Resolution #1

After the frenzied month of Christmas prep, I do love the voluptuously lazy days between Christmas and New Year's.  My family, all of us owls by constitution, revert to the inclinations not possible in the regular workaday world.  By that I mean that we stay up until 2 and sleep 'til 10.  I think that it is the only time of year that I feel truly rested.

This year's post-Christmas week has been lazier than usual, mostly because we didn't host our annual New Year's Eve sleepover party.  Instead, we've watched lots of movies, read lots of books and completed several fiendishly difficult puzzles.  This little island of contemplative sloth has given me plenty of time to consider all of the changes of the past decade . . . and to consider the year ahead.  I'm not a great one for making new year's resolutions -- well, I do make them, just not with much conviction -- but this year I've decided to make three doable goals and really try to stick to them.

You might infer, from the above picture, that one goal might be to clear off my bedside table.  (Of course, being tidier and better organized is a perennial goal, but I'm trying for something more original this year.)  My first resolution, then, is to keep a reading journal. 

Every year, for as long as I can remember, I have vowed to read with more purpose and direction -- and to take notes.  Perhaps it is just the perpetual student in me, or perhaps it has something to do with my leaning inclination to someday finish my PhD, but I feel that too many of the wonderful things that I read just wash over me.  My memory is so terribly sketchy; it needs filling out a bit.

These bedside table piles I make are one kind of record, but ultimately, they get dismantled.  Since I (mostly) put the books that I've actually read back on the bookshelf, my bedside table is a bit of a halfway home.  It tends to represent what I've just finished, or only partially completed . . . or what I intend to read someday.  Like geological records, my book piles read top-down.  You can tell, from the top entries, what I've been doing this past week.  You can also tell, from the bottom of the pile, about my ambitions -- and what I haven't gotten around to yet.

Vintage Conan Doyle:  The Adventures and Memories of Sherlock Holmes

Before the turkey leftovers had been vanquished, we were at the cinema -- to see the new Sherlock Holmes.  Top hats off to Guy Ritchie, Jude Law and especially Robert Downey Jr!  I thought this was a terrifically stylish and entertaining film.  Although it had never occurred to me to read one of the Conan Doyle stories, I was so taken with Downey's charismatic performance that it made me want to compare it to the original creation.  When the author mentions Sherlock Holmes's "bohemian soul" and cocaine habit, it did make me think that Sherlock Holmeses in the past have played him too staid Victorian.  I borrowed this book from the son of one of our friends, and although I enjoyed it, I will probably give it back without finishing it.  A few of the stories were enough to get the flavor.

The Jane Austen Book Club, Karen Joy Fowler

My youngest daughter and I watched this film the other night, and it inspired me to revisit the book -- which I remembered enjoying the first time I read it.  (I enjoyed it the second time, too.)  If I see a movie of a book, I have to then read the book so I can do a comparison.  Strangely enough, though, I don't really mind it when the movie changes details in the book . . . unless it is a bad movie.  Some would say that any movie that changes details from the book is, automatically, a bad movie.  Two of the characters in the movie meet, while seeing a filmed version of Mansfield Park, and discuss this very issue.

Keats, Andrew Motion

I was so taken with Jane Campion's Bright Star -- which describes Keats' relationship with Fanny Brawne.  Apparently, this biography of Keats inspired and informed her film.   I thought that Sigmund might buy this for me for Christmas, but he didn't, so I bought it for myself yesterday.  I can't wait to read it; a visit to Keats House in Hampstead (and the subsequent blog post) will no doubt follow.

Shakespeare, Bill Bryson

My husband read this a couple of months ago, and it got transferred from his bedside table to mine.  Not long after that, Sarah Laurence talked about it in a blog post and I resolved (again) to read it.  But it wasn't until I saw Shakespeare in Love a few days ago that I actually picked it up and started reading.  First of all, Shakespeare in Love:  I had forgotten how much I like this exuberant, delightful film.  Writers Marc Norman and Tom Stoppard do such a clever job of imagining how life might have shaped art.  Bryson's book focuses on what is knowable, as opposed to fancy or supposition, but it is also very entertaining.

The Pursuit of Laughter, Diana Mosley

I was in a Mitford phase all during November, and particularly enjoyed Anne de Courcy's biography of Diana Mosley.  One of my friends recently gave me this book of collected writings; it is the kind of book that you can easily dip in and out of, just like The Mitfords:  Letters Between Six Sisters.

Vile Bodies, Evelyn Waugh

This novel, which I only half-finished, is also from my recent Mitford phase.  Waugh dedicated the book to Diana Guinness (later Mosley) and her then husband, Bryan Guinness.  It was meant to be inspired by that whole Bright Young People scene in 1930s London, but frankly, I could find neither plot nor characterization in it.  Maybe they are in the second half of the book?

