Resomation

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-14114555

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“Ascog – Notes on its past and some of the people who have played a part in its story”, by George Bell Barker

[Robert Bontine Cunningham Graham, from “Up Stage”, an essay on Reginald Montague’s Ascog grave:] ‘”Failure”, he wrote, “alone can interest the speculative mind”, adding “For those who fail, for those who have sunk beneath the muddy waves of life, we keep our love, and that curiosity about their lives which make their memory green”.
He goes on, “how many successful people are interesting? The unlucky Stewarts, from the first poey [I must have mistyped that] king slain at the ball game, to the poor mildewed Cardinal of York, with all their faults they leave the stolid Georges, millions of miles behind, sunk in their pudding and prosperity.”‘ {note how ‘sunk’ reverses its application}
Particularly interesting on the attempts by the US inheritors (first Frederick, then Ferdinand, Campbell) to unravel John Stewart’s posthumous conditions and sell the estate.

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“Imperium”, by Robert Harris

Not a novel. No characterisation, just a story reasonably well told. But the crux is that Harris doesn’t appear to be trying to make me think, or to tell me anything. He is simply putting into narrative form a story whose outlines I know, which is interesting only inasmuch as hearing a lazy cover version of a familiar song is interesting. But this writer, who made his name with books about Blair, Brown & Co., himself fails to make even the most obvious comparisons between New Labour and late Republican politics; what is more, when I pause of my own accord to consider these relationships I feel that I am not following my author’s intentions for me; that I should stop thinking and get back on the rails. Well, I got off around page 70.

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“A Most Wanted Man” by John Le Carré

A 2009 response to the “war on terror”, set in Hamburg amidst the machinations of German, British and American intelligence services. A very good novel – exciting plot, and truly credible and sympathetic characters: makes you grab it at every spare moment to read a few more pages. In the night as well. SPOILER The ending is powerful and dark, but / and (choose your word depending on whether you think it’s a strength or not) lacking the complex dénouement I’d been expecting. No rabbits from sleeves, sudden unmaskings or unfairly late information – just the bloody Americans.
Update 28/8/2011: just watched “Page Eight”, a recent BBC TV film with Bill Nighy, Michael Gambon & Rachel Weisz, which shares many characteristics: the Americans as the bad-guys, and an older man on-the-way-out falling for and risking all to help a younger woman fighting for a victim of injustice.

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“On Chesil Beach”, by Ian McEwan

A meditation on Hardy, Forster and Larkin, with all McEwan’s levers in full working order: newly-weds, one called Florence [Forster], their honeymoon in Dorset ending (sort-of) tragically [Hardy], and the main tension being that pre-60s sexual repression destructively and messily released by Florence’s gentle grasp [Larkin], all with the usual flashbacks to fill in the two lives, give period colour, and provide depth to the actual narrative’s spiralling from the bedchamber of fear onto the wild nighttime beach of dry stones, where violence is (thankfully) averted and things fall apart in respectable ways.

But if only they could have TALKED to each other! It’s so wonderful that for us the ’brilliant breaking of the bank’ has made such matters, where appropriate of course, er, laughable… And yet were things really this bad? Do we think of the pre-Pill generations as more benighted than they were? Was it only a narrow band of middle-class aspirants who suffered in this way, while the proles and the nobs got on with it like rabbits?

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“Why We Disagree About Climate Change”, by Mike Hulme

