Anyone who knows or speaks to me for more than a little while will learn that I am a reader of probably the least coolest fiction there is - sci-fi & fantasy. Although, and it's important to make these distinctions; not exclusively sci-fi & fantasy, and not shit sci-fi & fantasy - David Gemmell, I'm looking at you. When not shit, this type of storytelling can be extremely complex, and layered with multiple strands holding a distorted mirror to our own social and psychological issues. Try reading Iain M. Banks, Robert Jordan, Frank Herbert or (obviously) Tolkien, and then you'll see what I mean.
Sometimes, a series I read tends to be cleverer than I am (not, granted, a particularly difficult achievement), and I have trouble following all the nuances. A writer that often does this to me is Stephen Donaldson. I've recently finished Donaldson's Gap Sequence, which has troubled me somewhat. Donaldson is best known for his Thomas Covenant series, which caused me similar problems, although to a lesser degree than the Gap Sequence.
It's not that he's a bad writer - on the contrary, he's particularly impressive, which is why I can finish his novels despite my reaction. He tends to make his heroes a little more difficult to root for than your average. Which again, is usually not a problem, but I wonder if Donaldson takes it too far. Take Thomas Covenant for example, the hero in the Thomas Covenant series. In the first book Covenant is introduced as a recluse suffering from leprosy. He used to be a successful writer, but his wife and son have left him and he's looked at by most people with not a small amount of disgust. Donaldson's medical background (or possibly his father's - I can't remember at the moment and I don't have one of his books to hand) helps to give the character plenty of depth. Due to the standard magic/nonsense/event thing, Covenant finds himself in a fantasy land where his leprosy heals and upon retrieving the feeling in his nerves, one of his first acts is to rape a girl aged about 16 who was helping him. Now, there are two justifications for this in Covenant's own head - it's his first erection in years as well as the first time in years he's been able to touch or feel. In addition to this, his refusal to accept the place he's found himself in as real absolves him (in his own head) of responsibility. Clearly, this does not excuse him in the eyes of the reader, and over the course of a series of books, Covenant's unbelief crumbles and the consequences of the act are far-reaching and desperately tragic. He is not a man it's easy to come to like. This appears to be Donaldson's particular skill, or at least a recurring theme of his - no person or act is beyond redemption. As Covenant suffers under the consequences of his act, and as he attempts to undo the damage he caused, as the reader you do, slowly, come to empathise with him and accept him - even to like him. This is no small achievement of Donaldson's.
With the Gap Sequence I wonder if he went too far in the suffering he inflicted upon one of the main characters, if he made it too much of a stretch in his attempt to redeem one of the inflicters. The Gap Sequence is Donaldson's retelling of Wagner's Ring Cycle. Only the opera is retold in the form of a series of science fiction books. I told you some of these writers were clever. The character, Morn Hyland suffers more than any other character I could name - probably more than was really necessary. After the emergence of a previously unknown and uncontrollable condition causes the death of her father, Morn is captured by a truly reprehensible character and is repeatedly degraded, beaten and raped, sometimes in unpleasant detail. 'Detail' in this case doesn't mean so much the physical acts themselves, although that is sometimes there, but the emotional and psychological torment inflicted upon her. I think sometimes Donaldson loses sight of the point that fiction, particularly fantastical fiction, is supposed to entertain at least as much as it disturbs, and I very nearly decided to stop reading on a number of occasions. Upon engineering her own escape, Morn is abandoned by the very organisation she serves, and given as payment to a different, but equally horrid (possibly worse) character who continues the physical and mental abuse to the point where anyone would have lost their sanity. Indeed, Morn does, a least a little - for it to be otherwise would have been unrealistic. (Yes, I do note the irony of using the word 'unrealistic' when describing a science fiction story, but setting and characterisation are two very different things.) After these prolonged events, she is then, in her fragile state, expected to save her race and be a hero in the way these stories go. As talented a writer as Donaldson undoubtedly is, I questioned the need to put Morn through quite such an extended episode of horror. So damaged is she, that the happiest ending Donaldson can conceive for her is *SPOILER* to leave her weeping hysterically in a room by herself, struggling to gather the courage to face the world outside. Realistic, yes, but necessary? Both of the men involved have back stories and through them the reasons why they are the way they are become clear. As with Thomas Covenant, only ten-fold more, this does not excuse their actions. However, Donaldson continues his theme of redemption and one of the characters becomes a hero of sorts, someone to root for. After almost putting the series down so many times during the first two books, this was difficult to swallow, and made me not a little uncomfortable.
So why did Donaldson go so far with Morn? I don't think it's anything to do with him not understanding the trauma rape victims undergo, as the consequences and emotional states of those involved are realised in a way that clearly shows Donaldson understood the magnitude of what he was putting his characters through. I don't really know, but I can tell you that despite my best efforts, I kind of was rooting for this guy a little before the end. So maybe it comes down to Donaldson's continuing theme of redemption - anyone can be saved.
