This is one that I have a lot of trouble saying. It's pronounced Ver-i-si-mil-i-tude. Kinda like Very Similar, which amazingly enough, is very close to it's meaning! Puns intended.
Verisimilitude means the semblance of reality or appearance of truth.
Websters: The quality or state of being verisimilar; the appearance of truth; probability; likelihood.
Douglas Harper: 1603, from Fr. verisimilitude (1549), from L. verisimilitudo "likeness to truth," from veri, genitive of verum, neut. of verus "true" (see very) + similis "like, similar" (see similar).
Or as the Encyclopedia Britannica would have it: the semblance of reality in dramatic or nondramatic fiction. The concept implies that either the action represented must be acceptable or convincing according to the audience's own experience or knowledge or, as in the presentation of science fiction or tales of the supernatural, the audience must be enticed into willingly suspending disbelief and accepting improbable actions as true within the framework of the narrative.
Why am I thinking of Verismilitude? Just wanted to expand your minds really. Plus I needed practice at saying it 'cause I often can't. And it's a fiction related term that crops up lots so I might drop it into conversation and would prefer that I be understood. Yes?
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
Monday, 16 February 2009
On Grief / In memoriam
This is a heavy and long one so feel free to tune out for the duration but it's what's on my mind so I'm bound to expound.
I'm actually not sure how to do this. There are two parts to this episode... or, maybe four. There is the part where my teacher / substitute mother died last year, the part where 181 people so far have died in the Victorian bush fires and then there is my reaction to both which is sort of divergent and sort of not. I have held off on writing about Sue in my blog since early December last year because I have felt very strange about her death, but the amount of suffering and tragedy that is occurring right now with the fires has led me to think about her so often that I think it is time I do write it. But I'm also not sure if my grief now is for her, or rather not only for her, but also because there is a deep miasma of grief surrounding everyone in Victoria at the moment, and I'm also reacting to that. As my step-mum said, you can't not grieve when 180 plus people have been killed, and everyone knows someone affected. Either way, I'm feeling very sad, and everyone around me seems to be down too.
So how to start? Well I guess the trick is always to start at the beginning and to go on to the end and then stop. So I will do that. I will attempt to explain why I feel weird about Sue afterwards. First, I want to share some memories.
Sue Lincoln - O'Dwyer that was - has passed away. This probably means absolutely zip to 99% of you but it means a lot to me. She was my primary school teacher at Steiner you see, and unlike most schools, this meant that I had her as a teacher from year 1 right through to the end of year 6 - my formative years. I left Steiner in year 7 - in the Victorian system this is high school - so I'd already lost Sue so to speak, but that meant that of the eight years I was there, I spent six with Sue.
I heard recently from an old school mate (through the magic of Facebook) that she wasn't well and wasn't expected to last long, and so I started to write her a letter to say thank you; only it didn't get sent in time. I was going to write to her about all the memories I still have from Steiner. How much I loved it there. How much I respected her. How much I missed her when I left.
It's a bit late for that letter now and I didn't know any of the family or even my old school mates well enough to feel at all comfortable going to the funeral. It was a Steiner thing, or maybe it was only a Sue thing, but when someone dies, I (and I have since learned, my classmates) always light a candle to their memory. I think of it as lighting their soul's way on it's journey to wherever. I watch it burn and I think of the person and give thanks for knowing them. A sort of farewell / wake on my own. I've done it for everyone I know who has died. I didn't do it for Sue... I felt so very strange about her death you see, but more on that later. So here's my candle to Sue.
I think I remember the first time I met her. We were in prep and were gathered around and introduced to our new teacher. And somebody - I keep thinking it was Emile or Robin - asked if we could call her mum. Or it could have been me. I remember her being nice about it. And I did call her mum on several occasions. It's a bit hard to remember who's who when you're only seven.
I remember her reading the Odyssey to us. I loved that book. I remember being the nurse to Odysseus who recognised him from a scar when washing his feat when we learned and performed the play. And making straps of leather into sandals and painting calico toga's in roman designs so we could dress up as legionaries. And being taught Greek. I remember performing the play 'The Importance of Being Ernest' and I was the butler and I didn't learn my lines and Sue was ever so kind to me and didn't shout at me as I deserved but made me feel so guilty instead that I learned them near perfect for the second performance.
She taught us to make mandala's too using our compasses (compii?) and I used so much of my derwent pencils, and drew so heavily, that it looked like I'd painted the colours on, not drawn them. I remember main lesson. I remember making puppets and mine had real silk hair - as in strands of - and a real satin dress. Pink. I remember free lessons. And she showed us how to make hessian cushions for our chairs. We made clay pellets and made our own hessian bags to hold them in which Sue used to teach us counting I think. I still have the cloth bag that my first set of six crayons came in - not sure where the crayons are though.
To this day I love singing 'The Sky Boat Song' as she taught it to us, she playing the guitar, we singing harmony. 'Autumn leaves are falling' was another favourite. And who could forget 'Morning has broken'? We sang that every day. I remember singing Faure's Requiem with the rest of the school which to this day is one of my favourites and which I listen to when I need calming. I remember her teaching us recorder - another Steiner thing I still have somewhere - and playing the sky boat song 'till mum hated it. I remember doing Eurythme in an apple green silk dress in the Eurythme room. I remember the dining room downstairs. But we didn't eat there every day. I can't remember when we did eat there actually. I remember the bell that called morning tea, lunch and home time was donated to the school by my grandfather, and was a ships bell.
