Books read in July

The following are short reviews of the books that I read in July. The marks I have given them in the brackets are out of five.

The Sportswriter – Richard Ford (3.5)
Frank Bascombe is a sports writer who writes as much about his life as he does about sports. He is introspective but direct and scrupulously avoids metaphor and analogies, narrating the story of his life with a sardonic detachment, like Holden Caulfield all grown up.

Although he remains on good terms with his ex-wife after their son’s death, he has no other real friends. He is a member of the divorced men’s club and they go on fishing trips and to bars where they talk about cigars and sports. He has a fatalistic view of life and relatively low expectations. Life just is; things just are. He takes a girlfriend to a hotel in Detroit and they are snowed in – it is a masterpiece of alienation.

He defines himself by his job, rather than any other aspect of his life and he is even disparaging of that. “It is no loss to mankind when one writer decides to call it a day. When a tree falls in the forest, who cares but the monkeys?” He believes that writers actually do life a disservice, and that sports’ writers are the worst. He prefers guessing and theorising to knowing statistics and he enjoys sports as comforting waste of time rather than a clinical business.

The novel was written in 1988 but has a timeless quality and, although he seems to posit himself as Everyman, it is not a particularly cheerful picture. There is an almost Garrison Keillor-esque aspect to his writing, and it is a paradox that you can be gripped by his self-confessed unprepossessing life.

Twelfth Night: Critical Essays – Stanley Wells (ed.) (4)
In this collection of essays on Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, critics, directors and scholars debate aspects of staging, character, plot, language and individual productions.

Critics vary greatly in their opinions on the play, from the title to the setting and the characterisation. Often the critical essay says more about the critic (and the time in which they were writing) than it does about the play – for example J. B. Priestley clearly has a very dim view of marriage, believing that Sir Toby is a tragic figure because he is ‘tricked into’ marrying Maria who will instantly change character once she has a ring on her finger. “Maria the chambermaid, with a comically sympathetic view of sack, catches, and late hours, is one thing, and Maria the wife, with a husband to reform, is another.” It is small wonder then that J. B. Priestley was married three times.

Many of the critics and directors deem Malvolio to be the central character, although how much sympathy to award him and how much affiliation he should have with the Puritans is hotly debated. It is often stated that Shakespeare borrowed all the bits of Twelfth Night from other plays – including his own, and many of the essayists compare works and characters.

The juxtaposition of romance with comedy means there is always the shadow of the one on the other. This is discussed by all of the critics as is the difference in language between the courts and the importance of music. They also write about the setting and how the play may have multiple interpretations setting a fantastic challenge for directors wishing to make their mark.

The essays also include general comments on acting, staging and extraneous business, all of which are fascinating and well worth considering. If performing the play, this book is an invaluable companion.

Fran’s War – Sally Trench (3)
Told through the eyes of a child, but written by an adult, Fran’s War is a bit like I Am David or The Silver Sword, as a bunch of children in a war-torn country try to survive and reach a safe place. Evicted from their homes in the ‘Bosnian conflict’ they gather a small troupe (including a starving stray dog which provides unconditional love and loyalty) and they traipse through the mountains in their own incredible journey.

On their travels, Fran and her friends encounter the UN and renegade soldiers. They walk across minefields and see their villages burn and their neighbours shot in the head. They camp in caves and hide in basements. Fran rifles through dead bodies in the hospital mortuary for extra clothing. All the classic images of war-struck Bosnia are included. The children carry water in a child’s buggy; queue endlessly for bread and meagre provisions; burn books for heat and fuel; and dash across bridges to avoid sniper fire.

Religion plays a big part in this novel, which is only to be expected considering that Sally Trench was named Catholic Woman of the Year in 1995. She portions no blame, however, and is even-handed in her treatment of all faiths. Each side thinks the other is the enemy and the minority will be the victims. Resentments and perceived injustices flare up so that they turn on one another seeking someone to blame until, “War had come to our village without a single shot being fired.” As a child, Fran encounters a tall blonde foreigner while skiing at a resort. She thinks of him as God and when she meets him seven years later as an aid worker in an extremely unlikely turn of events, he becomes a clear Christ-like figure.