Or maybe I should shut up and think about something more useful.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Birmingham: sunny, bustling, multicultural; beautiful.
I went out with some friends this week to Birmingham to celebrate a birthday. Living in a backwater like Telford, the only places to really go out are Telford, Shrewsbury, Wolverhampton or Birmingham. Telford is, frankly, shit, so mostly we go to either Shrewsbury (also shit, but posh as well) or Wolverhampton (less shit, but not especially brilliant). Birmingham is generally too far away to make it worth the effort, and it also tended to be a bit shit as well. This time, we all took a Friday off work and got the train down at Midday.
To say I was pleasantly surprised is an understatement - the place has definitely had some work done since I was there last. I know it's always had its fair share of fantastic things; old record shops; the Waterstones that fills a huge five-storey building with books; the pub that has a theatre on the first floor. However, those things aside, it always seemed a bit, well, drab. Grey. Maybe it was the weather, because sunshine really can do wondrous things, but this time the architecture looked more impressive, colours seemed brighter, and the whole place seemed cleaner and better maintained. It didn't feel like Birmingham used to feel. It felt more like London.
People thronged every street, which normally pisses me off something awful, but here it just made everything brighter and more cheerful. Me, who hates football, found it not altogether dreadful to be in a bar showing the World Cup. The bars were all playing great music, from Happy Mondays and Suede, through Blur, Pulp and Kasabian and onto Ellie Goulding and Florence + the Machine. Only a few momentary blips with Nickleback and Maroon 5 soured the soundtrack. After sampling a number of places, we settled on a relatively newly developed area on a canal full of different bars and restaurants. Fairy lights draping the bridge over the canal came on as the Sun went down. A band turned up on a small bandstand and started playing. The weather was great, the bars were full, the atmosphere was...bohemian. Don't get me wrong: I know a lot of Birmingham is shitty, I'm not that naive, even though many of my older and more cynical friends tell me often that I am. Funnily enough, my younger and slightly naive friends think I'm a bit cynical.
What I loved most of all though, is that people were fully mixing and integrating regardless of age, sex, race, anything. In certain circles, and in certain classes, at least where I live and work, there is a casual, supposedly inoffensive attitude of racism, homophobia and sexism. The kind of people that don't see anything wrong with the Daily Mail. The kind of people that hold Richard Littlejohn up as a beacon of common sense. It's not that these hateful attitudes have disappeared in our so-called enlightened society, it's just that the milder, more subversive form has become the accepted norm in too many places. I find it distasteful in the extreme, and I sometimes despair and wonder if it's everywhere. Well, it wasn't in Birmingham last Friday. Indian and Caucasian girls walked arm in arm, clearly either lovers or the very best of friends. Long-haired metalheads walked around with their blonde leggy girlfriends. Young black guys and old white men talked and laughed over the football, discussing the dissolution of Brazil's World Cup dreams. One girl was the spitting image of Scarlett Johansson - and that, I don't mind telling you, made my night. She was left to enjoy her evening with her friend without being approached by a pissed up bloke showing off to his mates. All the drunken walking arguments-against-evolution were probably back in Telford, diligently bothering anything female on two legs in sight. This is what a modern city should be.
After wading through the sinister, Daily Mail-fed attitude of non-acceptance and segregation under the surface of too many corners of my world for so long, to witness all these people simply enjoying time together made my heart feel good. And if that makes me a naive, wishy-washy, fuzzy liberal do-gooder as the Mail might label me, well then I'm proud to be exactly that.
It was however, really fucking expensive.
To say I was pleasantly surprised is an understatement - the place has definitely had some work done since I was there last. I know it's always had its fair share of fantastic things; old record shops; the Waterstones that fills a huge five-storey building with books; the pub that has a theatre on the first floor. However, those things aside, it always seemed a bit, well, drab. Grey. Maybe it was the weather, because sunshine really can do wondrous things, but this time the architecture looked more impressive, colours seemed brighter, and the whole place seemed cleaner and better maintained. It didn't feel like Birmingham used to feel. It felt more like London.
People thronged every street, which normally pisses me off something awful, but here it just made everything brighter and more cheerful. Me, who hates football, found it not altogether dreadful to be in a bar showing the World Cup. The bars were all playing great music, from Happy Mondays and Suede, through Blur, Pulp and Kasabian and onto Ellie Goulding and Florence + the Machine. Only a few momentary blips with Nickleback and Maroon 5 soured the soundtrack. After sampling a number of places, we settled on a relatively newly developed area on a canal full of different bars and restaurants. Fairy lights draping the bridge over the canal came on as the Sun went down. A band turned up on a small bandstand and started playing. The weather was great, the bars were full, the atmosphere was...bohemian. Don't get me wrong: I know a lot of Birmingham is shitty, I'm not that naive, even though many of my older and more cynical friends tell me often that I am. Funnily enough, my younger and slightly naive friends think I'm a bit cynical.