I remember Sue getting as mad as hell at Robin so many times. I remember being envious of Honi and Jodi Downs 'cause they were the cool girls. I remember walking to Jodie's place throught the hundred acre woods and playing in her big back yard. I remember driving to school with Mariska and being baby-sat by Ben's mum. I remember pool parties at Cassie's place and the amazing atmosphere at Angela's. I always felt very awed at Angela's place, like it was somehow sacred. And I remember longing to play a violin like Emma T, and sleepovers at Emma H's with her numerous brothers and sisters. I remember writing a story about Fairies (my first ever finished story) with Isla . I remember going to Penny's I think and building a mud-brick chicken coop or something. And making glazed tiles to be added to it. I remember Penny's cello playing.
I remember the fete's at Steiner and how I always wanted, and could never afford, to buy the head bands and wrist bands encrusted with ribbons they had on display. I remember the dolls with no mouths, only eyes, so we could imagine them to have any expression we wanted. And I remember Sue teaching us May-pole dancing for a display one year and us getting it very messed up. I remember Sue as my teacher, but also my mother, my mentor and my idol.
So many memories.
Ok, so now back to the weirdness. I feel, because I left Steiner when I was 12, that somehow I have no right to be as sad as my fellow school-fellows about her death. I know this is nonsense, but I can't help feeling it. I have some kind of inferiority complex over the whole situation, like just because they spent more time at Steiner than I, they are better than me. This is patently silly of course, but I fell into a whole world of 'I'm not good enough' after Sue died from which I'm just emerging. I honestly don't know why.
Maybe because as I kid I had pretty much no confidence and the memories evoked by Sue's passing dragged this up again. And I do mean NO confidence. I was afraid to answer the telephone as apre -teen because I was scared I wouldn't know what to say and that the person on the other end would think me stupid or something. And I would have a screaming fit if mum asked me to call someone. That fear lasted even into high school I think. I spent an awful lot of time on my own too. These days I enjoy my own company and love being by myself. Back then I hated it but was terrified of intruding into the other kids games or conversations as they may not want me or may hate me and I'd never know what to say. I was called 'independent' by my teachers and by mum. I was 'quiet' and 'solitary'. I was scared was what I was. I used to hide in the bushes at recess so I wouldn't have to face or talk to anybody for fear that they'd hate me. Not all the time of course, but a decent percentage of it.
And it wasn't as if the kids weren't friendly or approachable. I had some great times at friend's places as mentioned above. And I loved Steiner. I adored being in such a creative atmosphere and loved the variety of knowledge available to us - and soaked it up like a sponge. I owe the richness of my life now to those early teachings. I was just scared of my own shadow back then.
Writing this, I'm only now realising just how far I've come. I was painfully shy as a child. I still occasionally have moments when I feel out of it, but now I can toss that over my shoulder and pretend I'm all good until I AM all good and I generally have no problem in social situations. Thank youVenturers and Gang Show! I don't think it was any body's fault, it's just the way I was. But I was a pretty timid pre-teen.
Wow. I knew that every cell in my body get's replaced regularly. I didn't know my heart and soul did too.
So, Sue's death was hard personally for me. I have been dragged back to my past to face some uncomfortable memories and some unhappy truths. Unlike the other children in my class at Steiner who grew into adults knowing Sue, I was stuck in my memories of her at age 12. A little young to process death really. And I never allowed that part of me to grow up.
As for the other people who have died in the Victorian bush fires, my deepest sympathy, compassion and condolences go to all those who have lost someone. They have been through so much. I will do all that I can to help.
I think that I now know that I am grieving with them... if that makes sense. I had no idea how much the Canberra fires had affected me until this last week. I still don't know if the way I am feeling now is because of that or just because it is such a huge tragedy or because of Sue, but when I was standing on the train platform last week and I saw the sun rise and it was the colour of blood... god I was so scared. I have been near the edge of tears so many times in the past week, while normally I'm quite a composed person, or so I'd like to think. I'm not sure about that now. My clothes and the air smell of smoke all the time and I like the smell of a camp fire but the idea that the smell comes from burning homes and ... well. I feel sick.
I just can't get my head around it. I think that when I can process it I will be fine. At least I have that luxury. How the people who have lost their homes are going to be able to process it, I can't even imagine. I wish them luck. With all my heart. Talking helps. As does writing.
And I salute all those who have helped in the crisis. Hero's one and all. Thanks just aren't enough but you have my thanks along with the rest.
Right. I didn't know how to start and now I don't know how to end. So I guess I just do. Thanks for listening.
Let it out, let it go,
Let it all unravel.
Set it free and it shall be
A path on which to travel.
...Leunig.