It would be difficult to categorise this novel – it is probably too graphic for young adults and contains some over-bearing religious iconography, but it is too simplistic for an adult readership. It perhaps belongs to the no man’s land of war.

Approaches to Twelfth Night – Michael Billington (ed.) (4.2)
Michael Billington talks to four directors about their approaches to Twelfth Night and this is practically a transcript of their conversation. They discuss the division between the comic and the romantic scenes, the setting and the characters.

The sections on whether or not to play it in modern dress, how much to stick to the text and how much to compromise to a modern audience are very interesting. Terry Hands says the different humours can exist side-by-side because each emotion is intense in itself – as in pointillism there are red or white dots but no wishy-washy pink. John Caird reflects on the myriad of potential interpretations and suggests that every actor should be present at all rehearsals so that they are aware of the possible meanings too.

Although the interview is about this play in particular, and there are discussions of the role and portrayal of each of the characters, it is also about acting in general. There are some useful asides about how an actor finds an emotional connection with their character. John Caird argues that actors are not normal, so their experiences will not be those of the audience. He also cautions against the efficacy of creating a back story, as many actors do. This is all very well to help the actor understand the character and the words, but how do you convey that to the audience without overdoing it?

This is fascinating stuff for anyone who wants to act or direct and certainly for anyone who wants to be involved in a Shakespeare production.

The Swish of the Curtain – Pamela Brown (3.4)
Recently as I discussed with some friends the books that had the biggest influence on their lives, one of my good friends mentioned this novel she had read being about a group of children who set up a theater company and produce their own plays. ‘Need I say more?’ she asked and I thought not, so I got it out of the library to see what the excitement was all about.

It’s terribly dated although that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s sexist but simple. The children perform a range of plays from Shakespearean excerpts to pantomimes and nativity plays. And they always get a great audience. They write their own songs and plays, enter a competition (which of course they win) and perform outdoor pageants. As they play instruments, perform acrobatics, sing, dance and act, they are little Renaissance figures. Everyone in the village comes to support them and enjoy the artistic experience – now that’s certainly dated!

Pamela Brown began this book when she was fourteen-and-a-half, and finished it when she was fifteen. Although it is badly written and she has a habit of overusing adverbs (“he said, ungrammatically”; “she remarked ambiguously”) she is probably far more informed about literary matters than most modern teenagers. The children all give their opinions on the performance of Shakespeare’s plays with knowledge of stagecraft and character development not limited to CGI and video games.

Although the parents worry that trying to make a career in the theatre is “such a precarious living” they acquiesce for their children to go to a dramatic school. It is the sort of book where you know they will be able to overcome all hurdles and achieve their ambitions no matter how unlikely and insurmountable they may appear. All is jolly and the feel-good factor is turned up high. They don’t write children’s books like that anymore either.

The rehearsal must go on

The weather has been, as they say, variable. We have been ploughing ahead with our rehearsals for Shakespeare on Location in the Queenstown Gardens regardless. Admittedly, the weather has been better on some days than others.

Much though I admire Billy Connolly, I have to take issue with his assertion, 'There is no such thing as bad weather; just inappropriate clothing'. Singing about the joys of spring and the delights of nature is a bit difficult when you can't hear over the rain drumming on your umbrella.

Here, Juliet begs the night to hurry up and arrive so she can spend time with her lover, Romeo.

My lovely fairies are busy cavorting in grove and green among the cowslips and the dewdrops.

Jaques is nonplussed by Orlando's lovesick attitude:

Gertrude is shocked by Ophelia's descent into madness, 'divided from herself and her fair judgement':

And although Ophelia does eventually drown, I didn't expect it to be during this scene.

A huge thank you to all the cast for continuing to rehearse in such 'inclement weather' - I think that may be the understatement of the season!

Building imaginations

I used to love lego. I loved the bright colours, the shiny plastic smell, and the satisfying click as you pressed the pieces into place. You could buy kits and build things like cars and houses and castles and trains and football stadia and bridges. If you were so inclined you could build entire villages and some people got carried away with 'creative art'.

