Great Book #43: Lord of the Flies
I somehow got out of reading this one in middle school Language Arts class, but I was always curious about it; Lord of the Flies is one of those novels nobody seems to like (or if they do they don't own up to it). It's a shocking book, but what shocked me most was how much I enjoyed it. I listened to the audiobook narrated by the author, which is always a particular treat since you hear the story exactly as it was intended to be read.
Even if you haven't read this book you've probably heard how ugly it gets: English schoolboys plane-wrecked on a deserted island during World War II attempt to form a civilization, which quickly disintegrates. Ralph is focused on maintaining a signal-fire so they can be rescued, while Jack is only interested in hunting pigs and unseating Ralph as 'chief'. Jack succeeds in turning the rest of the 'tribe' against Ralph, and they literally begin to hunt him down like a wild animal.
It doesn't matter that how they came to be there--why all boys and no girls? evacuated from where, to where? None of the boys mention having been anywhere outside of England--is implausible, and the ending even more so. The boys' descent into savagery is horrifying because it is, for the most part, believable. On any school playground anywhere in the world you can witness myriad minor cruelties that, in the absence of adult supervision, could snowball all too easily; the innocence of childhood is just a veneer over our cruel primal instincts. Jack--what is he, twelve, thirteen?--uses the prospect of a phantom in the forest to rally the boys behind him, paints his face with pig's blood, and does not care that his obsessive ambition to lead the group results in at least two violent deaths. The fearmongering and the struggle for power, the mad despot, the merciless scapegoating and the torturing of anyone who dares to disagree...it all sounds awfully familiar.
Golding's prose can be, erm, too evocative (particularly when the boys go after a wild pig with bloodthirsty glee), but some of the descriptive bits are really splendid: "the lagoon attacked them with a blinding effulgence"; "a sudden communion of shining eyes in the gloom"; "the tree trunks and the creepers that festooned them lost themselves in a green dusk thirty feet above him". And it's not just the jungle atmosphere he nails: "Piggy sat expressionless behind the luminous wall of his myopia." I wonder if somebody with perfect eyesight could understand how apt that sentence is, because I sure do. (Poor Piggy! We never find out what his real name is.)
Golding begins and ends his recording with a conversational bit about how he came to write the book. He said he had to make the group boys only, because if it had been mixed the book would have had to be primarily about sex, and if it had been only girls they would have behaved a whole lot better and there wouldn't have been a story. I don't know about that--at times in my adolescence it certainly seemed like the cattiness of girls was a far more insidious thing than the boys' tendency towards violence and domination--but I did appreciate this: 'I think women are foolish to pretend they are equal to men. They are far superior, and always have been.' As my grandmother says: 'Amen, brother. Amen.'
Eastern Europe retroblog: Budapest
Kate and Elliot and I went backpacking through Eastern Europe in May and June 2007. We wanted to combine travel with some sort of service project, and while that part didn't turn out exactly as we'd hoped (more on that in the Bosnia installment), we still had an amazing time. Just looking back over the photos is thawing out my toes (more snow tomorrow, says the weatherman, and these days the weatherman is always right), so I think I'll start retroblogging a bit before the three- year mark.(Three years! How did that happen?!)We did Budapest for a few days, then Romania--Sighişoara, Braşov and Rasnov, hiked in the Piatra Craiului mountains, back to Braşov, Sinaia, and to Bucharest to meet my Romanian publisher--then a night train to Belgrade, one night in Kotor in Montenegro; then Dubrovnik, Split, and Hvar Island in Croatia; then a night each in Mostar and Sarajevo, where we split up--Elliot had to go home, so he took a train back to Budapest, and Kate and I went on to Brčko (still in Bosnia) to volunteer at a summer camp for ten days.There aren't as many descriptive journal passages on this trip; I was focused on taking notes for stories and working on rough drafts of answers for a Mary Modern Q&A, because the book was coming out two weeks after we got home. I also read even more than I usually do when traveling--three Angela Carter novels, The Pesthouse, and a bunch of other good books. I copied this little gem from Wise Children (one of my very favorite novels) onto the first page of a new journal:"It doesn't matter if what happens next spoils everything; the anticipation itself is always pure."(So true, it hurts.)