I'm actually not sure how to do this. There are two parts to this episode... or, maybe four. There is the part where my teacher / substitute mother died last year, the part where 181 people so far have died in the Victorian bush fires and then there is my reaction to both which is sort of divergent and sort of not. I have held off on writing about Sue in my blog since early December last year because I have felt very strange about her death, but the amount of suffering and tragedy that is occurring right now with the fires has led me to think about her so often that I think it is time I do write it. But I'm also not sure if my grief now is for her, or rather not only for her, but also because there is a deep miasma of grief surrounding everyone in Victoria at the moment, and I'm also reacting to that. As my step-mum said, you can't not grieve when 180 plus people have been killed, and everyone knows someone affected. Either way, I'm feeling very sad, and everyone around me seems to be down too.
So how to start? Well I guess the trick is always to start at the beginning and to go on to the end and then stop. So I will do that. I will attempt to explain why I feel weird about Sue afterwards. First, I want to share some memories.
Sue Lincoln - O'Dwyer that was - has passed away. This probably means absolutely zip to 99% of you but it means a lot to me. She was my primary school teacher at Steiner you see, and unlike most schools, this meant that I had her as a teacher from year 1 right through to the end of year 6 - my formative years. I left Steiner in year 7 - in the Victorian system this is high school - so I'd already lost Sue so to speak, but that meant that of the eight years I was there, I spent six with Sue.I heard recently from an old school mate (through the magic of Facebook) that she wasn't well and wasn't expected to last long, and so I started to write her a letter to say thank you; only it didn't get sent in time. I was going to write to her about all the memories I still have from Steiner. How much I loved it there. How much I respected her. How much I missed her when I left.
It's a bit late for that letter now and I didn't know any of the family or even my old school mates well enough to feel at all comfortable going to the funeral. It was a Steiner thing, or maybe it was only a Sue thing, but when someone dies, I (and I have since learned, my classmates) always light a candle to their memory. I think of it as lighting their soul's way on it's journey to wherever. I watch it burn and I think of the person and give thanks for knowing them. A sort of farewell / wake on my own. I've done it for everyone I know who has died. I didn't do it for Sue... I felt so very strange about her death you see, but more on that later. So here's my candle to Sue.
I think I remember the first time I met her. We were in prep and were gathered around and introduced to our new teacher. And somebody - I keep thinking it was Emile or Robin - asked if we could call her mum. Or it could have been me. I remember her being nice about it. And I did call her mum on several occasions. It's a bit hard to remember who's who when you're only seven.
I remember her reading the Odyssey to us. I loved that book. I remember being the nurse to Odysseus who recognised him from a scar when washing his feat when we learned and performed the play. And making straps of leather into sandals and painting calico toga's in roman designs so we could dress up as legionaries. And being taught Greek. I remember performing the play 'The Importance of Being Ernest' and I was the butler and I didn't learn my lines and Sue was ever so kind to me and didn't shout at me as I deserved but made me feel so guilty instead that I learned them near perfect for the second performance.
She taught us to make mandala's too using our compasses (compii?) and I used so much of my derwent pencils, and drew so heavily, that it looked like I'd painted the colours on, not drawn them. I remember main lesson. I remember making puppets and mine had real silk hair - as in strands of - and a real satin dress. Pink. I remember free lessons. And she showed us how to make hessian cushions for our chairs. We made clay pellets and made our own hessian bags to hold them in which Sue used to teach us counting I think. I still have the cloth bag that my first set of six crayons came in - not sure where the crayons are though.
To this day I love singing 'The Sky Boat Song' as she taught it to us, she playing the guitar, we singing harmony. 'Autumn leaves are falling' was another favourite. And who could forget 'Morning has broken'? We sang that every day. I remember singing Faure's Requiem with the rest of the school which to this day is one of my favourites and which I listen to when I need calming. I remember her teaching us recorder - another Steiner thing I still have somewhere - and playing the sky boat song 'till mum hated it. I remember doing Eurythme in an apple green silk dress in the Eurythme room. I remember the dining room downstairs. But we didn't eat there every day. I can't remember when we did eat there actually. I remember the bell that called morning tea, lunch and home time was donated to the school by my grandfather, and was a ships bell.
I remember Sue getting as mad as hell at Robin so many times. I remember being envious of Honi and Jodi Downs 'cause they were the cool girls. I remember walking to Jodie's place throught the hundred acre woods and playing in her big back yard. I remember driving to school with Mariska and being baby-sat by Ben's mum. I remember pool parties at Cassie's place and the amazing atmosphere at Angela's. I always felt very awed at Angela's place, like it was somehow sacred. And I remember longing to play a violin like Emma T, and sleepovers at Emma H's with her numerous brothers and sisters. I remember writing a story about Fairies (my first ever finished story) with Isla . I remember going to Penny's I think and building a mud-brick chicken coop or something. And making glazed tiles to be added to it. I remember Penny's cello playing.
I remember the fete's at Steiner and how I always wanted, and could never afford, to buy the head bands and wrist bands encrusted with ribbons they had on display. I remember the dolls with no mouths, only eyes, so we could imagine them to have any expression we wanted. And I remember Sue teaching us May-pole dancing for a display one year and us getting it very messed up. I remember Sue as my teacher, but also my mother, my mentor and my idol.