I used to build lots of neat windowless buildings. Because I never had any of the little lego people (did none of us, I wonder, or did my brother nick them all?) my houses were unpopulated, but they had nice roofs and pretty paths to the front door (it was just windows they lacked for some reason - I'm sure Freud would have a field day).

Sometimes my lego creations were the backdrops to my Pippa doll games (she was smaller than Sindy so you didn't have to use so many lego blocks) but mainly I just liked to tip all of the pieces out of the bucket onto the carpet and start clicking them together.

And Lego is still going strong. A friend came to visit recently and their lad had Lego pirates. The raft was constantly attacked by the kraken and Captain Goldtooth was suitably menacing from his crow's nest. I love the combination of practicality - following instructions and diagrams to build functional projects - and creativity. With lego you can build your own toys which is really quite exciting.

Some of this stuff has been hijacked by the geek market and there are video games and robot wars and all sorts of stuff that should really be confined to your parents' basement once you are over the age of 12, but some Lego spin-offs are still simply irrestible.

You lucky, lucky...

I have always wanted to be snowed in. It's a sort of ambition of mine. That time at Digbeth Coach Station doesn't count. Nor does the skiiing holiday in Norway - that's sort of expected, really, isn't it?

One New Year's Eve (2005) we went walking with Screy Sis and Mr Smartypants to the Old Lion Inn in Blakely. It was a cold walk (hence we were wrapped up warm).

As we began to thaw out by the fire, even those who don't drink (that would be Scarey Sis then) soon got a glow on.

As for those that do (and the Old Peculier was going down very nicely thank you very much) they were positively Ready Brek!

Sadly, although it was cold, there was no snow that night, and we were home and tucked up in bed snoring soundly by about two minutes past midnight. So I have nothing but envy for those stuck in the Tan Hill Inn (this fabulous atmospheric picture by Richard Quirk) - they got a three-day lock-in! Being snowed in over New Year's Eve in a pub must surely be a dream come true. The only danger is of the beer running out.

It was no surprise to learn that among those 'stranded' were members of DOSS AC - this is the club to which Him Outdoors belongs. They hail from Leeds University and are often to be found running up and down hills, drinking pints in or outside pubs and wearing a particularly virulent shade of yellow. That would doubtless help them be spotted in a blizzard. Whether anyone would then choose to rescue them or not is another matter... Here they are outside another pub; see what I mean!

What a way to usher in 2010 - now there would be a good reason for a sore head. I suppose there is a slight feeling of how can things possibly get better than that? As they say at the Tan Hill Inn; it's all donwhill from here. (Actually, I don't know if they do say that, but they should - highest pub in the country and all that).

Sporting metaphors

Recently I was thinking about sporting metaphors, as you do, and I was struck by how many of them have passed into common parlance. Apparently English (and I mean English English, not American or Australian English) has more of these than any other language. I’m not talking about clichés – game of two halves; sick as a parrot; bulging the auld onion bag (or indeed anything by Tommy Smyth ‘with a y’ – yes, why are you on my television?) – but actual metaphors.

It’s no surprise that we have a load from football; score an own goal; on a level playing field; from the kick-off; moving the goalposts; back of the net. It amuses me that the ones from rugby generally imply defeat or incompetence; kicked into touch; blind-sided; drop the ball. And then there’s the insidious way they creep into business speak as those around the boardroom try to make their meaningless drivel sound more entertaining – pick up the ball and run with it, anyone?

I also find it amusing that many of the metaphors derived from cricket relate to complete and utter bemusement; bowled over; stumped; hit for six; caught and bowled; sticky wicket. Apart from being forever linked with confusion (Americans don’t even understand these expressions, let alone the game), cricket is also associated with ‘fair play’; itself a term to which any number of sports can lay claim. I like ‘it’s just not cricket’ and ‘he/she had a good innings’. It generally shows initiative to do something off your own bat (not back, which is a common misapprehension).

Horse-racing also provides a host of metaphors; first past the post; also-ran; neck and neck; down to the wire; win hands down; by a nose; ringer/ring-in; flogging a dead horse. Motor racing gives us pole position and pit stops, while it could be any kind of racing that supplies the home stretch, first out of the blocks, front runner and false starts.