An intensely promising read, unusual in assessing both “climate change” (Hulme’s typography for the physical reality (or otherwise)), and “Climate Change” (the idea of climate change, what it means to us individually and culturally). So it’s extremely cross-curricular (Hulme began as a climate scientist, but has studied economics, media, politics, psychology, religion, you name it) and beautifully written – the man’s a real stylist – clear and elegant sentences, accessible but never journalistic, formal but relaxed. This leads him into wordiness and repetition (sometimes you wish he’d get on with it), but it’s impressive nevertheless. As for Hulme’s argument, to summarise brutally something hugely complex, and laboriously teased out in his lengthy book, Hulme, in short, says:
1. The climate is warming up, and it’s extremely likely that this is at least partly anthropogenic.
2. But, for a number of reasons, humans can’t agree on what, if anything, to do about it.
3. We have therefore to learn to live with it, which in itself brings new, positive, opportunities for creative responses, both artistic and practical.
4. Er…
5. That’s it.
I do hope I’ve got him right: as we galloped together towards the end I was really hoping for something a little more meaty (and, dare I say, hopeful) than (3) above, but if he did mean more he never got round to saying it. What, however, is the book’s real strength is (2) above – a virtuosic analysis of why it’s so hard for our species to act, either collectively (e.g. Kyoto) or individually (climate change’s effects are still, for most of us, not immediate). I suppose we’ll just have to wait until the effects ARE more immediate.
It’s worth adding that the book is an excellent example of where a BOOK beats a WEBSITE: what the author is trying to say requires sustained linear attention rather than dipping into pools of hypertext.

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“The Go-Between” and “Where Angels Fear to Tread”

Leo Colston is, like Steerpike, Mole and Charles Ryder, a middle-class observer of the English aristocrat in 20th-century decline. Of the three, Mole remains a naïve observer, whereas the other two follow the contemporary developments in quantum physics by causing, through their observing, great changes; they’re ways of showing the rise of the middle-classes, and this damage caused by observation is reflected in the urban and suburban hordes poking around the stately homes handed over in a bloodless revolution to the National Trust. It’s what Modernism is about: not the time-old critique of the aristocratically-peddled ideology that gentle birth = gentle manners (Euripides and Chaucer, at least, snipe at this), or the sentimental Romantic and Dickensian support for society’s underdogs, but a whole-heartedly sociological Marxist shift, which doesn’t deal with noble deeds from ignoble individuals, or with anecdotal criticisms of the high-ups behaving badly, but with a wholesale transfer of power from one class to another, in effect a series of novelistic cameos multiplied by real-life CGI to draw in casts of millions.
Similarly reflecting huge shifts of power, but on the world, not the island, stage, Forster shows the powerlessness of English society when faced with The Other. The unsuccessful, and ultimately disastrous attempts to retrieve Lilia’s baby, are initially like the warship in Conrad’s “The Heart of Darkness” squatting offshore and aimlessly popping shell after shell into the huge African continent, and finally, when ineffectiveness slides into violent intervention, akin to the revelation of Kurtz’ Horror.
Both at home and abroad, these novels are part of the intelligentsia’s expression of early-20th-century political realignments.

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Claudius

Under the bed

Made Emperor

Speechless

Thrust upon me

Invade somewhere

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The Sanctity of Life

Christians talk about life being sacred, yet apply this with an inconsistency that is at once strange and immoral. For they concentrate their attention on areas where the lives they are protecting are of the least value, where the loss of life has the least impact and causes the least suffering: humans who are either on the verge of being born or on the threshold of death – unwanted foetuses, and geriatrics who want to end it all simply and painlessly. Those Christians who campaign against abortion and euthanasia do so because these are campaigns whose success will not radically change our society or our lives. By doing so they divert attention, energy and resources away from areas where the “sanctity of life” is daily and casually violated: the deaths of millions from poverty; the deaths of thousands in war; and the deaths of millions of animals to provide us with food and clothing. Just think of what a genuine campaign for the Sanctity of Life would require of the campaigner, and what its success would cost.

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Piscine Couverte

“Piscine couverte” – a sign in Normandy last Saturday. But what does it mean? How do we translate it? Word for word, “piscine” means “swimming pool”, and “couvert” means “covered”‘ with the final -e showing that the adjective agrees with the feminine noun “piscine”. “Swimming pool covered”? We can handle three words for two, and switching round the noun and adjective, so “covered swimming pool” is fine. But even this isn’t quite right, as our English doesn’t mean what the French means: a “covered swimming pool” is an outdoor pool with a temporary cover placed over it, whereas a “piscine couverte” means what we call an “indoor swimming pool”.
And it gets more complicated. The concepts underlying “piscine” and “swimming pool” are different anyway, as pools in these countries differ architecturally and in their social function and significance.
And there are the etymological undertones: “piscine” meant a fishpond…

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