So many memories.
Ok, so now back to the weirdness. I feel, because I left Steiner when I was 12, that somehow I have no right to be as sad as my fellow school-fellows about her death. I know this is nonsense, but I can't help feeling it. I have some kind of inferiority complex over the whole situation, like just because they spent more time at Steiner than I, they are better than me. This is patently silly of course, but I fell into a whole world of 'I'm not good enough' after Sue died from which I'm just emerging. I honestly don't know why.
Maybe because as I kid I had pretty much no confidence and the memories evoked by Sue's passing dragged this up again. And I do mean NO confidence. I was afraid to answer the telephone as apre -teen because I was scared I wouldn't know what to say and that the person on the other end would think me stupid or something. And I would have a screaming fit if mum asked me to call someone. That fear lasted even into high school I think. I spent an awful lot of time on my own too. These days I enjoy my own company and love being by myself. Back then I hated it but was terrified of intruding into the other kids games or conversations as they may not want me or may hate me and I'd never know what to say. I was called 'independent' by my teachers and by mum. I was 'quiet' and 'solitary'. I was scared was what I was. I used to hide in the bushes at recess so I wouldn't have to face or talk to anybody for fear that they'd hate me. Not all the time of course, but a decent percentage of it.
And it wasn't as if the kids weren't friendly or approachable. I had some great times at friend's places as mentioned above. And I loved Steiner. I adored being in such a creative atmosphere and loved the variety of knowledge available to us - and soaked it up like a sponge. I owe the richness of my life now to those early teachings. I was just scared of my own shadow back then.
Writing this, I'm only now realising just how far I've come. I was painfully shy as a child. I still occasionally have moments when I feel out of it, but now I can toss that over my shoulder and pretend I'm all good until I AM all good and I generally have no problem in social situations. Thank youVenturers and Gang Show! I don't think it was any body's fault, it's just the way I was. But I was a pretty timid pre-teen.
Wow. I knew that every cell in my body get's replaced regularly. I didn't know my heart and soul did too.
So, Sue's death was hard personally for me. I have been dragged back to my past to face some uncomfortable memories and some unhappy truths. Unlike the other children in my class at Steiner who grew into adults knowing Sue, I was stuck in my memories of her at age 12. A little young to process death really. And I never allowed that part of me to grow up.
As for the other people who have died in the Victorian bush fires, my deepest sympathy, compassion and condolences go to all those who have lost someone. They have been through so much. I will do all that I can to help.I think that I now know that I am grieving with them... if that makes sense. I had no idea how much the Canberra fires had affected me until this last week. I still don't know if the way I am feeling now is because of that or just because it is such a huge tragedy or because of Sue, but when I was standing on the train platform last week and I saw the sun rise and it was the colour of blood... god I was so scared. I have been near the edge of tears so many times in the past week, while normally I'm quite a composed person, or so I'd like to think. I'm not sure about that now. My clothes and the air smell of smoke all the time and I like the smell of a camp fire but the idea that the smell comes from burning homes and ... well. I feel sick.
I just can't get my head around it. I think that when I can process it I will be fine. At least I have that luxury. How the people who have lost their homes are going to be able to process it, I can't even imagine. I wish them luck. With all my heart. Talking helps. As does writing.
And I salute all those who have helped in the crisis. Hero's one and all. Thanks just aren't enough but you have my thanks along with the rest.
Right. I didn't know how to start and now I don't know how to end. So I guess I just do. Thanks for listening.
Let it out, let it go,
Let it all unravel.
Set it free and it shall be
A path on which to travel.
...Leunig.
Monday, 9 February 2009
Tragedy
I heard, like everyone else, the comparison before hand. Friday night they were warning of climatic conditions similar to the Ash Wednesday fires. I rang Mum and she said she was going into work the next day at 2pm, along with all her colleagues, to be ready just in case.
She ended up spending the whole night there working right through.
It was just an extreme weather day until lunch time. The news was making a lot of the fact that it was Melbourne's hottest February day on record, and then Melbourne's hottest day ever. It reached 46.4 in the city and 47.9 out at Avalon. The winds gusting around 200km were quite frightening. It felt like stepping into a fan-forced oven outside and it was a really bad idea to ware my metal watch out there.
Then, after lunch, the fires started being reported. We heard the first snippets on the news. Someone suggested the ABC radio, for which Dad had to make aerial post-haste as he'd not used the AM band in this house. And then we sat, mesmerised, listening to the number of urgent alerts from the CFA, the increasing numbers of road closures, the endless numbers of communities under threat.
And then the death toll started mounting.
At first, it was only 4, then 14. By dinner it was 25 confirmed and they were warning people to expect up to 40. At lunch time Sunday the confirmed deaths had reached 35 but the police and firies couldn't get into most of the affected areas. We stopped listening for the afternoon as it was just too depressing. At dinner Sunday, my stomach revolted when we heard 66. Then, this morning at Southern Crossstn , I lost my breath and my heart skipped a beat when I saw the number 93 on the screen. Now they're saying 107 with a possibility of that number doubling. In Ash Wednesday, they lost 47 (Feb 1983).
Holy cow.