(Kate going for attempted drowning #2 at the Gellert baths.)I have to say, apart from the baths Budapest wasn't my favorite stop--we had a weird hostel experience, and all the supposedly quaint and old-fashioned bars and cafes the guidebook recommended turned out to be tourist traps.Of course, the middle-aged men in speedos at the Szechenyi baths made up for all that...
And here are a few shots from Castle Hill (the painting is a detail of Klára Zách I, on display at the Hungarian National Gallery; better view on Wikipedia):
Elliot: "It's not that I'm being contrarian. It's just that I'm right."
Outside the opera house--we did the tour, which was worthwhile. (I have a thing for sphinxes. I don't know why, except that they're awesome.)Next installment: Sighişoara, Romania (my favorite!)
Witchcraft versus Sorcery
Another tidbit from Peter Somerville-Large's Irish Eccentrics:
'The distinction between witchcraft and sorcery seems to be one of degree; sorcery is the more sophisticated pursuit, since its practitioners seem to be rather masters of the devil than his slaves. Of course, the advantage is only temporary.'
So remember that the next time a winged man-goat offers you wealth, success, and eternal life for a nominal fee.[Woodcut from Life.com.]
Victory Jumper
I'm not a monogamous knitter, for the most part, but I'm making an exception for this because it is keeping me cheerful:
I have been wanting to make the Victory Jumper in a not quite so patriotic color scheme. (Here's the link to the original pattern page on the Victoria & Albert Museum website; the pattern was published just after V-E Day.) A teeny bit of irony: I'm knitting it in German sock yarn.
(Actually, Lang is a Swiss company, so the blue and the green are neutral.)
Isn't it a lovely color combination? I'd originally picked up the Jawoll and Regia at a couple yarn/craft stores in Berlin, and when I showed Kelly my loot she pointed out how well the three colors would look together.(Should have windexed the mirror first...)Colors aside, I think it's a good idea to use wool/nylon sock yarn--this way the underarms won't felt like they did on the jumper I made out of Yorkshire Tweed. (Something I have learned: it is not wise to use 100% wool for a jumper you plan to wear against the skin.)Oh yes, there will be three-quarter sleeves. Wrote up the other mods I'm making on my Ravelry project page.
Irish Saints and other Human Oddities
In the course of researching my new novel--(what a terrible thrill I just got when I typed that!)--I came across a delightful book called Irish Eccentrics by Peter Somerville-Large. The chapter on "Miracle Makers, Rhymers, Witches, Giants and Oddities" is especially weird and entertaining:There were ten speckled saints and eleven leper saints. Others more fantastical had attributes connected with ancient fertility beliefs. Many were prolific, like the female saint, Darerca, who had seventeen sons and two daughters. The sons all became bishops while the daughters remained virgins. A bisexual like Mochue Cicheach had remarkable breasts which 'fed babies of future eminence.' Other saints had three and even four breasts. Others were odder still, like Fer Caille, who had buttocks like cheese, one arm and one leg and a long enough nose to be looped around the branch of a tree.(No, I'm not making this up.)More excerpts to follow...