What I loved most of all though, is that people were fully mixing and integrating regardless of age, sex, race, anything. In certain circles, and in certain classes, at least where I live and work, there is a casual, supposedly inoffensive attitude of racism, homophobia and sexism. The kind of people that don't see anything wrong with the Daily Mail. The kind of people that hold Richard Littlejohn up as a beacon of common sense. It's not that these hateful attitudes have disappeared in our so-called enlightened society, it's just that the milder, more subversive form has become the accepted norm in too many places. I find it distasteful in the extreme, and I sometimes despair and wonder if it's everywhere. Well, it wasn't in Birmingham last Friday. Indian and Caucasian girls walked arm in arm, clearly either lovers or the very best of friends. Long-haired metalheads walked around with their blonde leggy girlfriends. Young black guys and old white men talked and laughed over the football, discussing the dissolution of Brazil's World Cup dreams. One girl was the spitting image of Scarlett Johansson - and that, I don't mind telling you, made my night. She was left to enjoy her evening with her friend without being approached by a pissed up bloke showing off to his mates. All the drunken walking arguments-against-evolution were probably back in Telford, diligently bothering anything female on two legs in sight. This is what a modern city should be.
After wading through the sinister, Daily Mail-fed attitude of non-acceptance and segregation under the surface of too many corners of my world for so long, to witness all these people simply enjoying time together made my heart feel good. And if that makes me a naive, wishy-washy, fuzzy liberal do-gooder as the Mail might label me, well then I'm proud to be exactly that.
It was however, really fucking expensive.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
A lunch break spent in Hell.
Recently my cheap old mobile phone gave up the ghost, leaving me with the unpleasant prospect of buying a new one. The thing is, I hate mobile phones. Hate them. I hate the idea that I can never be truly out of reach (and I know I can just switch it off, but that's not the point), I hate the way texting has eroded the general populations ability to correctly type out even the simplest of sentences properly without resorting to switching the word 'to' to the number '2', and I hate the way that they're not only phones anymore, they're cameras, camcorders, MP3 players and tiny Internet providers, all in one. I very specifically make a point of owning a separate camera, MP3 player etc., so I just want a phone to use for calling people. Is that too much to ask? iPhone, my arse. If this wasn't enough, I hate mobile phone shops. It's never enough to just go in and get a relatively cheap pay as you go phone. I've always got to go through the same conversation with whatever dickhead is trying to sell to me about how it might be cheaper for me to get a contract. Listen very carefully. I don't fucking want a contract. That's why I haven't asked you for one. It is, in fact, why I specifically asked you for pay as you go.
So, resigned to the fact that I needed to get it over with, I head off in to town on my lunch break to get me a new phone. I get up to 2 hours (a benefit of flexi-time), so that should be plenty of time to get a new phone and eat lunch. In town, I soon find that there are about a million different phone shops, but the vast majority are for specific networks. Except the network I'm on. After a few minutes, I manage to find a Phones4U. I stand outside, looking at the text-speak logo (it's FOR YOU, you bunch of cockends!), attempting to swallow my instant hatred of the shop and all inside. I take a deep breath and cross the threshold. I take a straight path to the pay as you go display and start looking at the phones. At first, the only thing I look at is the price. There are some for under a fiver, but even I recognise that they look utter shit. I will not go over £50, however, not for a phone. I finally pick one that will do and I get approached. After I explain that I don't want any of the extra shite he's offering me, he tells me to hold on while he gets the phone. 10 minutes pass by. I'm conscious of the passing of my lunch break, like fine sand through my fingers. I see my guy wandering round at the back of the shop, looking lost. He's moving from desk to desk. He finally comes back, muttering that he's just looking for the keys to the cupboard, he won't be a minute. You've already been more than 10 I point out, in my head. Soon after, he finds the keys, only to open the cupboard and tell me they are out of stock. Have a look, see if there's another one I like, he says. I smile and nod politely before walking out of the store, ready to kill someone. Or at least someones phone.
By now, with all the wandering and choosing and waiting, almost half of my lunch break is up. I continue to search until I find a Carphone Warehouse. I feel slightly more confident here, as I dimly remember that this is where I got my previous phone. Plus, they can't be as bad as Cunts4U. As before, I head to the pay as you go section, to find a nice display area with a leaflet showing the phones available and their prices. I spend some time looking, before settling on one phone costing £30. The shop is empty other than me, with two staff, but I still have to walk up to the counter and stand there like a lemon before either one of them engages with me. While at the counter, I discover that there is a minimum top up of £10 for every phone. This is annoying, especially as Phones4U didn't have such measures in place. However, by now I just want to get the whole ordeal over with, so I acquiesce. The staff member offers me a way to save money - if I buy the phone on a different network, it will be £10 cheaper, and then I can just put my existing sim card in when I get home. For a while, I'm quite pleased.