I have (touch wood with a grip that turns my knuckles white) been no-where near the fires this time. The whole of Victoria can smell the smoke though. It brought back so many memories. That horrible sinking feeling of helplessness, of hopelessness. Facing the fact that there is literally nothing you can do but pack up the car and run. The black and blood-red sky. The choking smoke, the black leaves raining down and the ash coating everything. I have never been so scared as when I was when Canberra was on fire. But at least there were only four lives lost, although even one is too many.
I feel terrible for the poor people not only homeless but also now mourning. Property is one thing, lives an entirely different story. My heart goes out to them and my thanks, along with hundreds of thousands of others, to the fireies - CFA and DSE, the police, the ambo's and all their minions who are fighting this incredible beast with every fiber in their beings.
Just like back then, there are also a thousand inspiring stories of heroism and of courage, of generosity and of spirit that are rising like the phoenix. It's times like these that the human spirit truly shines. I just wish there had been no need.
Holy cow.
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Acclimatisation
I find it fascinating how we as humans adapt to our surroundings. It may not be great changes we make, but it's the little things that really make the biggest impact. IMHO I believe people tend to try to fit into any new environment or situation they encounter. It may or may not be conscious but it happens regardless of whether you want it to or not.
Take for instance a new couple; they tend to use the same phrases, have the same attitudes to things and adopt the same mannerisms only after a couple of weeks. And when you enter a new country, or return to an old one, you look for ways to match your current way of thinking and being to that of those around you. Your accent alters, your key phrases change, your view of the world shifts to match that of your companions.
I'm living in Melton at the moment, a suburb of Melbourne that, let's face it, isn't in the highest socio-economic bracket. The amount of coarse slang and twanging Australian accents I hear at the local shops is quite amazing, or was to me, when I first moved there. I've noticed lately that I've stopped noticing. It no longer hurts my ears to hear the words 'gunna' or 'camon' or 'peul' and I don't really notice when a string of profanities hits my ear unless it's a really impressive explosion.
And today, I used the word 'darl' without consciousness of the fact, until five minutes afterwards, when I couldn't help laughing at myself. I hated being called 'love' in England, and here I am saying pretty much the same thing in pretty much the same situation that 'love' is used in the UK.
This ought to be interesting when I return to the UK. You'll gunna really heat moi accent boi then.
Take for instance a new couple; they tend to use the same phrases, have the same attitudes to things and adopt the same mannerisms only after a couple of weeks. And when you enter a new country, or return to an old one, you look for ways to match your current way of thinking and being to that of those around you. Your accent alters, your key phrases change, your view of the world shifts to match that of your companions.
I'm living in Melton at the moment, a suburb of Melbourne that, let's face it, isn't in the highest socio-economic bracket. The amount of coarse slang and twanging Australian accents I hear at the local shops is quite amazing, or was to me, when I first moved there. I've noticed lately that I've stopped noticing. It no longer hurts my ears to hear the words 'gunna' or 'camon' or 'peul' and I don't really notice when a string of profanities hits my ear unless it's a really impressive explosion.
And today, I used the word 'darl' without consciousness of the fact, until five minutes afterwards, when I couldn't help laughing at myself. I hated being called 'love' in England, and here I am saying pretty much the same thing in pretty much the same situation that 'love' is used in the UK.
This ought to be interesting when I return to the UK. You'll gunna really heat moi accent boi then.
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
Wail!
It is 4:30pm and it is officially 43.1 degrees Celsius outside. In half-an-hour I am supposed to go out into that blazing sunshine and walk for the 25 mins it takes me to get to the train station...
Nooooooooo! I didn't sign up for this!
Nooooooooo! I didn't sign up for this!
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
Blood Overdose
Ok, so I don't normally review books here, although I suppose I could since I read enough of them, but I wanted to say my piece about this series because as a woman who has neices and friends with young female children it disturbed me. Not the books per se, but their possible impact on said girls.
Towards the end of last year I ran out of reading material between visits to my library (aka, my mothers house) and decided to try a series I had recently seen four different women reading on the train. This series was by a lady called Stephenie Meyer, the first of which is called Twilight. And yes, this is the book of which a film version has been very recently released.
I didn't know about the film, nor indeed anything about the author, before I started reading it. I'd just seen it around and heard from various people that the series held cult status amoungst teen girls and also that the popularity of the books had caused a new sub-genera section to appear in my local Dymocks - that of Paranormal Fiction.
So I was interested. I picked up Twilight and I was hooked. I bought and read all four of the books in the series over the following week I think. The writing wasn't brilliant and was quite repetative in places but the conflict was tight and continuous so kept me reading. I'm a little ashamed to admit that it was one of those series of books where I actually curtailled my sleep to finish them (a rare occurance these days).
But whilst it was very compelling I couldn't exactly say I enjoyed it. The tale is captivating and keeps you reading (as I can defeinitly affirm!). I also loved the idea of the series, although it's not exactly original as any Buffy fan will tell you - a vegetarian vamp falls in love with a human girl - and I guess I was hoping for the same sort of fiesty, fun and intelligent world as that of Buffy and Angel. But the messages you get from these books are instead singularly disturbing.