The Art of Kissing
"Arrange it so that the girl is seated against the arm of the sofa."Back in high school I came across The Art of Kissing, a reproduction of a booklet first published in 1936, and seeing as it's Valentine's Day I thought I'd dust it off and blog about it. As the following passage will show, it has very little to offer in the way of practical advice:"For a kiss can never be absolutely defined. Because each kiss is different from the one before and the one after. Just as no two people are alike, so are no two kisses alike. For it is people who make kisses. Real, live people pulsating with life and love and extreme happiness."Gotta love that florid old-school prose, especially when applied to the subject of "osculations"; we are also provided with a very illuminating definition of the word tumescence. Every time I rediscover this book I wonder about the author, 'Hugh Morris.' Debonair man-about-town, or middle-aged pervert hunched over a typewriter in a terrycloth bathrobe? (Two guesses and the first doesn't count.)"Different Sizes of Mouths Require a Different Technique in Kissing."Morris quotes liberally from the love poems of Catullus, Horace, and somebody named Sir John Suckling, but as you might expect from a pamphlet published in 1936, misogyny is the overarching theme: "It is, therefore, necessary that the man be taller than the woman" because a man "must always give the impression of being his woman's superior, both mentally and especially physically."(Good God, am I glad I was born at the right end of the twentieth century!)It gets worse--the author stops just short of condoning out-and-out rape. "If she flinches, don't worry. If she flinches and makes an outcry, don't worry. If she flinches, makes an outcry and tries to get up from the sofa, don't worry. Hold her, gently but firmly, and allay her fears with kind, reassuring words. Remember what Shakespeare said about 'a woman's no!'"Oh, but he's just warming up: "However, if she flinches, makes an outcry, a loud, stentorian outcry, mind you, and starts to scratch your face, then start to worry or start to get yourself out of a bad situation. Such girls are not to be trifled with...or kissed. It is such as they, in most cases, who still believe the story of the stork which brings babies because of the consequences of a kiss."What an absurd little man you were, Hugh Morris! No doubt you concocted all this dangerous nonsense simply because every woman you encountered was much too smart to be snogging the likes of you.I sat down to make fun of this thing and look what came out. Sorry about that. I think I'll go eat some candy hearts now.(Thanks to eliz.avery on Flickr for scanning all the delightful illustrations. Check out her photostream, there's plenty more where that came from.)
Snapshots from Galway
St. Nicholas' Collegiate Church; a double rainbow (view from the Bridge Mills); the prom at low tide; boats on the Claddagh.
Gretel #2
I haven't knit a hat to keep until now. Fuschia--fuchsia?--oh heck, magenta--may not be the most flattering color on me, but it makes me very happy whenever I look at it. This yarn has delicious little flecks of lavender and purple and green. I love Donegal tweed: vibrant colors, very sturdy, softens with washing, excellent value.
Pattern: Gretel by Ysolda (regular size; the Gretel I knit for my grandmother was fitted)Yarn: Studio Donegal Aran Tweed (a.k.a. Kilcarra), 2 balls fuschia, from This is Knit.Needles: #6s for ribbing (should have used #5s) and #7s.Raveled here.I was afraid the ribbing would be too stiff on #5s, but it's too loose on #6s--I think I'll thread in some elastic to make sure the hat stays put.
We pray for those we have loved, and see no more.
While I was in Rye I entered St. Mary's Church during the daily service, and decided to sit down in the back and pay attention just for curiosity's sake (I'd never been to an Anglican service before). This line from the prayers of the faithful has stuck with me--we pray for those we have loved, and see no more.Today would have been my grandmother's 87th birthday. She's been gone nearly fourteen years but I still miss her every day, and every time I pass the cemetery I think about the day they bought the plot, how she told my parents they could wave whenever they drove by on Route 130. Then, according to my dad, she started laughing hysterically, which kind of weirded him out; but if I'd been there, I know I would have laughed too.
Anyway, every so often doesn't it feel good to celebrate the people who have helped make us who we are? My grandmother was kind and smart and patient and wise. She was selfless to a fault. She made the best meatloaf (and I say that as someone who hasn't eaten meat in almost ten years). She was one of the few adults who would play games with us--Old Maid, Go Fish, Trouble, and swimming races. She always let me win.And she was, of course, a voracious reader.
Now this portrait looks over my writing desk.
Socks for the New Year
(Happy Birthday, Shelley!)I love travel knitting because whatever you wind up working on will bring to mind all the other experiences you had during that trip. These socks will always remind me of hanging out at Seanan's with Deirdre and Diarmuid, and meeting Emma at Foyle's, and that lazy snowy day in Rye, and the sweet ladies in the Ryanair queue (after our flight was cancelled) who had a bet going as to what I was working on (one said socks and the other guessed it was a sleeve on a baby sweater), and knitting with Jenny and John at a pub in Galway that looks like somebody's great-granny's sitting room, and 'crafterevening' with Shelley, and staying up until 4 with Bríd in Dublin.This pattern is fantastic. I really enjoyed working with the yarn too, although I wish I'd read the Ravelry comments about Smooshy before I decided to knit socks, because a lot of people say it doesn't wear well. The twisted rib feels quite sturdy though, so we'll see.