Someone at a Distance, Dorothy Whipple

I finished this book weeks ago; my only explanation for why it is still on my bedside table is the beauty of its cover.  I found its depiction of the dissolution of a marriage so moving.  On my recent trip to Persephone, I picked up another Whipple book -- The Priory.  I need to replace this one with that one.

The Wilder Shore of Love, Lesley Blanch

And now we are getting to the middle of the stack, where books get stuck for weeks and even months.  I found this biography of intrepid 19th century women at a second-hand book stall in Norfolk this summer.  I read the chapter about Jane Digby, and then I got distracted by something else.  I have a hunch that this one should go back on the bookshelf, as the time is not ripe for finishing it.

My Life in France, Julia Child

I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I haven't read this one, as my mom sent it from Texas back at the end of the summer when the Julie and Julia film came out.  (Speaking of that, I was astounded to discover that none of my English friends were aware of Julia Child.  I kept saying that she was the Delia Smith of the United States, only even more iconic.)  This one will stay on the bedside table, and it's going in the queue -- but behind The Priory and Keats.

The Story of a Marriage, Andrew Sean Greer

A good (or bad, depending on how you look at it) example of my book greed.  I found it on one of Waterstone's 3 for 2 tables and a glance at the plot synopsis confirmed that it seemed like the kind of book I would like.  I haven't found out yet, though.

Becoming Queen, Kate Williams

There is a bit of trend in this list . . . and once again, I admit to being inspired by a film that I've seen.  I read this biography of Queen Victoria after seeing the film The Young Victoria.  Author Kate Williams also wrote a biography of Emma Hamilton's life, titled England's Mistress.  No film of that one, alas.

West From Home, Laura Ingalls Wilder

This is a collection of letters that Wilder wrote to her husband, back home in Missouri, when she was visiting their daughter Rose in San Francisco.  I didn't even realize that this small paperback was in my bedside stack until I started dismantling it.  Since it is a left-over from my LIW craze from last year, it indicates that my filing system got bogged down.  One of the few things that I recall from this book is the surprise that Almanzo called his wife "Bessie."  How could Laura be a Bessie?  There were probably other interesting things in the book, but I can't recall them . . . and that is why I need to keep a reading journal.

The Other Elizabeth Taylor, Nicola Beauman

I got this from Persephone a few months ago, and it represents a reading goal of mine for the next year:  to further acquaint myself with 20th century British female writers.  Not only this Elizabeth, but also Elizabeth Bowen and Elizabeth Jane Howard.  And Rosamund Lehman.  And Barbara Pym.  I read in such a scatter-shot way, as is evident from this list.  It will be interesting to discover whether or not I can stick with a theme or time period.

The Children's Book, A.S. Byatt

I started this worthy tome, this Booker short-lister, a few months ago -- but I wasn't ready for the reading marathon that it required.  It has to sit at the bottom of the stack, because of its substantial size, but its  jewel-like cover is wonderful adornment for any bedside table.  Dovegreyreader scribbles and Dick have both recommended it, and those votes are enough to make me want to tackle it.  Perhaps a trip to the V&A Museum first? 

The Bedside Book of the Garden, Dr. D.G. Hessayon

Oh goodness, a Christmas present from last year -- and now we are full-circle again.

Another book to dip in and out of, especially when the garden is covered with frost (as it is this morning), and gardening is more about dreaming than doing.

So, there we have it:  a marathon of linkage.  But isn't reading also about linkage?   And now, for a cup of tea and chapter of Keats.

February Movies: Revolutionary Road

Frank and April Wheeler, drinking again

Or, Marital Angst in Suburbia

Or, the Worst Date Movie of all time

Or, I see the depressing movies so you don't have to . . .

The other night, Sigmund and I were at a Parent/Teacher Conference and - having exhausted the topic of my daughter's progress in Greek - we moved on to an appraisal of this film. "I could have just stayed home and fought with my wife," was the verdict of the Classics teacher.

If you have been to the movies recently, you will have seen the preview of this film. You will know that there will be lots of scenes of Kate (April) and Leo (Frank) shouting at each other; all of this marital strife set against the lugubrious voice of Nina Simone singing "Wild is the Wind", although in the movie Simone's voice is replaced by a rather ominous and frequently repeated motif from Thomas Newman. I actually find the music really beautiful; if you don't, that should tell you all you need to know.

I wouldn't recommend the novel of Revolutionary Road for your summer holiday reading; I wouldn't recommend a viewing of this film if your own marriage feels shaky and life seems meaningless. However, if you are feeling fairly solid, I think it is an interesting portrait of the sort of melancholia that can only affect people who don't have to worry about real problems: war, starvation, sleeping on the streets. For at its heart, the emotional crisis that the young Wheeler couple are suffering from is nothing more than the piercing fear that they aren't really special at all. Indeed, like the suburban neighbors and co-workers that they secretly despise, they are really quite ordinary. They know it, and they want to run away from it.

