Retour à Tours

I'm not one for New Year Resolutions, which is why I haven't made any. But being home for the first time in a few months meant that I was on the receiving end of all those 'my, how you've changed!' comments. Nothing I want to hear, either.

I've always been skinny: now I am skinnier, and my hair is in sadly terrible condition. Now that I'm back in Tours, I figure I should do something about it. I have also made the decision, along with a friend from home who is in Tours with me, to start actually doing things in the hopes that we can actually experience our year abroad rather than just live it.

So, this is all precursory to what I hope will be an increase in posting about everything. Fingers crossed for me! That being said - I'm exhausted. I don't want to push myself too far: I've only just begun!

So this is Little Newman, over and out!

Xxx

Earlier this year (quite a lot earlier this year), I blogged about wanting to travel. Soon after, I blogged about actually travelling, but suffice it to say that a weeks holiday to Jamaica for my sister's wedding was not exactly what I had in mind.

I'm here to say that I'm closer to where I want to be: as part of my uni course I am spending this academic year studying in France. I'm in the tiny town of Tours, which is in the Centre region of France and so far... well, it's been okay. It's had its ups, but it has also certainly had its downs. My roommate is a lovely girl from one of the French départements, and we speak no French at all and get along just fine. There are also a lot of people from my home university there, which is nice, as it means I have a go-to net of people who I know or who have had similar experiences to me.

But this is also terrible. It means I only speak French when absolutely necessary, and I don't have any French friends because I'm shy and they are intimidating. I also don't like doing things I'm not good at, and I'm not good at speaking French.

There are also definite downsides to French culture as well, which I can't pinpoint but which irritate me daily. Although, in fairness I think the problems usually have more to do with the smallness of the town than the Frenchness of its inhabitants. Despite being small, Tours is very beautiful, especially in summer, and as a place to visit it is lovely. As a place to live? Perhaps less so.

Well, that's about all I have to say about Tours for now, and about all I have to say about my life, too. The reading has paused again, but I'm picking back up slowly through rereading Austen and some other old favourites.

Oh! It's also my birthday next week! I'm going to be 21 (only imagine!)

Happy Blogging to you all,
Lots of Love
Little Newman

Why didn't I write that?

It’s a question that pops up often in the privacy of my own head after having read a masterpiece of someone else’s devising.

Why didn’t I write that?

I only know two answers to that question, and they are both very short: ‘You didn’t write that book because someone else wrote it first,’ and: ‘If you had written it, it would not have been the same book.’

Both sad but true facts. Because, although since Barthes took the unilateral decision to get rid of the author, we all know that our books – everything that we write – contains some part of us. How important the part is debatable, but it’s presence is not. We will make different word choices, move the plot in another direction, focus on different characters and storylines and all this because we are different people, trailing our own threads in Barthes tissue of intertexts and spaces.

And that’s the fun part, really. That’s why you didn’t write that book. Because if you had written it, then you wouldn’t get quite the same yearning in your chest to write something just as good (or three times better, as the case might be!) How many times can I say a great author inspired me to write something of my own? For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a writer. I can’t give you the name of the book that inspired me to start writing, because I probably couldn’t even read when I first started telling stories. I was a talker long before I was a reader, and I remain a talker to this day. Every other sentence is an anecdote.

But the books I get round to reading, when I keep my mouth shut for long enough, make me think. What do I like so much about this, and how can I incorporate this into my own writing? I like otherworlds and magic realism, and I learnt beautiful tricks from Julio Cortazar and Neil Gaiman. I like books that can make me cry, and I can rely on Louisa May Alcott to give me a nudge and Arundhati Roy to give me a shove. Jane Austen teaches me subtle social satire, and Antoine de Saint-Exupery taught me how to deliver the most difficult truths.

And the other books? The ones that push me to continue writing when I feel like an ant trying to climb this wall of greatness? The ones that I read and say I would have done this differently. I would have done this better.

I’m not going to lie, there’s a lot that I read that makes me think that – more than the ‘why didn’t I write these’ books. And they’re great too, for me. Because then, after I’ve boasted to myself about how much better I would have done, I can give myself a stern talking to.

Well, why haven’t you? It’s not easy, you know. Don’t just say you can do better –do it.

For all intents and purposes, these books are a swift kick up the bum and (in the worst cases) an example of What Not to Do.

And that’s why I didn’t write that book. Because I have my own threads inside of me, waiting to be spun out and added to the rich fabric, waiting to teach others how and how not to write. I am a product of everything that I’ve read so far, and I can build on that.

