Realism and Revolution

I have been preparing for my first foray into an online space for new writers and there has been much musing. The chosen site for this foray will be YouWriteOn.com, mainly because they are running the Next Big Author competition (competitions I should say, because there’s the May one and the July one), which I figure will lead to a surge in members and therefore a more serious chance of creditable feedback. I have great hope for the online ‘publishing’ industry that seems still in its infancy. As long as a small number of sites like YouWriteOn or eNovella can attract large membership communities, it is a self-sustaining industry. The members will submit their work, it will become known among the other members, the other members will buy the ebook and the author will buy other ebooks. But the fact that these sites are still babies in the world wide web shows surely it’s not quite as simple as that. It will take a long time to wean people off over-marketed, genre-copycat products from the big publishing houses, just as it has taken a long time to wean people off physical books. But the Kindle hit its Christmas boom last year and there is only one direction it can go from here.

Un week-end à Bruxelles/Een weekend in Brussel/Ein Wochenende in Brüssel/A Weekend in Brussels

A wonderful weekend was spent in Brussels courtesy of our friend Eurostar. An easy toddle after work and a restful couple of hours with Daphne Du Maurier later, we descended the train in the rather hard to categorise city of Brussels. I was expecting something rather grander, considering its pan-European significance, and rather more organised, considering its Flemish location, although I now see it has much more French influence than Dutch. The public transport network is only just fit for purpose and shabby to boot, the centre of the city is one large (and seemingly permanent) construction site, careless ex-pats haunt every corner, and yet it’s not an unpleasant place at all. Every few streets you emerge out onto a landscaped square, parks surprise you amidst the terraces, the architecture is strikingly non-uniform, though harmonious. And for a spring weekender, is was just the right mix of laziness and stimulation for a worn-out London blogger who bit off more than she could chew with two weekends away in two weeks.

Trans-Atlantic Connections

I suspected it wouldn’t be long until I blogged about commuting. Thankfully, my commute is more often a source of amusement than it is of frustration (there’s a German word I would love to use here: Ärger). Today I noticed for the first time, after walking the same route almost every day for almost 9 months, that I walk past Captain John Smith. Yes that Captain John Smith: the one Disney turned into Pocahontas’ lover. The statue states that Captain John Smith was one of the pioneers in the proliferation of the English speaking peoples. I’m sure that was not all he proliferated.


Coincidentally, Pocahontas herself died in a town at the end of my train line aptly named Gravesend. Apparently tuberculosis was a common demise for the native Americans. But she didn’t do too badly out of her twenty-one years, marrying two men (not at the same time - and one of them actually called Kocoum, like in the Disney film), saving Captain John Smith and having the dubious honour of being remembered by him quite inconsistently. My memory had told me she died of syphilis, which would have been much more titillating, but wikipedia informs me otherwise.

Not Alone II

A self-fulfilling prophecy, perhaps, but for the last ten years I have experienced a series of Tennessee Williams-related coincidences. No, I don’t believe it’s the playwright himself sending messages from the grave, or even echoes of his lobotomised sister’s brain remnants diffused somehow in my karma. I don’t much like the idea of karma in general - but that should be a standalone post. But there have been a series of small coincidences that, when considered in isolation, are only proof of the striking ability his words have to cut straight to my heart and overwhelm my spirit with poignancy, wistfulness and a (perhaps inappropriate) light of hope.

Not alone

It seems I'm not the only one inspired to respond to Frankenstein. It's quite stunning being part of a temporary national obsession.

I found this article from the BBC website. I've rarely read such interesting comments on a BBC article from the public before. Who suspected the art of and ability to deconstruct a piece of literature was alive and well in the British public?

I wish I'd written numbers three and nine, simply for the sake of my own intellectual vanity. There are a couple of slightly mad ones in here as well.

A (Post) Modern Prometheus

The new theatrical interpretation of Frankenstein by Nick Dear is most fascinating for the statements it doesn't make, rather than any attempts to make a statement, but Danny Boyle's excellent production is a stunning experience for the soul and the two actors deserve the wide praise they are receiving. Former colleagues on an adaptation of, quite appropriately, The Last Days of Don Juan, Nick Dear and Danny Boyle embarked on this project with a clear appreciation for Mary Shelley's novel and its fascination for a modern audience. The production is particularly novel because the two lead actors switch roles every night, creating two very different productions. Although I agree with the general opinion of reviewers that it is difficult to choose which casting is better, I will conclude this review with my own impression.

In the beginning

After a particularly acute attack of Livejournal nostalgia and a vague knowledge of the professional potential of publishing my writing for the world to see, I have extended my Google identity to include a blog (and I have joined Twitter!). The occasion I have chosen for this less-than momentous achievement is last week's broadcast of the National Theatre's production of Frankenstein, which I just managed to see, by attending the pre-recorded matinee in the afternoon and travelling into the depths of Surrey to see the reverse casting at the cinema. I will publish my review shortly, because a tweet was only 10% of what I wanted to write and I thought it would be bad form to tweet more than twice about one thing.

The title is a reference to my earlier Livejournal, where I pictured myself as somewhat of a traveller. Now settled for the foreseeable future in London, the world will at least revolve while I watch and I hope to include observations, reviews and interesting facts I pick up en route.