provisions and posted off a CD to Gareth back in Rugby. We are emailing quite regularly now. I found out he is into the albums of Tangerine Dream but not so much the early ones such as Atem. I sent him a CD of British film music conducted by Bernard Hermann.
After the Fellini movie, I watched a documentary on the Velvet Underground. I then followed it with half of three-hour music on US punk music that the Velvets inspired. Bands such as The New York Dolls, Suicide, Patti Smith, and The Ramones. A fascinating documentary with shots and old films of Andy Warhol's Factory, Max Kansas, CBBGs.
I will watch the other part today.
A technical fault or "software problem" concerning one of my research companies' payments to me has been delayed - a payment of forty quid - that I should have received by Friday may well be Tuesday or the next day now. Just when funds are precarious. Oh well, the sooner than later I hope.
Still, next Monday will be the monthly big one from the government. So I can eke out my mula in dribbles till then.
After the Fellini movie, I watched a documentary on the Velvet Underground. I then followed it with half of three-hour music on US punk music that the Velvets inspired. Bands such as The New York Dolls, Suicide, Patti Smith, and The Ramones. A fascinating documentary with shots and old films of Andy Warhol's Factory, Max Kansas, CBBGs.
I will watch the other part today.
A technical fault or "software problem" concerning one of my research companies' payments to me has been delayed - a payment of forty quid - that I should have received by Friday may well be Tuesday or the next day now. Just when funds are precarious. Oh well, the sooner than later I hope.
Still, next Monday will be the monthly big one from the government. So I can eke out my mula in dribbles till then.
Monday At The Movies
Oct. 26th, 2020 01:24 pmTaking a leaf from Jon but mine will be more esoteric, some major films yes, but more indie and avant-garde films. Last week I did one - a normal music post - on The Hours with the music of Philip Glass.
Today the film is the seventies classic noirish American film Taxi Driver.
Bernard Hermann - Taxi Driver (Soundtrack Suite)
I love this man's music anyway. Next Monday a film that had a bug typewriter and a man that shot his wife like a William Tell mishap. These are clues.
ENJOY
Today the film is the seventies classic noirish American film Taxi Driver.
Bernard Hermann - Taxi Driver (Soundtrack Suite)
I love this man's music anyway. Next Monday a film that had a bug typewriter and a man that shot his wife like a William Tell mishap. These are clues.
ENJOY
Poems Of The Week
Oct. 26th, 2020 01:53 pmA couple of poems that reflect this year.
What Kind of Times Are These
BY ADRIENNE RICH
There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.
I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.
I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.
And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees.
Adrienne Rich, "What Kind of Times are These" from Collected Poems: 1950-2012.
LOCKDOWN
by Simon Armitage
And I couldn’t escape the waking dream
of infected fleas
in the warp and weft of soggy cloth
by the tailor’s hearth
in ye olde Eyam.
Then couldn’t un-see
the Boundary Stone,
that cock-eyed dice with its six dark holes,
thimbles brimming with vinegar wine
purging the plagued coins.
Which brought to mind the sorry story
of Emmott Syddall and Rowland Torre,
star-crossed lovers on either side
of the quarantine lin
whose wordless courtship spanned the river
till she came no longer.
But slept again,
and dreamt this time
of the exiled yaksha sending word
to his lost wife on a passing cloud,
a cloud that followed an earthly map
of camel trails and cattle tracks,
streams like necklaces,
fan-tailed peacocks, painted elephants,
embroidered bedspreads
of meadows and hedges,
bamboo forests and snow-hatted peaks,
waterfalls, creeks,
the hieroglyphs of wide-winged cranes
and the glistening lotus flower after rain,
the air
hypnotically see-through, rare,
the journey a ponderous one at times, long and slow
but necessarily so.
What Kind of Times Are These
BY ADRIENNE RICH
There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.
I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.
I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light—
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.
And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees.
Adrienne Rich, "What Kind of Times are These" from Collected Poems: 1950-2012.
LOCKDOWN
by Simon Armitage
And I couldn’t escape the waking dream
of infected fleas
in the warp and weft of soggy cloth
by the tailor’s hearth
in ye olde Eyam.
Then couldn’t un-see
the Boundary Stone,
that cock-eyed dice with its six dark holes,
thimbles brimming with vinegar wine
purging the plagued coins.
Which brought to mind the sorry story
of Emmott Syddall and Rowland Torre,
star-crossed lovers on either side
of the quarantine lin
whose wordless courtship spanned the river
till she came no longer.
But slept again,
and dreamt this time
of the exiled yaksha sending word
to his lost wife on a passing cloud,
a cloud that followed an earthly map
of camel trails and cattle tracks,
streams like necklaces,
fan-tailed peacocks, painted elephants,
embroidered bedspreads
of meadows and hedges,
bamboo forests and snow-hatted peaks,
waterfalls, creeks,
the hieroglyphs of wide-winged cranes
and the glistening lotus flower after rain,
the air
hypnotically see-through, rare,
the journey a ponderous one at times, long and slow
but necessarily so.
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