When I was a child, my parents had an 8-track tape featuring a Peggy Lee song called Is That All There Is? It has to be one of the most depressing songs of all time, and I listened to it countless times. (I'm sure that partially accounts for my high tolerance for the melancholic.) I think that this dirge may have served as an inoculation, though, because I'm not really not that depressive of a person. Although I've had my midlife crisis moments, I do believe there is something meaningful to that most prosaic and yet profound dream: having a home and a family in it.

April and Frank Wheeler are young, healthy and beautiful and they have two children with the same blessings. They live in a lovely house in a nice neighborhood and Frank has a steady, albeit boring, job. At the very beginning of the movie, they get into an argument about whose life is the bigger trap: April's, with her house and children, or Frank's, with his train commute and New York City job. A person is either sympathetic to this sort of problem or thinks it is a bunch of self-indulgent twaddle. (I did wonder if some viewers would be envious of the kind of job security and Connecticut neighborhood that a fairly junior executive could buy with his 1950s dollars.)

One of the elements of the movie that you don't get in the George and Martha screaming at each other preview is the character of John Givings - the brilliant, but completely mad, son of the Wheelers' realtor. In the tradition of the Shakespearean Fool, John is a truth-teller: But does he see clearly, or is his vision warped? When he first meets the Wheelers, they have decided to up-sticks and move to Paris -- with no other concrete plan than April will get a job and Frank will find himself or express himself or similar. John applauds their suburban dream-denying goals, and in a moment of three-way solidarity, he confides almost chummily in them: Hopeless emptiness. Now you've said it. Plenty of people are onto the emptiness, but it takes real guts to see the hopelessness. During this conversation, the three of them are walking in the woods . . . and I would just note the fairy tale symbolism of this location. Frank and April are smugly thrilled to have the approbation of this insane person; perhaps they should have considered the source?

One of the reasons that Frank and April are not particularly likeable is that their emotions seem to be stuck somewhere in an adolescent register. When they first meet, at a boozy, vaguely Bohemian party, Frank's come-on line is of the dreamily intense variety: I want to feel things. Really feel them. At this moment, April invests all of her hopes and aspirations in this rather shaky foundation. Frank and April are both convinced that he (and by extension, she) are meant to be "wonderful in this world," but they never figure out the how or what. As Roger Ebert points out, they have "yearnings," but actually lack fantasies, never mind the talents to turn fantasies into reality. Although this is probably a massive overstatement, there is something Lady Macbeth-ish about April Wheeler. You get the feeling that Frank would be willing to exist more or less peacefully with his mediocrity -- occasionally relieving the tedium with an office fling or by drinking too much -- but April tries to push him outside of his comfort zone. She's a former, would-be actress -- and the only outlet for her dramatic tendencies is her life.

I think that my tone is getting a bit flippant here; rest assured, the film takes the Wheelers very seriously indeed. And truly, feeling that your life is empty and hopeless is no laughing matter. We have some close friends -- three kids, large house, private school fees -- who are undergoing a similar marital crisis, and those feelings bring down a world of pain. When the wife told me that she felt that life was meaningless, and that she just wanted to feel passion again, I thought Uh-Oh.

There is something in most (all?) human beings that cannot stand the monotony of a comfortable life. We cannot resist lighting matches, and then we are surprised, frightened and inexplicably hurt when the fire burns us.

Light and Dark

Mahatma Gandhi

On a bitterly cold day in January, I was hurriedly cutting through the Tavistock Square Garden when I found myself face to bowed head with this arresting statue. Ghandhi, pared down to absolute simplicity: the distinctive bald head, the sinewy body, the simple dhoti. Gandhi, the great 20th century leader: associated with peace, non-violence and the independence of India.

Perhaps because of the cold, the park was completely empty. For several minutes, as I stood before this statue, there was an utter quiet -- all of London's millions muted by space and trees and a bulwark of enduring Victorian brick. The serenity of the scene was reinforced by the muted winter palette: iron gray, soft pale green, the pearly white of frost and breathy vapor.

Tavistock Square Garden is known as "the peace park," and Gandhi's statue is not the only tribute (or reparation made) to those who have tried to alleviate human suffering in this violent world. On the day that I was there, it was difficult to imagine it being anything other than what it was: quiet, still, contemplative. And yet: ironically, or perhaps intentionally, a bus was blown up just outside the park on July 7, 2005 and 13 lives were lost. Although I felt a deep peace emanating from that place, the world is constantly stirred up with anger, fear and all of the dire competitive aspects of staking a place and carving out the spoils.