And I’m proud of that.

Alice!

So, exactly one week ago, I went to see the Royal Opera House's Alice in Wonderland - a ballet adaptation, for the curious.

And? And well, it was amazing! The adaptation was necessarily different from the book: for one thing, as composer Josy Talbot explains, the book profits greatly from Tenniel's illustrations* and Caroll's wording. And, actually, words in general. However, what it loses in wordplay, it makes us in music, choreography and stunningly clever effects. And, while the story is different, I (as a die-hard Alice fan) was not disappointed**.

I won't go into detail on the criticism - because I simply have so much to say. Alice was my first ever ballet, though, and it was lovely to actually see a ballet rather than just read about it***. The choreography, as I said, was wonderful - and it really shocks you to think that people came up with it. How do you imagine something so sprawling? I don't know.

And now to play the favourites game. My two favourite dancers were undeniably Edward Watson, who dances the White Rabbit, and Steven McRae, who dances the Mad Hatter. However, special mention goes to Eric Underwood, who danced the Caterpillar. He was shirtless the entire time and made the entire theatre swoon - his applause was of the high pitched variety. Second special mention goes to Philip Mosely, who dances the Duchess. He was also fabulous - dancing the entire thing in a hooped-skirt can't be easy.

I was upset that the dancer for the part of Alice was Sarah Lamb. Obviously I can't really make any judgements as I have never seen a ballet before; much less her or Lauren Cuthbertson, who was casted by the director, dance. But even before I read the cast sheet and found out about the switch, I felt there was something about the way she danced Alice that annoyed me just the tinyest bit. This does not at all mean that I would turn my nose up at a chance to see her dance again: I am more than willing to give her a second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth chance. (Maybe after that point the novelty would have worn off, or I would have found some reason to concrete and justify my dislike. Who knows?)

And so, thus concludes my (sadly pictureless) commentary of a wonderful night.

Look out for a lit corner sometime soon, featuring The Hunger Games and possible others!

*I have seen copies of Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass published with illustrations by people other than Tenniel. I can't say I know why anyone would want that out of life.
**Which is definitely a lot more than I can say for Tim Burton's film, which I abhorred. A shame, really.
***I had a penchant for ballet books when I was younger. Oh, who am I kidding? I still do.

Also!

Alice in Wonderland at The Royal Opera House next week! I'm so excited, when I can remember to be excited!

Woo!
Ballet!
Alice!
Angie and Forceps!

Okay, I really think I'm done this time!

Little Newman
xxx

I can feel it coming in the air tonight...

What? What can I feel coming?
Another Lit Corner...

So, I finished reading To the Lighthouse. Which, yeah, made me feel pretty great.
But how did I actually feel about the book? Well - I don't know. Before I started reading To the Lighthouse, I started reading Mrs Dalloway. I didn't get very far because - well, it's hard. Uninterrupted stream of conscious is not easy on the brain.
Well, what does this have to do with To the Lighthouse? Apart from the fact that they're written by the same author? The point I'm going to make here is one of readability. While I never got very far into Mrs Dalloway, and while I found it difficult, it felt natural. It was beautiful - the expression of feelings and emotions was exactly what it needed to be. The sentences were long, and difficult to get your teeth into, but I could empathise with them. To the Lighthouse? Not so much.
There were times when I just felt like shouting: 'You're doing it on purpose!'
There were times when I actually shouted: 'You're doing it on purpose!'
That is not, of course, to say, that it was bad. On the contrary, it was very good and clever, and my appreciation of it raised as I continued onwards with the book - reaching a peak when what Woolf had written helped me get through my own, sticky authorial situation. And yes, there were times when the turn of phrase that is so particular to her style had my heart expanding in my chest because really she can distil beauty into words. But I still can't quite look past that horrible feeling I had at the start, or when the narrative would drag - purposefully, but confusing nonetheless. And so for that, To the Lighthouse loses points. But I guess I shouldn't make any final judgements until I at least finish Mrs Dalloway.

I also mentioned in the last post that I was reading Ulysses. I still am. In fact, that little peek I took at Ulysses helped me get through To the Lighthouse. Because if ever an author was doing it on purpose, than James Joyce was. Ulysses is not as impenetrable as it first seems - although I'm only nine or so pages in, so there's plenty of space for it to get worse. However it is a finely knit cloth of classical references - as the title would suggest. It's a good thing I managed to by both The Odyssey and The Iliad in the same trip as I bought this, then! So far the text is mostly English, with a little bit of Latin and the tiniest amount of Greek thrown in to shake off the paupers. Of course, these days Google is there to solve any problems we might have. Sorry, Joyce, looks like there will be comprehensibility for anyone who is brave enough to take you on!
There are also obvious Wildean under- and over-tones, which I am enjoying greatly. I'm getting the feeling that, all in all, Ulysses will be quite a rewarding read, if not always an enjoyable one.