Some sporting metaphors have no definitive origin. Crying foul, grand-standing, being on the bench, getting the ball rolling, and keeping your eye on the ball could come from a variety of sports.

Other metaphors are clearly derived from one source. Golfers were the only ones originally under par and it was only those playing bowls who need concern themselves with the rub of the green. Touché was a cry reserved for fencers; high-jumpers (and potentially pole-vaulters) raised the bar; and those scoring card games, particularly cribbage, were level pegging. Chess players had opening gambits, end-games and reached stalemates; tennis players knew the ball was in their court; wrestlers were told there were no holds barred; and there are no prizes for guessing who was snookered.

If you consider sailing a sport, rather than merely an extravagant waste of money, there are numerous metaphors, frequently involving drinking and other states less than top-hole (bar billiards). So you can be on an uneven keel, three sheets to the wind, chock-a-block, be taken down a peg or two, or have the wind taken out of your sails. To avoid such trouble you may have to change tack, batten down the hatches and get all hands on deck.

It surprises me that we employ so many baseball metaphors in English – a sport that we don’t even play. However, these are generally used in the business world (dominated by American capitalism) and the sexual sphere (heavily influenced by the American film industry).

So pointless management meetings will be all about touching base, stepping up to the plate, throwing curve balls, knocking things out of the park, covering all the bases, playing hardball (as opposed to softball), hitting a home run, coming out of left field, three strikes and you’re out, pinch hitters and taking rain checks. Meanwhile testosterone-challenged teenagers (the same ones who will [arguably] grow up to spout this boardroom bingo) will be trying to get first base.

Perhaps most surprising, however, is the clear ruler of the sporting metaphor kingdom: boxing. For a sport that many people claim to disdain, it racks up (snooker?) more common phrases than any other. Here are some:

Against the ropes
Beat someone to the punch
Below the belt
Best foot forward
Blow-by-blow account
Boxing clever
Come out swinging
Down and out
Fancy footwork
Gloves are off
Have someone in your corner
No stomach for the fight
On the back foot
Out for the count
Pull one’s punches
Punch above your weight
Punching bag
Punch-drunk
Ringside seat
Roll with the punches
Saved by the bell
Sparring partner
Square-off
Sucker punch
Take a dive
Take it on the chin
Throw in the towel
Throw your hat into the ring

My newest favourite thing: Mascots

There’s something strangely endearing about the sight of a grown man dressed up in a fluffy mascot costume clapping his hands and covering his eyes with oversized hands. It’s a Knockout realised the humorous potential and featured many comedy capers as folk with giant feet raced each other over obstacle courses collecting water in buckets, while Stuart Hall collapsed in hysterics.



When I worked at a bookshop in the children’s department, there were plenty of character costumes to wear. I remember once being crammed into a Mr Happy suit with a hangover – it wasn’t pleasant and the darling little kiddies kept poking me in my giant eyes and pulling my fingers going, ‘There’s a person in there.’

I did, however, fare rather better than our deputy manager who once ventured out into St Anne’s Square in the fat puffin costume without a minder. This probably went down a treat in West Wombletown or some such, but the inner city Manchester kids soon knocked her to the ground, pulled off the head (of the costume that is) and rolled her around the cobbles. Her orange tight-clad legs were wiggling out of the bottom of the costume complete with webbed feet, but she couldn’t stand up as she became an impromptu football. She wasn’t hurt although the costume (and her pride) was dented, but I’m afraid to admit I may have been doing a Stuart Hall impersonation of my own.

And now it’s an intense few days for the English Premier League so I am watching hours of football – most of their teams have mascots, and in fact there is a hotly contested annual mascot race. Liverpool have a Liver Bird, which stands to reason, and lots of teams (Chelsea; Aston Villa; Reading; Bolton; Middlesborough; Blackburn) have lions, which seem appropriately large and fearsome. Manchester City’s Moonchester is oddly cool and West Ham’s Herbie the Hammer is frankly odd.

Burnley have Bertie Bee. Him Outdoors once bought me a cuddly Bertie Bee – he was very proud of himself for giving me this gift. Bertie is really not to be messed with and is actually a former rugby league player, as a streaker in a match against Preston found to his disadvantage.