The guy needs to take a few details - name, address, that kind of stuff. He types in the details I provide. Then he asks again. Then he looks confused at his screen and asks again. This goes on for what must have been 10 minutes or more, with much scratching of head and consulting with the other staff member. Surely he knows what to do when selling one of the phones I think to myself. It is a phone shop, after all. I don't think it's unreasonable to assume he knows how to sell a phone. Anyway, progress is finally made until he points out that on this phone the minimum top up is £20. It's probably because the phone is only £20, he informs me. So what was the point of offering me the phone £10 cheaper on a different network? I now have £20 on a sim I won't even use! The remaining time on my lunch break is now rapidly running out, and I just want to get out before I leap over the counter and pummel his stupid, empty face. With another 10 minutes or so of trying to put through a simple fucking sale, I finally leave, putting my new phone in my bag. I now have to rush to get back to work, and I will have to miss my lunch.
The only possible conclusion I can draw from this is that mobile phone shop assistants must be the dumbest bastards on this Earth. Apart from possibly HMV staff, but that's a whole different story...
So, resigned to the fact that I needed to get it over with, I head off in to town on my lunch break to get me a new phone. I get up to 2 hours (a benefit of flexi-time), so that should be plenty of time to get a new phone and eat lunch. In town, I soon find that there are about a million different phone shops, but the vast majority are for specific networks. Except the network I'm on. After a few minutes, I manage to find a Phones4U. I stand outside, looking at the text-speak logo (it's FOR YOU, you bunch of cockends!), attempting to swallow my instant hatred of the shop and all inside. I take a deep breath and cross the threshold. I take a straight path to the pay as you go display and start looking at the phones. At first, the only thing I look at is the price. There are some for under a fiver, but even I recognise that they look utter shit. I will not go over £50, however, not for a phone. I finally pick one that will do and I get approached. After I explain that I don't want any of the extra shite he's offering me, he tells me to hold on while he gets the phone. 10 minutes pass by. I'm conscious of the passing of my lunch break, like fine sand through my fingers. I see my guy wandering round at the back of the shop, looking lost. He's moving from desk to desk. He finally comes back, muttering that he's just looking for the keys to the cupboard, he won't be a minute. You've already been more than 10 I point out, in my head. Soon after, he finds the keys, only to open the cupboard and tell me they are out of stock. Have a look, see if there's another one I like, he says. I smile and nod politely before walking out of the store, ready to kill someone. Or at least someones phone.
By now, with all the wandering and choosing and waiting, almost half of my lunch break is up. I continue to search until I find a Carphone Warehouse. I feel slightly more confident here, as I dimly remember that this is where I got my previous phone. Plus, they can't be as bad as Cunts4U. As before, I head to the pay as you go section, to find a nice display area with a leaflet showing the phones available and their prices. I spend some time looking, before settling on one phone costing £30. The shop is empty other than me, with two staff, but I still have to walk up to the counter and stand there like a lemon before either one of them engages with me. While at the counter, I discover that there is a minimum top up of £10 for every phone. This is annoying, especially as Phones4U didn't have such measures in place. However, by now I just want to get the whole ordeal over with, so I acquiesce. The staff member offers me a way to save money - if I buy the phone on a different network, it will be £10 cheaper, and then I can just put my existing sim card in when I get home. For a while, I'm quite pleased.
The guy needs to take a few details - name, address, that kind of stuff. He types in the details I provide. Then he asks again. Then he looks confused at his screen and asks again. This goes on for what must have been 10 minutes or more, with much scratching of head and consulting with the other staff member. Surely he knows what to do when selling one of the phones I think to myself. It is a phone shop, after all. I don't think it's unreasonable to assume he knows how to sell a phone. Anyway, progress is finally made until he points out that on this phone the minimum top up is £20. It's probably because the phone is only £20, he informs me. So what was the point of offering me the phone £10 cheaper on a different network? I now have £20 on a sim I won't even use! The remaining time on my lunch break is now rapidly running out, and I just want to get out before I leap over the counter and pummel his stupid, empty face. With another 10 minutes or so of trying to put through a simple fucking sale, I finally leave, putting my new phone in my bag. I now have to rush to get back to work, and I will have to miss my lunch.
The only possible conclusion I can draw from this is that mobile phone shop assistants must be the dumbest bastards on this Earth. Apart from possibly HMV staff, but that's a whole different story...
Monday, June 21, 2010
A further attempt to understand why people like shite.
So, a friend of mine (who happens to be a gentleman somewhat older than myself) is a big fan of pop music, and I've taken it upon myself to try to find out why. At some point during a conversation, X-Factor came up. That's right - it's not just regular pop music he likes, like say, Lady Gaga who, previously in this blog I've confessed to and attempted to defend a liking of, but it's the empty headed, personality-less talent-holes who enter this glorified karaoke contest he calls himself a fan of.