Pattern: Julia Socks by Emily JohnsonYarn: Dream in Color Smooshy, spring tickle (one hank with enough left over for a pair of baby booties, yay!)Needles: #1sRaveled here.
(Yes, I stuck my feet in the air and took a picture.)
Bizarre Love Pentangle
I have had an official request for more fun witchy things, in anticipation of the publication of Petty Magic in October. So here's a gem--I rediscovered this newspaper clipping from 2007 in my notes, from a newspaper Ailbhe brought with her when she came to New York for the Mary Modern book launch.* * *How to win over an Elizabethan woman with a frog, an ant hill and a ringDaily Telegraph, 26 June 2007As a sure-fire way to win a woman's love, it lacks credibility and could lead to a charge of animal cruelty.An incantation that surfaces at an auction next month in a unique handwritten manuscript of magic spells advises late-Elizabethan males: "Take a frog and put him in a pot and stop it fast."The anonymous author then advises the love-seeker to bury the pot in an ant hill at a crossroads for nine days. Then the two bones remaining should be put in running water."One of them will float against the stream ... Make thee a ring, and take the part that swum against the stream and set it in the ring, and when you will have any woman put it on her right hand ... she shall never rest till she hath been with thee."The obscure "manuscript grimoire", written between 1590 and 1620, contains a vast range of conjurations, incantations, signs, portents, spells and folk remedies. It was found among the effects of the artist Robert Lenkiewicz, who died in 2002, aged 60.The painter once faked his own death and kept the embalmed body of a tramp in his studio for 20 years.Now the slim volume, which includes angelic seals with coded messages, is expected to fetch up to £12,000 at a Sotheby's literature sale in London on July 13.Dr Gabriel Heaton, a manuscripts specialist at Sotheby's, said yesterday: "This is a richly illustrated Elizabethan anthology."Much of the text is set within a Christian framework - but there are also signs of an older and darker tradition in the use of blood rituals and, on one occasion, a reversed pentangle."
Funkahedron
Look, look--a stellated dodecahedron! I know, I'm a big nerd, but I think nerdiness is kind of a prerequisite here. It's got bells in it too. I hope my little nephew gets as big a kick out of it as I do.
(Pattern from Berroco, raveled here.)
Adventures in London, part 4
(Here is the fourth and final installment, unfortunately rather short in the picture department.)
I'd been hoping to meet up with the lovely Emma of quelle erqsome, and we finally managed to get together for coffee at Foyle's when I got back from Rye (the day before I flew to Dublin). When Seanan got off work the three of us went to this amazing vegan Asian buffet before catching The Woe Betides at Bush Hall. We felt very old in the midst of so many scantily-clad fourteen-year-olds chugging from vodka bottles stashed in their purses (heck, I would have felt old if I'd been fourteen myself), but it was very good fun and of course The Woe Betides are terrific. (Check them out on iTunes too...I hope that link works.)Anyway, Emma is one half of Made by Loumms, and I have admired their sock patterns and Etsy goodies for awhile now. I finally treated myself to a sock WIP bucket bag, which came in the mail the other day. It's awesome--really well made using adorable fabrics and nifty buttons, and each bag comes with a little lavender sachet (which I could smell as soon as I opened the envelope). I love that they use every last scrap of fabric to make these sachets--very make do and mend-y of them!(The project inside the bag is my almost-finished Julia Socks, and the two hanks next to it are my prize yarn (squee!) from the Electric Sheep podcast for being The Funniest Person on the Internet.Er...okay, One of Two People Who Submitted a Link to The Funniest Thing on the Internet, to be slightly more accurate. (It was the "literal version" of "Total Eclipse of the Heart," which is no longer available on Youtube, alas!)