I actually really like Gunnersaurus – he stands in the tunnel and shakes hands with all the players when they get off the bus. The Arsenal players often give him a hug or a slap on the back too, while the away team look at him with bewilderment. I can understand their bemusement; it seems an odd thing to do to dress up in a hot furry costume and pretend to be one of the lads, but if anyone will, the English will. Long live their peculiarities.

Songs of the 2000s

Recently I was hosting a music quiz in which I played the first 10-20 seconds of a song and people had to guess the title and artist. All of the music came from my own record/cd collection. There was no problem for the 70s, 80s and 90s but then the 2000s came along and my music collection rapidly dwindled.

Surely there are just as many good tunes in the past ten years? Is the dearth of them on my shelves due to my age (did I simply just stop buying music in my late 20s?) or the lack of exposure to decent music in New Zealand. If you don’t like country, hip-hop, dub or ‘singer-songwriter’ music you’re pretty much stuffed living here. I don’t.

So, after much thought (this is what we do on Christmas Eve round our way) Him Outdoors and I came up with our favourite ditties of the decade (in date order). Feel free to differ:

1. Last Nite – The Strokes (2001)
   My new favourite going-out song; it’s a guitar thing.


2. The Scientist – Coldplay (2002)
   Heartbreaking vocals and transcendent guitars, it can make you cry every time – if you like that sort of thing.



3. Get Loose – the D4 (2002)
   Solid rocking record – saw them live at Rippon Festival and they were far and away the best thing there (apart from the wine)


4. Seven Nation Army – The White Stripes (2003)
   A fantastic guitar riff that became a football terrace chant – the match is simply sublime.


5. Where is the Love? – The Black Eyed Peas featuring Justin Timberlake (2003)
   Protest music doesn’t always have to be angry, but it does have to have a point. This is the velvet glove approach.



6. I Predict a Riot – Kaiser Chiefs (2004)
   Classic indie anthem – I would have loved this when I was a student. I love it now.


7. American Idiot – Green Day (2004)
   You’ve got to love the under-three minute American punk single of which this is a pretty good example; ‘I’m not part of a redneck agenda’ – I bet they don’t play many gigs down south...


8. Love Generation – Bob Sinclair (2005)
   At last reggae lovers can play something other than Bob Marley (thank the lord) – this was the song of the summer and goes perfectly with a game of cricket and a pint of cider.


9. In the Morning – Razorlight (2006)
   Taming their ‘raw edgy’ sound with a more mainstream feel got them accused of being derivative (NME journalists are alive and well I see) but comparisons with The Strokes and The Who are nothing to be sniffed at.


10. I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor – The Arctic Monkeys (2006)
    My sister sent me this album with the words, ‘everyone’s listening to this’ and rightly so.


11. Smile – Lily Allen (2006)
    Whatever you think of her, the girl makes a good record. She once described her music as that of ‘a sort of over-excitable teenager who desperately wanted attention.’ Maybe so, but most teenagers aren’t that talented – or that interesting.


12. Rehab – Amy Winehouse (2007)
    Okay, so she’s a mess, but if you leave the tabloid gossip aside and just listen to the songs, you’ll find a great voice and a depth of emotion. This may not be her best, but it’s her signature tune.



13. Grace Kelly – Mika (2007)
    A prime slice of bubblegum pop with layers of musical theatre; this is perfectly written and insanely catchy – I couldn’t get it out of my head when cycling. Thank God he didn’t listen to the record execs who advised him to ‘be a bit more like Craig David’ – Yawn.


14. Paper Planes – M.I.A. (2007)
    I loved this rebel song when I first heard it – good sample of The Clash in there – and then I saw the film Slumdog Millionaire and I loved it even more.


15. No You Girls – Franz Ferdinand (2009)
    I bet this sounds good on the dance floor – another swirling electropop, guitar bass and drum mix to wave your arms around to.


16. Invaders Must Die – The Prodigy (2009)
    The band who claim their music is ‘full of electric dance/punk, noise and power’ have made their best album (of which this is the eponymous single) for a good ten years. ‘We are The Prodigy’ they intone – welcome back.