"You can't deny that Leona Lewis has a great voice," he tells me, all knowing. Well, friend, just watch me. So she's technically proficient, but is that all it takes nowadays? If I close my eyes, I can hear all of them - Lewis, Alexandra Burke, um, erm. Ah. I was going to list others but I've forgotten them all. They're all clones of the standard wobbly-voiced diva. The originals - Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Celene Dion and similar are also horrific, but at least they're professionals. Leona Lewis just copied the template and managed to fool the morons who take the time to vote for these empty vessels.
Doesn't anyone want a bit of substance, a bit of feeling, or something more original? The breathless Polly Scattergood, the unique and astonishing Neko Case? Case's Deep Red Bells has a vocal that frankly shits all over Bleeding Love from a great height. You want a bigger range? The magnificent Florence Welch has a voice which is practically operatic. Unfortunately, my friend had not heard of any of these. Although, I'd wager he's probably heard of Florence and the Machine by now. OK, we'll go with someone well known then - Kate Bush. "Nah," he says. "She's weird."
It's at this point I give up. He, like so many others, prefers to wallow in the dull, repetitive world of mainstream pop, listening to music that was recorded to make money as opposed to being a timeless piece of art, dismissing anything with a hint of feeling or originality as 'weird'. Well, balls to him and all others like him.
"You can't deny that Leona Lewis has a great voice," he tells me, all knowing. Well, friend, just watch me. So she's technically proficient, but is that all it takes nowadays? If I close my eyes, I can hear all of them - Lewis, Alexandra Burke, um, erm. Ah. I was going to list others but I've forgotten them all. They're all clones of the standard wobbly-voiced diva. The originals - Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Celene Dion and similar are also horrific, but at least they're professionals. Leona Lewis just copied the template and managed to fool the morons who take the time to vote for these empty vessels.
Doesn't anyone want a bit of substance, a bit of feeling, or something more original? The breathless Polly Scattergood, the unique and astonishing Neko Case? Case's Deep Red Bells has a vocal that frankly shits all over Bleeding Love from a great height. You want a bigger range? The magnificent Florence Welch has a voice which is practically operatic. Unfortunately, my friend had not heard of any of these. Although, I'd wager he's probably heard of Florence and the Machine by now. OK, we'll go with someone well known then - Kate Bush. "Nah," he says. "She's weird."
It's at this point I give up. He, like so many others, prefers to wallow in the dull, repetitive world of mainstream pop, listening to music that was recorded to make money as opposed to being a timeless piece of art, dismissing anything with a hint of feeling or originality as 'weird'. Well, balls to him and all others like him.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Impressions of Zakynthos.
The Greek islands are undoubtedly our favourite place to go on holiday. We've been to four so far - Kefalonia, Samos, Thassos and Skopelos, each one being quieter and more remote than the last. That's how we like it - not touristy, just secluded and peaceful, with long walks to lose ourselves in. This, obviously, was before we had Katie. We've recently been to Zakynthos, our fifth island, and it
wasn't what we were used to. It was actually a present from my parents, who also paid for my sister and her partner and their son, making eight of us all together. With small children to consider, we stayed in the resort of Alykanas on the North of the island. This resort is clearly designed with the family in mind - our complex had several pools, one of which had a slide, a park on site and was built literally on the edge of the beach - built to make things easier when managing a family. It's also very noisy, with the on site 'entertainment' echoing through the evenings and making it nearly impossible to enjoy a little quiet time on the balcony after Katie's gone to sleep. Greece is much more expensive now than it used to be as well, but the people are mostly just as lovely as ever.
The weather was odd, with the first week being cloudy for much of the time with occasional rain, and the second week being dry and consistently in the mid thirties. In a way, it worked out well, as the first week gave the kids a chance to acclimatise themselves to the heat before the scorching second week. The resort seemed to be designed with the intention of attracting a particular type of English family, and in fact during the second week almost every man I saw was shaven-headed, white, massive and covered in tattoos. Thanks to the World Cup (yawn) almost every bar had huge wide screen TVs blaring out tedious football matches. The way there were so many people on the streets trying to give you leaflets and attempting to get you into their bars and restaurants reminded me very much of a holiday a friend and I took in Ibiza in my dim and distant teenage years.
I knew that this was simply the way this resort had been designed and I knew that my Greece was still out there somewhere, but I couldn't help feeling like my Greek holiday experiences had been tainted a little. This all sounds extremely ungrateful for what was in essence a free holiday I know, but there was also much to recommend. Between all the noise there were many small moments of bliss when the Greece I know and love came back to me - the food was as 
outstanding as ever (backlavas - drool), and a day exploring the South of the island at Porto Zoro and Gerakas (where the turtles come) was a highlight, as was a trip by boat to the famous Zakynthos shipwreck - that beach is extraordinary.