Rye
I'd had a vague and way-too-ambitious notion of going to both Oxford and York while I was in England, but in the end I just decided to spend a couple nights in Rye, which is about two hours south-east of London. I'd read a little about medieval churches dotted along a spooky coastal marsh, though in the end I couldn't travel any farther because of the weather.Rye is enchanting, especially under a liberal dusting of snow. I went to St. Mary's, but the tower was closed for fear of ice on the steps; all the most interesting shops (antiques, secondhand books, vintage clothing, YARN) were closed; and Lamb House (where Henry James lived while writing The Wings of the Dove) doesn't open until March or April. So there was absolutely nothing to do but walk around in the snow taking pictures, but that suited me fine.Above: St. Mary's churchyard, mid-morning.Below: the Landgate right after it had started to snow again; another view of the churchyard; at the bottom of Mermaid Street, mid-afternoon; the view from the top of Trader's Passage at 4:30pm; the Old Borough Arms (which I can't recommend highly enough).
Olivia's Birthday Cardi, take 2
This child is destined to become a knitter, don't you think?Knitting sweaters for kids is tricky. Ideally you want the garment to fit them for more than one winter, but you don't want to knit too big a size either.I wanted to make a cardigan for my niece's third birthday, decided on a pattern--Alice Starmore's Secret Garden--and got halfway through knitting the 4/5-year-old size before I realized that, lovely as it is, it would truly look like a big purple sack on her. But if I'd knit the 2/3-year-old size, it would have been quite a bit of work for something she won't fit into this time next year. So I decided to finish the Secret Garden cardi for her fourth birthday, and knit her something quick in time for her party.Which leads me to the other tricky thing about knitting for kids: there aren't enough patterns out there! I guess I'm just used to having tons of choices when knitting for myself or another adult. I had it in my head that she'd like a top-down garter-yoke cardigan (she's very fashionable, for a toddler), but I couldn't find anything to suit the yarn I had in my stash. So I winged it.
It's basically a downsized version of Melissa LaBarre's Garter Yoke Cardigan from Knitscene Fall '08, although I substituted the short-row instructions from the Sweetheart Cardigan by Laura Brown. I'd originally bought this Knit Picks Swish DK to make me some witches' britches, but I can always buy more when I eventually get around to knitting them. Or not, because the quality of this yarn is ridiculous--at several points it frayed to a hair's thickness, and I had to cut the yarn and start the ball again from the beginning of the row. (I've used Swish Worsted on several projects, and I like it, so I don't know what the deal is with the DK.)
I used buttons from my grandparents' tin--not the cutest option, but cute enough given that I had the right number. I have a half dozen heart-shaped buttons, but I'd rather save them for a project where I can use all six.
(Olivia's birthday was back in November, but I only got a chance to snap some photos just before Christmas, and when I went to Ireland and England I left my camera cable at home.)Raveled here.
Adventures in London, part 3
(A view of St. Paul's from the Millennium Bridge.)On Seanan's day off we went to the Victoria & Albert. I spent the most time at the fashion exhibit, which was of course fantastic, although it was pretty hilarious to see a pink velour hoochy tracksuit behind glass like it was some precious artifact. When you go to the V&A you must have lunch (or at least tea) in the cafeteria, which is full of splendid tilework and stained glass windows featuring clever quotations about food. The other really memorable thing was Elizabeth Parker's needlepoint autobiography, which I feel sure I read or heard about in a blog or podcast awhile back, because reading the embroidery felt awfully familiar.Then there were incredibly delicious fruity cocktails at Beach Blanket Babylon in Notting Hill, which were worth every cent of £9. (Just don't pay by credit card, because the waiter will try to confuse you into leaving a bigger tip than he deserves.)The next day I went to the National Gallery expressly to see Venus & Mars (not that I didn't see a lot of other amazing paintings too--being able to view The Ambassadors in person was a really cool experience!), and then to the Royal College of Surgeons Museum, which is the final resting-place (er--of sorts) of the 'Irish Giant', Charles Byrne. (I'd recently read The Giant O'Brien by Hilary Mantel, a fictionalized account of Byrne's life as a professional oddity in London. Very well written, of course, but stinkin' depressing--his "friends" were all sitting around waiting for him to die so they could sell his body to John Hunter for an exorbitant price.)
Now to the juicy part of this post: the magical print shop that is T. Alena Brett on Cecil Court, off Charing Cross Road (there's no website). Thousands of odd or otherwise special little antique prints, most of which are £3-5. I can't say enough good things about this place, or its owner. The building has a fascinating history as well--a long time ago it was a barber's shop, and as a boy Mozart had his hair cut there; and in the early 20th century it was a tea room frequented by several of the war poets (Rupert Brooke, et al). The tables were set up along the tiny balcony where I took the photo above.