Is peace the starting point, or only what is hard-earned after struggle?

Although Gandhi is only briefly alluded to in Slumdog Millionaire -- the film that swept the BAFTA Awards on Sunday night, and that I saw recently -- I keep thinking of him as I attempt to process the visceral experience of being immersed in the intense world of Mumbai. India: a rich stew of color, sound, smells and living things everywhere. Are there any quiet, muted corners in that great teeming city?

In England, one can absorb a sense of peace from the external landscape; but in India, I suspect that spiritual practices are so ancient and advanced precisely because they have to be enacted from an internal landscape.

The Slumdog Millionaire movie has been inaccurately billed as "feel good" by some media soundbites -- and I know of one person who had to leave the theater, quite unprepared for the assault on the senses and the emotional battering that the film delivers. Although the credits of the movie are certainly "feel good," it is a grueling journey to get there. I felt quite wrung out.

There is a happy ending of sorts, but as in the darkest fairy tales, it has to be earned through many trials. For Westerners, so intent on protecting on children from any small harm, it is shocking to witness what the central characters - who are young children, orphaned before the viewer's eyes - have to endure. Although the children show great resilience, humor, playfulness and loyalty, they are all scarred in various ways. Of course.

This morning, I was reading an article about an up-and-coming political leader in the United States and a phrase that he used - "prisoner of hope" - stuck in my mind. That phrase is further defined as "the existential armour to hold off despair and doubt." I think that Gandhi must have cloaked himself in a similar sort of armour. How else could he have believed that non-violence could liberate so many people? Although he knew that violence and hate would win many skirmishes, he had a deep belief that non-violence and love would eventually overcome.

There has been some criticism that Slumdog Millionaire portrays India in an overly negative light. Braja, who writes Lost and Found in India, addresses this notion in a post called "The truth about India." If the film is understood as a fairy tale or modern parable, I think that it makes sense to reveal the world as a dark place. I don't know if darkness is the yin or the yang, but it is the counterpart to light -- and those forces are everywhere, perhaps just a bit more obvious in a place like Mumbai.

Despite everything he experiences -- and these experiences are revealed ingeniously through the plotting of the film -- Jamal, the slumdog of the title, has a deep belief in love. That belief sustains him and gives his life focus. Whether you think of it as a guiding principle, or a "prison of hope," it keeps his spirit intact. He does overcome, in the Martin Luther King sense, although that is more of a process than an ending.

Life (as ever?) seems like a toxic brew these days. It always seems that we are slipping down, that the situation is worsening, that we are on the edge of disaster. (Same as it ever was, history might tell us.) The fiery landscape of Australia is just as present as the frozen playground of England.

Even so, it seems worthwhile to fix one's mind on peace, love and hope. It isn't an easy thing to watch - certainly not happiness at a bargain price -- but I would argue that Slumdog Millionaire is worth the effort.

January movies: The Reader

Kate Winslet and David Kross in The Reader

Photo by Melinda Sue Gordon (c)

January is not my favorite month, true, but it is one of my abiding beliefs that there is always an upside -- a silver lining.

As a movie lover, I look forward to that winter flurry of films aimed at the (let's just admit it) thinking adult market. In other words, the Oscar-worthy for your consideration kind of films. The kind of films that are adapted from literary sources. The kind of films that tackle moral/ethical gray areas. The Reader, adapted from Bernhard Schlink's German novel of the same name, is just that sort of film - not exactly "feel good," but it will certainly get you thinking.

"Cynically calculated Oscar bait is rarely as ethically problematic as The Reader," says Wendy Ide, reviewing for The Times (01.01.09). That first part of that sentence sort of amuses me -- so stroppy, Wendy! I suppose that if you are going to involve Stephen Daldry (director), David Hare (screenwriter) and the gilded acting duo of Kate Winslet and Ralph Fiennes in a production then you are bound to be opening yourself up to such criticism. While I would like to think that the financiers of the project had no goal other than to make the finest possible film, who would deny that nominations and prestigious awards actually do help sell tickets? We went to this film on its opening weekend -- in Basingstoke, admittedly -- and the (smallish) theater was hardly half-full. I had been looking forward to this film -- as I had adored the novel, still clear in my mind despite being read ten years ago -- but I was obviously in a minority. If Kate Winslet (practically a hometown girl, being from nearby Reading) manages to carry off a gold statue for her role as Hanna, I assume that will bring out a few more Berkshire and Hampshire punters.