Katie absolutely adored it and spent her time playing on the numerous parks, splashing about and swimming in the pools and the sea, digging holes and building sandcastles on the beach or scoffing her face with ice-cream and Greek salad. And this, I guess, is the point. Our holidays won't be for ourselves for many years yet - they'll be for Katie and soon Emily. Even though I've been fairly critical and I've pined for the Greek holidays I used to have, as long as Katie has so much fun, it's worth it.
wasn't what we were used to. It was actually a present from my parents, who also paid for my sister and her partner and their son, making eight of us all together. With small children to consider, we stayed in the resort of Alykanas on the North of the island. This resort is clearly designed with the family in mind - our complex had several pools, one of which had a slide, a park on site and was built literally on the edge of the beach - built to make things easier when managing a family. It's also very noisy, with the on site 'entertainment' echoing through the evenings and making it nearly impossible to enjoy a little quiet time on the balcony after Katie's gone to sleep. Greece is much more expensive now than it used to be as well, but the people are mostly just as lovely as ever.The weather was odd, with the first week being cloudy for much of the time with occasional rain, and the second week being dry and consistently in the mid thirties. In a way, it worked out well, as the first week gave the kids a chance to acclimatise themselves to the heat before the scorching second week. The resort seemed to be designed with the intention of attracting a particular type of English family, and in fact during the second week almost every man I saw was shaven-headed, white, massive and covered in tattoos. Thanks to the World Cup (yawn) almost every bar had huge wide screen TVs blaring out tedious football matches. The way there were so many people on the streets trying to give you leaflets and attempting to get you into their bars and restaurants reminded me very much of a holiday a friend and I took in Ibiza in my dim and distant teenage years.
I knew that this was simply the way this resort had been designed and I knew that my Greece was still out there somewhere, but I couldn't help feeling like my Greek holiday experiences had been tainted a little. This all sounds extremely ungrateful for what was in essence a free holiday I know, but there was also much to recommend. Between all the noise there were many small moments of bliss when the Greece I know and love came back to me - the food was as 
outstanding as ever (backlavas - drool), and a day exploring the South of the island at Porto Zoro and Gerakas (where the turtles come) was a highlight, as was a trip by boat to the famous Zakynthos shipwreck - that beach is extraordinary.Katie absolutely adored it and spent her time playing on the numerous parks, splashing about and swimming in the pools and the sea, digging holes and building sandcastles on the beach or scoffing her face with ice-cream and Greek salad. And this, I guess, is the point. Our holidays won't be for ourselves for many years yet - they'll be for Katie and soon Emily. Even though I've been fairly critical and I've pined for the Greek holidays I used to have, as long as Katie has so much fun, it's worth it.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Sometimes I don’t fit in.
Granted, we were in the pub and both of us had been drinking fairly copiously, but still. I got into a conversation with a friend which showed quite clearly why humanity is failing as a species. It started with an off-hand comment of mine about astrology being bollocks (it is), and she started trying to explain to me why it wasn't. Apparently I'll never get it because I'm a typically stubborn Taurus. So, do all Taureans think astrology is bollocks then? She then offered 'proof' in the observation that the reason I don't see eye to eye with a certain other nameless friend is because of their sign and mine being incompatible. I always thought it was because this other person was a bit of a dick. She sure showed me.
The conversation then took a really weird turn. She advised me that I shouldn't get so worked over things, because they don't really matter that much. Worked up? Maybe a little, but no more than the average person, surely? She wisely informs me that we are both parents and therefore I will obviously see things as she does - when you have a child, she tells me, nothing else matters. Nothing else is important. When I tell her calmly and politely that I do not agree with that, she is flabbergasted and I feel a bit like I've told her that I'm a closet hamster rapist (or an unfit father, I couldn't tell which). Obviously, Katie is the most important person in my life, and nothing else is as important as her being given the opportunity to grow into a strong, happy and stable person, but to say that nothing else matters? That all other considerations, be they political, environmental, financial or of any kind are irrelevant? To me that is ridiculous. She turns to a friend and asks her what else matters after you have a child - "Nothing" came the instant reply, steeped in a seriousness that I gather was supposed to sound like she was wise and more knowledgeable than silly little me.
(As a side note, nothing infuriates me like older people talking at me as though I'm twelve and that when I'm their age I'll inevitably come round to their way of thinking. Fuck you, I'm over 30 with a mind of my own thank you very much, and if you can't see that then you're worth no more of my time.)
So, human rights abuses? The destruction of countless acres of natural habitat? Wars being fought for profit? Corrupting religious dogma spread by child-raping priests infecting Governments at the highest levels of power? Even something small like being unpleasant to someone you see on the street for no reason - as long as you're able to look after your own kid, all of that stuff is OK? And yet, this attitude of protecting the small family unit at the expense of all else is considered admirable by the majority of society. 'Families first' the political rhetoric goes. How about not being a dick first?
She tries another tack - I don't understand because I'm not a mother. She can fuck right off, as I happen to know that my wife and life partner of more than 12 years has the same point of view as me on this - yes, of course Katie is our number one priority, but to dismiss any other consideration as irrelevant is ludicrous and one of the reasons why our society is failing. If nothing else matters to you but your child's happiness, they will grow up believing that their own happiness really is all that matters, and will, I guarantee you, be hateful obnoxious assholes. And yet, trying to tell anyone this leaves them thinking you don't love your child. On the contrary - holding your offspring up as the only thing that matters in the Universe so they grow up believing that is only setting them up for inevitable disappointment and depression, and that is not the actions of a loving parent. That's choking them on love. Stop being so fucking cruel.