The males are all portrayed as uber chovenistic - dominating, possessive, controlling - their behaviour made me want to hit them regularly and throw the books accross the room as indeed I did on more than one occasion. I feel sick just thinking about their behaviour now, and it's been over five months since I read about them! The whole "I'm in love with you and will love you to the end of eternity but I can't touch you, I'm dangerous - don't let me touch you or I'll hurt you, don't let me make love to you or I might kill you" schtic of the lead, the vampire Edward Cullen, smacked of scarring emotional abuse to me and the 'she asked for it' defence of a rapist. And his competition, Jacob Black (a warewolf), uses emotional blackmail on the poor girl every time he sees her just to get his own selfish way. And they both stalk her. Freeking scary if you ask me. I could kill both of them quite happily and I LIKE vampires!
And the supposed heroine (Bella Swan) is writen as a non-entity. She starts off sacrificing the life she loved for her mother's new man, then subverting her will to every man that comes along afterwards. The hardest thing I found to deal with is that she doesn't EVER get a backbone, which is what I was frankly expecting and hoping for her to do, and the only time she shows any spirit (and it's not really spirit but a dogged determination to go through with something) is in circumstances which are frankly disgusting. She is a placid, submissive, pale immitation of a female, willing to give up her freedom, her hopes, her dreams, her sexual desires, her very life to any man who cares to take it. She is married by age 18 and is obsessively overjoyed when she falls pregnant right away. And young women are reading these books in their droves?!?! Ugh.
Anyway, I finished the books, but they left a very bad taste in my mouth. Then I heard of the film coming out (which I haven't seen by the way and won't until it comes out on dvd), and that the book sales of the entire series had been rocketing even pre the idea of a film, and that Ms Meyer was raking in amounts of money second only to that generated by the Harry Potter franchise, so I decided to investigate futher.
It turns out I'm not the only one left nauseated. We're in the minority, but we do exist. Mainly women, mainly allarmed at the effect the messages in this book will have on teen girls.
I know that in fact I probably wouldn't be half as horrified with the whole thing if I didn't know that the main audience for these books was teenages and that within that group the reading and possessing of said books have become status items. Actually, I probably wouldn't be at all horrified - I've read worse books with worse messages - but the teenage girl angle has me spinning.
What was the bloody woman thinking? She's a female! How could she do this to her own sex? In the 21st Century you'd think we might have actually managed to get passed this whole woman-as-a-lesser-being thing, at least in the Western world. And this woman is from America! Land of the god-damned free!
Now I'm not advocating censorship nor that these books should be removed from the shelves or anything like that. But the whole series glorifies abuse and an awareness of the issue would be a damn good thing in my world. If either of my neices were old enough to read this I'd want to sit down with them before hand, and during, and after to make sure they understand the issues involved. Especially that the messages - sublimate your will to that of a man, allow him to abuse you emotionally, obey him in all things wether right or wrong, sacrifice your life, mind, body and soul to the guy, wed young and have babies - are not how things have to be. That as young females, they deserve respect and to be treated as equals, and should know that abuse is wrong and something they don't have to put up with.
So there you go. An actual firm and strong opinion from me which is relatively rare. I am seriously disturbed and I still feel sick. If this is to be the future trend in teen books someone should clobber it in the nuts right now.
If you have or know a teen girl who has read or is reading the series, talk to her about it! Please!!
Towards the end of last year I ran out of reading material between visits to my library (aka, my mothers house) and decided to try a series I had recently seen four different women reading on the train. This series was by a lady called Stephenie Meyer, the first of which is called Twilight. And yes, this is the book of which a film version has been very recently released.
I didn't know about the film, nor indeed anything about the author, before I started reading it. I'd just seen it around and heard from various people that the series held cult status amoungst teen girls and also that the popularity of the books had caused a new sub-genera section to appear in my local Dymocks - that of Paranormal Fiction.
So I was interested. I picked up Twilight and I was hooked. I bought and read all four of the books in the series over the following week I think. The writing wasn't brilliant and was quite repetative in places but the conflict was tight and continuous so kept me reading. I'm a little ashamed to admit that it was one of those series of books where I actually curtailled my sleep to finish them (a rare occurance these days).
But whilst it was very compelling I couldn't exactly say I enjoyed it. The tale is captivating and keeps you reading (as I can defeinitly affirm!). I also loved the idea of the series, although it's not exactly original as any Buffy fan will tell you - a vegetarian vamp falls in love with a human girl - and I guess I was hoping for the same sort of fiesty, fun and intelligent world as that of Buffy and Angel. But the messages you get from these books are instead singularly disturbing.
The males are all portrayed as uber chovenistic - dominating, possessive, controlling - their behaviour made me want to hit them regularly and throw the books accross the room as indeed I did on more than one occasion. I feel sick just thinking about their behaviour now, and it's been over five months since I read about them! The whole "I'm in love with you and will love you to the end of eternity but I can't touch you, I'm dangerous - don't let me touch you or I'll hurt you, don't let me make love to you or I might kill you" schtic of the lead, the vampire Edward Cullen, smacked of scarring emotional abuse to me and the 'she asked for it' defence of a rapist. And his competition, Jacob Black (a warewolf), uses emotional blackmail on the poor girl every time he sees her just to get his own selfish way. And they both stalk her. Freeking scary if you ask me. I could kill both of them quite happily and I LIKE vampires!