Do people who dislike spoilers ever read movie or book reviews? In the case of this movie, it is impossible to talk about the characters and not give away some of the plot's secrets and surprises. Can I just hint at time and place? Although the story unfolds during several time periods, with cross-cutting between various "presents" and "pasts," it is underpinned -- and haunted -- by events which take place in Germany during World War II. In the previews for the movie, which were dominated by Defiance and Valkyrie, it was obvious that WWII is the favored theme for this winter's films. Later, I realized that a whole clutch of current films -- amongst them Australia, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas and Good -- also concern themselves with this still-troubling war. Although I haven't seen many of them yet, I've read enough to know that each story revolves around individuals who have to examine, and then act upon, their personal convictions in the midst of a violent cultural current which has its own imperatives.

I read somewhere that most of the recent movies about Iraq have tanked at the box office. The reviewer suggested that that war is just too close for comfort. Perhaps this proliferation of WWII stories suggests that we prefer our war stories to be at an emotional remove. It's just so much easier to judge events from the past.

I can't help but think of the tragic battling over the Gaza Strip, which happens to be playing out for real in this conflict-obsessed movie season. At the moment, even journalists hardly have access to that closed and dangerous area. Who knows how long it will be before we can put together a coherent history about what is happening in that time and place? Will the heroes and villains prove to be closed-and-shut case of black and white, or rather more difficult to typecast? Although WWII ended more than six decades ago, it is obvious that Israel's fears and sense of entitlement still flow fresh from that source. Israel believes that it has legal rights, but also moral ones -- and the two are not always the same.

In the novel of the The Reader, which I was compelled to reread of course, the central character describes his relationship to the law -- which is both profession and intellectual obsession for him. He says, "For a long time I believed that there was progress in the history of law, a development towards greater beauty and truth, rationality and humanity, despite terrible setbacks and retreats" (Schlink, p. 179). Later, the character of Michael Berg comes to understand the law as a sort of perpetual journey: "motion both purposeful and purposeless, successful and futile," (Schlink, p. 180).

Although this sudden veering into the topic of the law might seem digressive, it is directly related to perhaps the central question of The Reader, at least as I understand it. Should we be judged by law as it is codified in our particular context, or is there a law (ie, morality) which transcends context and is the ultimate arbiter of human actions? Since the courts of law can only abide by the first sort of law, whose role is it to decide and dispense the presumably higher kind of law?

To me, it was an odd (or is it apt?) coincidence that an interview with Lynndie England -- the infamous Abu Ghraib guard -- featured in The Guardian Weekend (03.01.09) magazine. Although England was much vilified for her treatment of detainees, I was left with the impression that she still doesn't entirely understand why. She seems firmly convinced that the injured parties were "bad guys;" furthermore, even the Senate armed services committee ultimately concluded that official policies "conveyed the message that physical pressures and degradation were appropriate treatment for detainees" (p. 16). In other words, Lynndie was (more or less) just doing her job as she understood it. (If you know the story of The Reader, you will get that I am being sneaky here . . . while trying to avoid an obvious spoiler.)

From what I've read, Kate Winslet has been universally praised for her portrayal of Hanna. The only criticism seems to be that she did her job too well; she made a dubious character all too sympathetic. As Michael Berg says in the novel,

I wanted simultaneously to understand

Hanna's crime and to condemn it.

But it was too terrible for that.

When I tried to understand it,

I had the feeling that I was failing

to condemn it as it must be condemned.

When I condemned it as it must be condemned,

there was no more for understanding.

I wanted to pose myself both tasks --

understanding and condemnation.

But it was impossible to do both.

(The Reader, p. 156)

Frankly, I think that the filmmakers had exactly the same problem.

Afterword: Sigmund sent me this link to an interview with Stephen Daldry, the director of the film. If you are interested in this story, it is very worthwhile.

In Bed with a Book

Even though I'm not a particularly superstitious person, barring an odd knock-on-wood, the overt tempting of Fortune just doesn't seem to be a good idea. Any kind of bold pronouncement or claim automatically sets a person up for a reversal; hence, a certain smugness about one's good luck in "never getting sick" is bold invitation for a cruel smackdown.

Having avoided allergies, the flu, and even the common cold for many a year, I suddenly have the constitution of a Victorian miss who does "delicate" for a living. I just can't seem to recover my rude health. I have felt puny for weeks now, and one bug after another seems to be invading my system. One of the most fascinating chicken-and-egg questions of origin has to do with health, I think. Does depression make us sick? Or are we depressed because we feel too poorly to go out and absorb some Vitamin D? My friends are getting weary of my constant and boring lament: "I'm tired." How can I snap out of it? It's hardly the season for rising sap; in fact, a long hibernation seems far more appropriate.

Since I don't know how to kick my bad health blues, I am forced to rationalize them. As long as one is not too ill, a bout of sickliness can do wonders for the reading habit.