Of course, I could go into the theory behind these two books. I can tell you why Woolf and Joyce have 'done it on purpose'*, and what they have achieved. I can probably throw up a few of the more overt references, as well as some of the more covert ones. But that's not really what Lit Corner is about, is it? Lit Corner is my own response to the books: informed, but not constrained, by my understanding of literature and my life as a Lit student.

So, what else am I reading?
Well, I'm rereading L'étranger, by Allbert Camus, for my lit and philosophy class; L'Immoraliste, by Andre Gide and Monsieur Vénus, by Rachilde for my class on 20th century French sex and sexuality, and The Iliad to supplement my reading of Ulysses.

In Web Lit, I'm currently reading and enjoying Kudzu, by Bernie Mojzes with illustrations by Linda Saboe. This, I think, is pretty amazing. I'm thoroughly enjoying it, and the illustrations are absolutely gorgeous.

Well, I think that's about all worth mentioning for now.
This has been a Lit Corner with Little Newman.

Thank You for reading!

Happy reading and
Happier Blogging,
Lots of Love,
Little Newman
xxx

*for those who want to know, to explain and demonstrate philosophical beliefs (Woolf) and because of the Modernist aesthetic and understanding of art (Joyce). In a nutshell. There are probably a few other nutshells, to, but the end result is the same.

Ooh, hellooooo!

Just a quick 'hi'.

I saw Forceps on the weekend, which was nice. We ate food, read books and went to the Barbican Centre where we knitted neurons. (An aside about that: last year, I saw the Complicit production of Master and Margarita at the Barbican. I said I might blog about it, but never did. It wasn't my favourite thing. I could go into detail about why, but that would be redundant now.)

I missed her so much. We had a cuddle and a long, hysteric, tired-girl chat.

I'm reading To the Lighthouse, and am feeling all empowered by my progress, so might start reading something else soon. I bought a copy of Ulysses for £1.99 from a bookshop on Charing Cross Road on Sunday while out with a friend. We retired to a nearby Starbucks* and looked over it. We realised that probably the only way we will be able to make it through is with support sessions where we meet up, drink tea, and are confused together. This sounds good to me.
'Hi, I'm [insert name here] and I've been reading Ulysses for [insert length of time here]. That sort of thing, you know?
Well maybe there'll be a Lit Corner soon. That's kind of all I wanted to say.

I don't know how writing is going. Which generally is an indicator that it's not going well. It's not going to badly, either though.

I'm tired all the time. Sometimes at night when I lie down, I find it a bit difficult to breathe. I'm getting a cold. I just want a break.

I like it here. (In this quiet corner of the internet.) It's nice. No pressure. Hey. I can say to you whatever I like.

The easiest people to talk to are sometimes the people who don't care at all.

Anyway, this is enough for me.
Goodnight

Happy Blogging,
Lots of love,
Little Newman
xxx

* Although, given the number of Starbucks scattered around the place this one was probably relatively distant

Jamaica, Jamaica

Hello all!

Well, after last week's travel themed post, I am pleased to be able to say that I was, indeed, able to go away!

It wasn't the sort of thing I had in mind when I was writing that post: I went to Jamaica for a week for my sister's wedding. I was doubtful that I'd make it - the wedding was on Saturday, and by Thursday morning I hadn't even managed to get my passport. However when I returned home on Thursday evening, a small; thick package was sitting fairly innocently on the mat. My reaction? A scream, and a run to the computer to Skype my family.

Jamaica was beautiful - I would love to show you pictures, but I sadly don't have any.

All around is vibrant greenery - England seems so drab and conservative in comparison; a shame. On one side, you have the blues and aquamarines of the coast; on the other, hills covered by trees, with a few brightly painted houses in the background.

Well, that's all I have time for right now. If I can get pictures up, I will.

Happy Holidays and

Happier Blogging ;D

Lots of Love

Little Newman

xxx

I want to travel.

I want to travel, not to find myself, because I know who I am. I know who I am, and what I am, and I may not always like myself but I don't want to be anyone else.

I want to travel to find the world, written in all of its glory. I want to taste it, feel it, smell it and see it all around me. I want to experience the industry and ingenuity of humans, and the beauty and balance of nature. I want to explore, and to know, and to understand. I want to take away, and to give in return.