Above: the Christmas window display at T. Alena Brett. Below: two of the prints I bought, 'Princess Fiorimonde' and 'Fair at Westminster in the Fourteenth Century'.
Adventures in London, part 2
New Year's Day was pretty lazy--after hanging around Foyle's for awhile (Seanan was working), Deirdre and Diarmuid and I went to The George for some mulled wine. The building dates to the mid-1600s; Dickens drank there, and Shakespeare at an earlier tavern on the same site. Very quaint and surprisingly untouristy.On the 2nd we went shopping at iKnit (Diarmuid was a real trooper) and Persephone Books, and eventually we got to the British Museum. I picked up some violet cremes (out of this world!!) at Hope & Greenwood to have at The Woman in Black, which was every bit as spooky as we hoped. Afterwards we met Seanan (who was just getting off work) and had a terrific dinner (with margaritas) at some Mexican place I can't remember the name of.Above: a medieval grotesque at the British Museum.Below: the main hall, and the Easter Island statue.
Deirdre and Diarmuid had to leave early on the 3rd, and Seanan was working, so I spent the day (mostly) browsing. There was yarn shopping--oh my, was there yarn shopping--and there was fabric, too, at the hallowed Liberty's, although I didn't end up buying anything because that place is so overwhelming it's impossible to make a decision!
Above: the Columbia Flower Market on a Sunday morning; graffiti art on the back of a truck at the Brick Lane market; Regent Street just before 5pm.
Hat for a Wise Man
This is one of my favorite pictures of my grandfather--it conveys his personality so perfectly. He is playful and loving and unself-consciously wise; my favorite expressions of his are Don't take no wooden nickels! and What God's got in store for you ain't gonna pass you by.
Pattern: a mash-up of the Norwegian Star Earflap Hat and Sally Pointer's Owls and Flowers chart (both Ravelry links); I changed the earflap shaping though, and added the chin-strap and buttons.Yarn: Cascade 220 Heathers, one skein each of galaxy, turtle, and strawNeedles: #6s for the strap and #7s for the hat itself.Gauge: 24 sts and 32 rows over 4" on #6s; 20 sts on #7s.Raveled here.
(No, he is not having a convulsive fit.)Grandpop to Grandmom: Turn off the damn light!Kate: You two are cursing up a storm tonight.Grandpop: That's married life for you. Now hand me that shoehorn.
Adventures in London, part 1
On the 31st I flew from Knock to Stansted. Seanan, Deirdre, and Diarmuid met me at Liverpool Street station, and after I'd dropped my bags we romped around town for a bit--browsed at The Tea House and Hope & Greenwood, which has to be THE best sweet shop in the whole world.
The amusements at Leicester Square.
Then we went to Fortnum & Mason, the poshest department store ever, where I felt like a street urchin drooling over the candy counters.
Then we went home and Seanan cooked up a delicious dinner (spicy parsnip soup! in a bread bowl! an olive bread bowl! and filo pastries with spinach and brie and apples and pine nuts! and some no-doubt-yummy chocolatey thing I was way too full for! and he even got me amaretto and cranberry juice!!) It was a lovely laid-back New Year's Eve.
Westport!
Shelley and James had their wedding in Westport on December 29th. She wore the shawl I knit her, which was perfect because the church was positively glacial. I had a fantastic time getting to know Shelley's friends from Dublin, Arizona, Michigan, and New York. Also, the Wyatt Hotel is outstanding--the staff were nice, the room was lovely (a double bed in a single room, yay!), and the food was much better than I expected. (The vegetarian breakfast came with fried goats cheese. Squee!)
(I love this picture. Most of my photos weren't very good, so I got this one from James' Facebook album. Shelley's friend Carolyn Tacey was the official wedding photographer.)
The day after the wedding a bunch of us drove out to Croagh Patrick (thanks for driving, Lorraine!)--after a delicious lunch at The Tavern, we just walked up to the statue of St. Patrick at the foot of the mountain--and after that we ambled around Murrisk Abbey for a bit.
Next post: adventures in London, part 1.