I was supposed to attend a Ball on Saturday night, but my floaty black dress and new shoes will just have to wait for another festive occasion. Instead of dancing, I lay propped up in bed most of the weekend. When I wasn't sleeping, I was reading -- and I managed to polish off Zoë Heller's latest, The Believers, and half of Thomas Hardy's Tess of the D'Urbervilles. I also watched a film that I had really looked forward to, and then unaccountably didn't get to the theater for: The History Boys. In one sense I didn't have a particularly sociable weekend, true, and yet I felt that I kept extremely good company with these three.

Having recently enjoyed the BBC's production of Tess, I am up to my usual trick of comparing film to book. (I rather like seeing the film first, and then getting to fill in the details from the book.) I hadn't read any Hardy in more than 15 years, and his language is like an impenetrable thicket compared to the modern, clear prose of Heller. It's not that Hardy isn't fit reading material for the sickbed, but he does require a bit more mental concentration. A friend's fifteen-year-old is reading Tess in school this year, and I wonder what those teenage girls -- so used to text-speak -- make of the vanished Wessex vernacular.

I rarely spring for hardcover books, but I've been wanting to read The Believers since the flurry of Heller interviews and reviews. I thought that Heller's last book, Notes on a Scandal, was an absorbingly good book. It also features one of the best examples of the "unreliable narrator" in literature. Like Barbara, the sour snoop from Notes on a Scandal, unlikeable female characters make up the majority in Heller's latest novel. Apparently this is becoming her stock-in-trade, as her interviewers seemed to not want to talk about anything else. Although her main characters – a mother and her two daughters – could be described as shrewish, judgmental and wet, in that order – they are not without their sympathetic sides. A family crisis tests what Heller describes as the “Litvinoff family’s romance of itself” (p. 270), and its members are left floundering. Although they have all of the toughness and sophistication of the average contemporary Manhattanite, they need something to believe in – whether it is religion, political ideals, love, marriage, drugs, rehab or sex. They try pretty much everything but literature, I think. Heller has a very pleasing, truthful way of describing her characters, but the narrative does lack a certain something – not resolution, really, but momentum and depth. Still, any book which I can read in almost a single sitting (or lying-down, as the case was) is worth some praise.

If you are interested in a nuanced story, both funny and poignant, with fascinating characters set against the backdrop of a school, then The History Boys should go to the top of your Netflix/LoveFilm queue. Although the plot of The History Boys is easy enough to grasp, the story has a load of cultural markers -- "Grammar School," "A-levels," "Oxbridge examinations," "Yorkshire" -- which it give it a particularly English spin. Without going into too much detail about the specifics, (English class system, North/South divide, etc.) I think it is enough to say that a group of eight young men from a range of modest circumstances are trying to get into the poshest, most illustrious names in education: Oxford and Cambridge. "Getting in" is the Holy Grail, with little thought given to what the boys will do with the achievement afterwards. But happy futures assured or not, even the non-English know that those hallowed places are like an expensive, rare perfume that trails after you for the rest of your life. The fact that the boys are all trying for places in "History" has a neat double meaning.

Despite the specificity of the setting -- Sheffield Grammar School in 1983 -- many of the questions raised by the film (originally a play) are universal. What does it mean to be well-educated? What is the purpose of education? How do you determine if one has been educated? How important is Truth? And is there even such a thing -- or is it all down to argument, context and presentation? The film handles all of these with a light touch, though, and there is really no pontificating. In addition to these Big questions, a number of other issues germane to education are more or less "touched" upon: student/teacher relationships, sexual and otherwise, corporal punishment, authority, and the desirability of academic selection or streaming. Indeed, the very subject of grammar schools -- which are an academically selective form of state education -- is a matter of ongoing debate nearly 25 years later.

Three teachers-- Hector, Mrs. Lintott, and Irwin -- are attempting to school the boys for these all-important exams and interviews, and each of these three represents a different face of education. Hector and Mrs. Lintott are "old-school" in every sense. Both nearing retirement, they are the kind of teacher often described as an "institution" -- and I like the way that word plays on the idea of "fixture," important customs and handed-down wisdom, and even a touch of the crazy too-long-inside-ness of a teacher who has seen a lot of Septembers roll by. Hector, played by the marvelously original Richard Griffiths, is the rather whimsical director of General Studies. A great lover of poetry, Hector has a suitable quotation for any occasion. When one of the students complains about having to learn yet another verse of obscure meaning, Hector counters: "Learn it now, know it now, and you'll understand it whenever." Showy and theatrical, Hector emphasizes the "fun" and even the subversive in learning -- but the students aren't always too clear as to the point. His "curriculum," as such, is littered with his own personal enthusiasms. As the Headmaster complains, Hector gets results and provides inspiration, but the results are "not quantifiable." Mrs. Lintott, on the other hand, is "straight man" to Hector's rather more flowery and wayward genius. She believes in "The Facts," and one can deduce that good old-fashioned rote learning plays the leading role in her classroom. Played by Frances de la Tour, with perfectly dry and wry wit, Mrs. Lintott is the one female counterbalance to the overwhelming male atmosphere of an all-boys' school.