The conversation then took a really weird turn. She advised me that I shouldn't get so worked over things, because they don't really matter that much. Worked up? Maybe a little, but no more than the average person, surely? She wisely informs me that we are both parents and therefore I will obviously see things as she does - when you have a child, she tells me, nothing else matters. Nothing else is important. When I tell her calmly and politely that I do not agree with that, she is flabbergasted and I feel a bit like I've told her that I'm a closet hamster rapist (or an unfit father, I couldn't tell which). Obviously, Katie is the most important person in my life, and nothing else is as important as her being given the opportunity to grow into a strong, happy and stable person, but to say that nothing else matters? That all other considerations, be they political, environmental, financial or of any kind are irrelevant? To me that is ridiculous. She turns to a friend and asks her what else matters after you have a child - "Nothing" came the instant reply, steeped in a seriousness that I gather was supposed to sound like she was wise and more knowledgeable than silly little me.
(As a side note, nothing infuriates me like older people talking at me as though I'm twelve and that when I'm their age I'll inevitably come round to their way of thinking. Fuck you, I'm over 30 with a mind of my own thank you very much, and if you can't see that then you're worth no more of my time.)
So, human rights abuses? The destruction of countless acres of natural habitat? Wars being fought for profit? Corrupting religious dogma spread by child-raping priests infecting Governments at the highest levels of power? Even something small like being unpleasant to someone you see on the street for no reason - as long as you're able to look after your own kid, all of that stuff is OK? And yet, this attitude of protecting the small family unit at the expense of all else is considered admirable by the majority of society. 'Families first' the political rhetoric goes. How about not being a dick first?
She tries another tack - I don't understand because I'm not a mother. She can fuck right off, as I happen to know that my wife and life partner of more than 12 years has the same point of view as me on this - yes, of course Katie is our number one priority, but to dismiss any other consideration as irrelevant is ludicrous and one of the reasons why our society is failing. If nothing else matters to you but your child's happiness, they will grow up believing that their own happiness really is all that matters, and will, I guarantee you, be hateful obnoxious assholes. And yet, trying to tell anyone this leaves them thinking you don't love your child. On the contrary - holding your offspring up as the only thing that matters in the Universe so they grow up believing that is only setting them up for inevitable disappointment and depression, and that is not the actions of a loving parent. That's choking them on love. Stop being so fucking cruel.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
An attempt to understand why people like shite.
I've been trying to understand why the whole Twilight thing exploded. I don't know why I've been trying to understand this, I suppose it's because I have too much time on my hands and not enough interesting thoughts in my head to fill it with. The whole thing was passing me by, but recently my wife got caught up in it. Now, that's not to say she's a 'Twi-hard' - she doesn't scream at the mere mention of Rob Pattison, she's not planning on any tattoos or T-shirts to proudly advertise her obsession. Truth be told, she's a bit embarassed by it. However, like it and enjoy it she does.
I get most youth culture crazes, even if I don't share them. Take Harry Potter as an example. I can understand why so many fans got swept up in the books and the movies. I certainly didn't become a fan, per se, but I can acknolwedge that the books are very well written. The first few are most definitely written for kids - they've got that simplistic way about them, like a less sophisticated Roald Dahl. The idea is that the reader should be a similar age to the title character, allowing the books to increase in depth as the reader matures. As such, the writing style and the story increase in complexity with each book. The stories caught the attention of so many older readers because of the subtleness of Rowling's writing - simplistic enough for kids but with just enough underlying darkness and complexity to attract adults. As the books go on, the darkness is much less underlying and the 'for kids' moniker is left behind. In addition, the attraction of reading something that evokes how it felt to be a child is very strong for many readers.
The same is true of The Hobbit. It was also written for children, but with enough potential for expansion into more complex themes to attract adults. A potential that was realised with the writing of The Lord of the Rings, which has such a multitude of underlying themes and levels of depth that most who read it cannot ever leave it behind.
Another example is Star Wars, but this is more about remembering and attempting to relive childhood memories than hidden depth, because the last thing Star Wars is, is deep. Personally, I think it's completely over-rated and is nothing compared to the likes of Indiana Jones and Back to the Future. That's because I was late to the party - Star Wars was released two years before I was born. People love it because they love how they felt watching it as a kid. Those same people hate the prequels. The prequels are, granted, poor films, but so, I would contend, are the original ones. Those that hate them hate them because they were not children when they watched them, and were, therefore, not the target audience. They were not young enough, not simple enought to be taken in by that world. There is a whole generation out there that will tell you that their favourite Star Wars movie is Episode 1. That's entirely down to the age they were when they watched it.