And the supposed heroine (Bella Swan) is writen as a non-entity. She starts off sacrificing the life she loved for her mother's new man, then subverting her will to every man that comes along afterwards. The hardest thing I found to deal with is that she doesn't EVER get a backbone, which is what I was frankly expecting and hoping for her to do, and the only time she shows any spirit (and it's not really spirit but a dogged determination to go through with something) is in circumstances which are frankly disgusting. She is a placid, submissive, pale immitation of a female, willing to give up her freedom, her hopes, her dreams, her sexual desires, her very life to any man who cares to take it. She is married by age 18 and is obsessively overjoyed when she falls pregnant right away. And young women are reading these books in their droves?!?! Ugh.
Anyway, I finished the books, but they left a very bad taste in my mouth. Then I heard of the film coming out (which I haven't seen by the way and won't until it comes out on dvd), and that the book sales of the entire series had been rocketing even pre the idea of a film, and that Ms Meyer was raking in amounts of money second only to that generated by the Harry Potter franchise, so I decided to investigate futher.
It turns out I'm not the only one left nauseated. We're in the minority, but we do exist. Mainly women, mainly allarmed at the effect the messages in this book will have on teen girls.
I know that in fact I probably wouldn't be half as horrified with the whole thing if I didn't know that the main audience for these books was teenages and that within that group the reading and possessing of said books have become status items. Actually, I probably wouldn't be at all horrified - I've read worse books with worse messages - but the teenage girl angle has me spinning.
What was the bloody woman thinking? She's a female! How could she do this to her own sex? In the 21st Century you'd think we might have actually managed to get passed this whole woman-as-a-lesser-being thing, at least in the Western world. And this woman is from America! Land of the god-damned free!
Now I'm not advocating censorship nor that these books should be removed from the shelves or anything like that. But the whole series glorifies abuse and an awareness of the issue would be a damn good thing in my world. If either of my neices were old enough to read this I'd want to sit down with them before hand, and during, and after to make sure they understand the issues involved. Especially that the messages - sublimate your will to that of a man, allow him to abuse you emotionally, obey him in all things wether right or wrong, sacrifice your life, mind, body and soul to the guy, wed young and have babies - are not how things have to be. That as young females, they deserve respect and to be treated as equals, and should know that abuse is wrong and something they don't have to put up with.
So there you go. An actual firm and strong opinion from me which is relatively rare. I am seriously disturbed and I still feel sick. If this is to be the future trend in teen books someone should clobber it in the nuts right now.
If you have or know a teen girl who has read or is reading the series, talk to her about it! Please!!
Monday, 26 January 2009
Another Year Older...
Not much wiser though.
So, it was my birthday last week. For some reason I only ever seem to remember my age every second year. It's like the even-numbered years don't exist for me so I get a very nasty shock when I realise I'm actually two years older than I thought I was. This happened last Thursday. Never nice.
I don't really like my birthdays. I'm not very good at accepting good wishes gracefully. Along with compliments and people paying for me in a restaurant, it makes me uncomfortable. Probably some psych thing I should work out and get over but can't really be bothered as it's only once a year. I do however always tend to be a little morose on the day.
I wish I'd actually had the forethought to take the day off work - I felt guilted into buying some biscuits for everyone at work (as it is a 'tradition' here to bring stuff in on your birthday) and by there-doing announced that it was an occasion and so got congratulations. Actually, they weren't too bad, realising I was grumpy about it, and left me pretty much alone, which was nice.
I did like my cake though. Carol made her first Black Forest cake and it was very successful as a chocolate cake... not quite as sure about the whole sour cherry thing, but I wanted a chocolate cake so I wasn't disappointed.
Other than that, I just kept wishing the day was over. And now it is for another year. So forth and so onwards.
So, it was my birthday last week. For some reason I only ever seem to remember my age every second year. It's like the even-numbered years don't exist for me so I get a very nasty shock when I realise I'm actually two years older than I thought I was. This happened last Thursday. Never nice.
I don't really like my birthdays. I'm not very good at accepting good wishes gracefully. Along with compliments and people paying for me in a restaurant, it makes me uncomfortable. Probably some psych thing I should work out and get over but can't really be bothered as it's only once a year. I do however always tend to be a little morose on the day.
I wish I'd actually had the forethought to take the day off work - I felt guilted into buying some biscuits for everyone at work (as it is a 'tradition' here to bring stuff in on your birthday) and by there-doing announced that it was an occasion and so got congratulations. Actually, they weren't too bad, realising I was grumpy about it, and left me pretty much alone, which was nice.
I did like my cake though. Carol made her first Black Forest cake and it was very successful as a chocolate cake... not quite as sure about the whole sour cherry thing, but I wanted a chocolate cake so I wasn't disappointed.
Other than that, I just kept wishing the day was over. And now it is for another year. So forth and so onwards.