Irwin, the Young Turk brought in to give some authentic Oxford sophistication to these rough boys, is not all that he seems . . . but then the Stranger never is. He is meant to spice up the meat and potatoes teaching of Mrs. Lintott, but he proves to be more about spin than substance. He doesn't exactly teach the boys to be original, but he teaches them how to appear original -- and convinces (most of) them that the result is all that matters. Irwin represents the arrogant, breezy future, but he is not nearly as invulnerable as he initially appears. Like the snobbish, ambitious headmaster, who fakes his conversational French and has to ask the boys to explain an Anne of Cleves allusion, Irwin's lack of solid scholarship is repeatedly revealed.

All three of the teachers are effective in their own way, and all of them find their adherents among the boys, but Hector -- flawed though he is -- is the teacher that I wish that I had. There is a particularly tender moment between him and the gifted, sensitive Posner ("I'm a Jew... I'm small... I'm homosexual... and I live in Sheffield. I'm fucked. ") which is the quiet center of this story. As they examine one of Thomas Hardy’s poems together, Hector tells Posner:

The best moments in reading are when you come across
something -- a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things -- that you'd
thought special, particular to you. And here it is -- set down by someone
else, someone you've never met, perhaps even someone long dead. It's as if
a hand has come out and taken yours.

Tagged!

K, my new fun friend from Kansas City tagged me today.

My assignment? To share things about myself in groups of 4's.

4 jobs I've had:

Waitress -- all through the higher education years I waitressed. I've worked in some memorable restaurants, too. 410 Diner in San Antonio. Kerbey Lane Cafe in Austin. Star Pizza in Houston. I loved being a waitress -- because I really like to have lots of cash in hand! (I went to a wacky astrological therapist once and she said that all Capricorns are like this!) Seriously, I love talking to people and I especially liked working the all-night Saturday shift at Kerbey Lane. All of the musicians used to come in between 2 and 4 am. Once, a hippie stoner left me a $140 tip for a cup of coffee! My coolest customer ever was Lyle Lovett at the 410 Diner.

Editorial Assistant -- I actually can't remember my exact "title" for this job, but it was the most boring job on the planet. It was my first 40 hour a week job out of college, and by the end of the year I had decided to apply to graduate school. Basically, I wrote and proofread sentences for those ghastly standardized tests that young school children are tortured with every year. (At least when I was a kid it was every other year -- which left more time to make bluebonnets out of tissue paper.) We used to spend hours making sure that no names were repeated; that we varied animals, colors, sports, etc. The only good thing about it was the people. We worked in a huge basement at long tables -- just like drones. We had to be quiet, so we acted just like children -- making jokes and trying to get each other to laugh out loud. I was always getting told off for talking, and I quit before I could get fired. The first thing I did was road-trip down to New Orleans with my boyfriend to see the Heritage Jazz and Blues Festival. I still remember the sweetness of the freedom.

Graduate Advisor -- this was a really fun job. When I was getting my second Master's degree I worked in the Education office. As my "title" suggests, I got to "advise" people -- which was right up my alley. I didn't skimp on the advice, either -- I gave really good value. I loved the secretaries in the office; they were a hoot! That job was all about coffee, doughnuts, and gossip -- three of my favorite things in the world.

Teacher -- I worked at the International School in Port of Spain for a year -- and then I got pregnant, and that was the end of that for awhile. Anyway, I made a lifelong friend at this school, and I loved my students, too. They were a really diverse bunch and some of them had been through a lot in their short lives. I'm pretty sure that I learned more that year than they did.

4 favorite movies:

2 Days in Paris -- this is my most recent rental, and I really liked everything about it. The beautiful French actress Julie Delpy wrote, starred, and directed -- and did a fine job in all areas. It is very "talky," full of hilarious characters, and has an interesting ending. And it takes place in Paris. What more do you want?

Cousins -- I really pulled this one out of my hat. I haven't thought about it in ages, but I've seen it three or four times. It is based on a French movie, and probably influenced "Four Weddings and a Funeral" in its turn. Set in Vancouver -- spectacular scenery and that gorgeous transporting kind of cinematography. There is a large, interesting cast -- but the leads are played by Isabella Rossellini and Ted Danson. It takes everything that is funny about families and weddings and then wraps a sweet little love story around it.

Harold and Maude -- I love quirky romances, and what could be quirkier than this pairing? Everything about this movie is unexpected and original. And I adore Ruth Gordon; I want to be Ruth Gordon when I grow up.