When I attempt to apply that logic to Twilight, it falls apart. Yes, it's aimed at teenagers, and not women in their 30s, but the same is true for Harry Potter. The fact is, they are very badly written - Stephenie Meyer couldn't write her way out of a wet paper bag. You can see it in the writing - while Rowling writes in a way that children can relate to she creates a very vivid picture of a hidden alternative world in our heads. On the other hand, Meyer's style is simply dull, like a teenager with no imagination and an over-riding obession with a boy would write. I can tell Harry Potter is written for children by a talented adult. I can't tell if Twilight is written for teenagers, in the style of a teenager or by an actual teenager. When Rachel tried to explain to me why she liked it, she gave me a hint as to the actual reason why I couldn't understand. She said it made her feel like a teenager herself, reading Point Horror and Point Romance novels, and that while she knows the writing is unsophisticated, the feeling of nostalgia it evokes is more effective. So, the truth is, it's probably because I'm male and simply can't understand. Fair enough. But, to be honest, I think girls deserve better than this depthless, vacuous shite.
What baffles me further is that like many other Twilight fans, Rachel's now got into True Blood. True Blood is much better - smart, well-written novels and a surprisingly good TV series. It's almost like the reader grows up and moves from one to the other - kind of like when you first discover holding hands and then move on to sex. I can't understand how it's possible to be a fan of both (Twilight and True Blood, not holding hands and sex) - it's akin to liking both Mozart and The Wiggles.
Of course, there's no reason why I should care at all. People are obviously free to like whatever they like regardless of what I or anyone else thinks. It's frankly none of my business. Maybe I can't help thinking I'm missing out on something. I doubt it, though.
I get most youth culture crazes, even if I don't share them. Take Harry Potter as an example. I can understand why so many fans got swept up in the books and the movies. I certainly didn't become a fan, per se, but I can acknolwedge that the books are very well written. The first few are most definitely written for kids - they've got that simplistic way about them, like a less sophisticated Roald Dahl. The idea is that the reader should be a similar age to the title character, allowing the books to increase in depth as the reader matures. As such, the writing style and the story increase in complexity with each book. The stories caught the attention of so many older readers because of the subtleness of Rowling's writing - simplistic enough for kids but with just enough underlying darkness and complexity to attract adults. As the books go on, the darkness is much less underlying and the 'for kids' moniker is left behind. In addition, the attraction of reading something that evokes how it felt to be a child is very strong for many readers.
The same is true of The Hobbit. It was also written for children, but with enough potential for expansion into more complex themes to attract adults. A potential that was realised with the writing of The Lord of the Rings, which has such a multitude of underlying themes and levels of depth that most who read it cannot ever leave it behind.
Another example is Star Wars, but this is more about remembering and attempting to relive childhood memories than hidden depth, because the last thing Star Wars is, is deep. Personally, I think it's completely over-rated and is nothing compared to the likes of Indiana Jones and Back to the Future. That's because I was late to the party - Star Wars was released two years before I was born. People love it because they love how they felt watching it as a kid. Those same people hate the prequels. The prequels are, granted, poor films, but so, I would contend, are the original ones. Those that hate them hate them because they were not children when they watched them, and were, therefore, not the target audience. They were not young enough, not simple enought to be taken in by that world. There is a whole generation out there that will tell you that their favourite Star Wars movie is Episode 1. That's entirely down to the age they were when they watched it.
When I attempt to apply that logic to Twilight, it falls apart. Yes, it's aimed at teenagers, and not women in their 30s, but the same is true for Harry Potter. The fact is, they are very badly written - Stephenie Meyer couldn't write her way out of a wet paper bag. You can see it in the writing - while Rowling writes in a way that children can relate to she creates a very vivid picture of a hidden alternative world in our heads. On the other hand, Meyer's style is simply dull, like a teenager with no imagination and an over-riding obession with a boy would write. I can tell Harry Potter is written for children by a talented adult. I can't tell if Twilight is written for teenagers, in the style of a teenager or by an actual teenager. When Rachel tried to explain to me why she liked it, she gave me a hint as to the actual reason why I couldn't understand. She said it made her feel like a teenager herself, reading Point Horror and Point Romance novels, and that while she knows the writing is unsophisticated, the feeling of nostalgia it evokes is more effective. So, the truth is, it's probably because I'm male and simply can't understand. Fair enough. But, to be honest, I think girls deserve better than this depthless, vacuous shite.
What baffles me further is that like many other Twilight fans, Rachel's now got into True Blood. True Blood is much better - smart, well-written novels and a surprisingly good TV series. It's almost like the reader grows up and moves from one to the other - kind of like when you first discover holding hands and then move on to sex. I can't understand how it's possible to be a fan of both (Twilight and True Blood, not holding hands and sex) - it's akin to liking both Mozart and The Wiggles.
Of course, there's no reason why I should care at all. People are obviously free to like whatever they like regardless of what I or anyone else thinks. It's frankly none of my business. Maybe I can't help thinking I'm missing out on something. I doubt it, though.
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