Thursday, 15 January 2009
NaNoWriMo 2008 Wrap Up
Another belated blog harking back to November last year, and written as if I were still in 2008, as I was in fact when I wrote it:
***
I actually managed to complete NaNo again this year and I am quite proud of myself.
So far I haven't read any part of the story I wrote though. Going on what happened last year, it too will be an unmitigated mess. You see, instead of reading this years (as you are supposed to give yourself some distance from a new story when first finished) I have started to go through last year's NaNo story. I'm rather appalled. The vision I had in my head has not been transferred to paper at all and the number of spelling and punctuation mistakes - not to mention half-sentences and unfinished thoughts - are legionary. I honestly don't know where to begin sorting it out. Most of it literally doesn't make sense.
Ah well. I enjoyed doing it and I finished it and that was what mattered. But I hate to think how bad this year's story is. I got interrupted so many times on the train - which was my only real writing time except for weekends - that the amount of disjointed sections, half-sentences and repeats are going to be incredible. But I did it. And if I ever want to become a writer in actual fact and not just in my head, I'll keep doing it.
So now I have two stories which have beginnings, middles and ends. Pity they go from A to Z through Alpha Centauri.
***
Still haven't read it. Am afraid to now. Will attack it some time soon. The old one has been put into a bin until I have more patience than I do now.
***
I actually managed to complete NaNo again this year and I am quite proud of myself.
So far I haven't read any part of the story I wrote though. Going on what happened last year, it too will be an unmitigated mess. You see, instead of reading this years (as you are supposed to give yourself some distance from a new story when first finished) I have started to go through last year's NaNo story. I'm rather appalled. The vision I had in my head has not been transferred to paper at all and the number of spelling and punctuation mistakes - not to mention half-sentences and unfinished thoughts - are legionary. I honestly don't know where to begin sorting it out. Most of it literally doesn't make sense.
Ah well. I enjoyed doing it and I finished it and that was what mattered. But I hate to think how bad this year's story is. I got interrupted so many times on the train - which was my only real writing time except for weekends - that the amount of disjointed sections, half-sentences and repeats are going to be incredible. But I did it. And if I ever want to become a writer in actual fact and not just in my head, I'll keep doing it.
So now I have two stories which have beginnings, middles and ends. Pity they go from A to Z through Alpha Centauri.
***
Still haven't read it. Am afraid to now. Will attack it some time soon. The old one has been put into a bin until I have more patience than I do now.
Sunday, 11 January 2009
Mum's 60th
Way back in October of last year - a year in which we had Chris's 30th and Tim's 25th as well - my mater had her 60th.
The clan gathered, the shopping was done, the party plates were bought, the paths swept, the mosquito coils were strategically placed, the balloons were strung up one minute and burst the next, the salads were expertly prepared by chef Chris, a terrified Kat baked her first cake in four years and it turned outok, the party poppers were ready and the tables groaned under the weight of the provender.
And then the guests started arriving.
All four of us younger family members pitched in. Tim became our entertainer for the evening and did an excellent job of amusing the troops, Adam made sure there wasn't a mosquito in sight and kept us all varmint free, Chris manned the BBQ with a brilliance that made Ali's gourmet cook of a boss praise him liberally and I ran around making sure at least some of the mountains of food got eaten and that everyone had clean glasses.
And although I will admit to being a bit of a martyr at times due to a chronic lack of sleep (thank you Adam for a very timely cup of coffee!), Ali had a wonderful time and didn't notice, or so she said, and that was all that really mattered. All her friends praised us kids on doing everything without a fuss and that pleased her a lot. She also got to spend the entire evening without worrying about a thing and she got loads of ginger chocolate from people she didn't think knew of her love of the stuff and that pleased her even more, so I think we successfully managed to give her a stress-freeish sixtieth.
All in all it was a lovely evening and we had copious amounts of left overs left over like all the best parties, so a Good Time Had By All.
The clan gathered, the shopping was done, the party plates were bought, the paths swept, the mosquito coils were strategically placed, the balloons were strung up one minute and burst the next, the salads were expertly prepared by chef Chris, a terrified Kat baked her first cake in four years and it turned outok, the party poppers were ready and the tables groaned under the weight of the provender.
And then the guests started arriving.
All four of us younger family members pitched in. Tim became our entertainer for the evening and did an excellent job of amusing the troops, Adam made sure there wasn't a mosquito in sight and kept us all varmint free, Chris manned the BBQ with a brilliance that made Ali's gourmet cook of a boss praise him liberally and I ran around making sure at least some of the mountains of food got eaten and that everyone had clean glasses.
And although I will admit to being a bit of a martyr at times due to a chronic lack of sleep (thank you Adam for a very timely cup of coffee!), Ali had a wonderful time and didn't notice, or so she said, and that was all that really mattered. All her friends praised us kids on doing everything without a fuss and that pleased her a lot. She also got to spend the entire evening without worrying about a thing and she got loads of ginger chocolate from people she didn't think knew of her love of the stuff and that pleased her even more, so I think we successfully managed to give her a stress-freeish sixtieth.
All in all it was a lovely evening and we had copious amounts of left overs left over like all the best parties, so a Good Time Had By All.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)