Raising Arizona -- with apologies to Monique, this is an extremely funny movie. Nic Cage and Holly Hunter were perfect in their roles. My first taste of the Coen brother sensibility. I definitely want them on my dream dinner party guest list -- Frances McDormand, too. (Perhaps they would explain the ending of No Country for Old Men?) I need to see this again; it's been too long.

4 places I've been:

Napa Valley, California -- Sigmund and I went here the first year we were dating. How could I resist him? I want to go back now that I know little more about wine. For some reason, what I really remember were all of the delicious artichokes that I ate.

New York City -- the most exciting place in the world for me. Food; theater; movies; shopping; Central Park; people watching. All my favorite things.

Prague -- beautiful city that I visited, unfortunately, in January. I want to see it again in the spring or fall. I am fascinated by Milan Kundera.

Barbados -- we were fortunate enough to live in the Caribbean, and I've been here a couple of times. Bliss on earth is eating at The Cliff, overlooking the ocean.

4 places I've lived:

Landstuhl, Germany -- I was born here. A not-well-known fact about me.

San Antonio, Texas -- I picked my university, Trinity, largely because it was in this great city. My family has a lot of associations with San Antonio: my parents actually met there. I love San Antonio for its weather (excepting the summer months, when the asphalt has been known to melt), its food, and its wonderful fiesta spirit. There are so many great places to sit outside and have a good burger and a margarita -- and something about that exemplifies the city for me. I've been going to Mi Tierra -- open 24 hours a day; year-round -- all my life.

Port of Spain, Trinidad -- I was hugely lucky to live here. It is a really unique, stunningly diverse and multicultural place. Also fun, fun, fun. Some of the best, most memorable years so far; and every good friend I had from this era is still an important part of my life.

London, England -- when I first came to London, at age 15, I remember thinking: This is the place for me! I spent the most exciting year of my life here; I haven't been able to top it yet. I try to go up to "Town" at least once a month -- and it always gives me a charge. I would live here if property prices weren't prohibitive.

4 favorite TV shows:

Gilmore Girls -- I discovered this one in its fifth season -- we were in Cape Cod for the summer and I randomly turned on the TV while I was making lunch. I was hooked in the first five minutes. Funnily enough, I never contributed to their ratings: I have never seen it "live" -- only on DVD. It is my mother/daughter show that I see with the girls. We labor under the delusion that Rory and Lorelai are our close personal friends, and we have never totally accepted that they are fictional characters and that Star's Hollow is just a cardboard set on a lot in California. I love every character on this show -- even Taylor Doose.

Northern Exposure -- I am already detecting a pattern here. Large cast of quirky characters living in a quirky town. If Cicely, Alaska had been a real town I probably would have moved there -- even though I hate the cold. Again, I love the characters; with a special mention for Chris, Ed and Marilyn. I thought the writing for this show was genius: it had so much wit and whimsy, and I loved the literary influences. This show was the highlight of my week the first year I was in grad school.

The Royle Family -- this is a UK show about a family of four that sit around watching TV and drinking "brews." Despite the fact that it depicts a Northern, working-class family -- of which I know nothing -- it is somehow universal, which has to be the mark of great writing. The characters do very little, but it is dead funny. This show plays to my inner slacker, I guess.

BBC Historical Costume Dramas -- any and all.

4 favorite radio programs:

Fresh Air with Terry Gross (NPR) -- I love Terry Gross's voice and calm, interviewing style. I have been introduced to all sorts of good things from exposure to this show.

The Writer's Almanac (NPR) every day, at 8:35, the five or so minute program comes on NPR. First, Garrison Keillor reads a poem -- and then he talks about interesting writers/other historical personage who were born on that day.

Desert Island Discs (BBC) -- famous (and/or interesting) person tells their life story through the structure of 7 favorite pieces of music. It's been running for decades, and I've been listening to it for at least one of those decades. It is fascinating stuff if you are fascinated by people.

Women's Hour (BBC) -- another long-running program; reminds me of the days of early motherhood. Always something interesting -- books; health; politics; human interest stories -- anything that affects women, really. The presenter is intelligent and calm, and you feel like the world is a better, safer place when you listen to her soothing voice.

4 favorite foods:

Popcorn -- made in a seasoned pot at home; has to be Orville's; lightly salted. My ultimate comfort food.

Baked potatoes -- my second ultimate comfort food. I ate one, with cheese and mushrooms, every single day when I was a sophomore in college.

Steak -- medium rare; from my dad's grill or any good restaurant.

Chips and Guacamole and Queso and Salsa -- the quickest way to go from starving to way too full. I cannot resist these.

4 places I'd rather be:

London
New York City
Sydney
Austin

4 people I want to tag:

Brave Sir Robin
Anne
Bakerina
The Accidental Housewife