I want to travel, not to find myself, to but to find everybody else. I want to share myself with strangers: to find people to love, and to give joy to, to talk and laugh with.People who might not remember my name - who might never have known it - but who will be able to say days, weeks, years later: 'I met a girl there, and we laughed a lot.' Or simply: 'I was very happy then.'

I want to give experiences even as I take them.

I want to find beauty that will make me laugh, and cry at the same time.

Then I want to return home and say:
I have seen, and I have done, and I am very, very happy.

LIT CORNER!!

Guys, I'm so excited. You're going to get a Lit Corner! Okay, so it'll be much reduced from it's normal standards, but a lit corner is a lit corner, right?

So. For those of you who don't know/ don't remember/ don't care, a lit corner is pretty much me chatting about the books I'm reading and am planning to read.

This session of lit corner involves In the High Valley, being the fifth and final book in the What Katy Did series by Susan Coolidge and In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan.

So. First book first.

In the High Valley is the little known fifth book of the 'What Katy Did' series. The fourth book is Clover: also little known. I had found it going free on iBooks, and had read it in a very short space of time sometime last year, and I had loved it. My review can be found here. I had read a free sample of the fifth book as soon as I finished it, and finally got round to buying it the day before yesterday, or sometime thereabouts. (A version was going for £0.49: how could I resist?)
Well, I was kind of disappointed. The book was not as good as the previous ones. As said in my Goodreads review, it tied up a few loose ends that I hadn't realised were left undone, and it let Elsie's character really come into her own, which was very nice to see. But the story as well as its telling left much to be desired. Telling, being the operative word. Susan Coolidge has always been one to give a lot of information: in particular her naming of flowers was something that stood out to me. But before, I had always felt whatever the characters were feeling. I understood them, and their behaviour, I liked them. The (ostensible) protagonist of this book was not someone I liked, and this was mainly because Susan Coolidge didn't seem to like her, either. She was a new character, not one of the Carr's, and she was underdeveloped and poorly thought out. The story didn't seem to focus much on her - another point of difference between this and the other books in the series. The view jumped from character to character, letting me see them without letting me feel them. I knew pretty early on what was going to happen, and I just didn't care. I read the book to the end - it is a short read - and it was enjoyable for me as a diehard Katy fan, but I really wouldn't recommend it to anyone who doesn't love the books as much as I do - there's not even that much Katy in it!

With these sad tidings, it's on to this weeks second book:

I want to say that In Watermelon Sugar was a joy. I cannot say this. However, I cannot say that it was a disappointment, or that I disliked it. I don't really know how I feel about it, to be honest, but I will definitely be taking a second look in order to find out.
In Watermelon Sugar is a very easy book to read. In some ways, it reminds me of Slaughterhouse 5. A short book with a simply-written, self-conscious narrative. Check. A prevailing sense of disconnection. Check. An element of fantasy. Check.
Not to say that In Watermelon Sugar is unoriginal. It is very original indeed. And, I would certainly reccommend it. For all of its simplicity, the book and the world it describes is very complex and incredibly hard to understand. Every now and again you catch a glimpse of a possible truth, a possible reading. And then it hides itself again: not shy, but teasing. Come and get me, the meaning says, you know you want to. And I do. I do so want to understand this gem. It came to me highly recommended, and I enjoyed reading it - a page turner, if only because each chapter is so short. I want to know what iDEATH is. I want to understand its inhabitants, and their past. I want to know what inBOIL was talking about. In some ways I identify with the narrator. In other ways, I am alienated by him. This is okay. This is all how it is meant to be. This book is that feeling of comfort, of blindness, that allows you to settle in a situation even though you know it is wrong.
I look forward to returning to it, to understanding it more. But I think a break would be good.

What will I be attempting to read next week?
To the Lighthouse by - of course - Virginia Woolf. La Légénde Arthurienne by various authors (which I have been reading for quite sometime. It is difficult.)

In other news, I really wish I had enough money to go and see Eugene Onegin but even if I did, it's sold out. Ah well, next time, eh?
Also, maybe a film corner will be necessary? A couple of my courses require me to watch films, and I'd love to share them. My most recent favourite is Little Otik (Otesanek), a Czech film of disturbing proportions. Other favourites from this academic year include A Bout de souffle, Une femme est une femme and Jules et Jim.

Well, this is me, signing off.
Happy reading and
Happier blogging
Lots of Love
Little Newman
xxx