On being a beginner

If I've been quiet on the blogging front recently, please forgive me. It's less than two weeks until the end of my Open University photography course, and I'm supposed to be putting my portfolio together.

Over the years I've picked up a few skills - I speak French and German, I can write a literature essay and I make a mean chilli. Photography is a different matter altogether. It's quite humbling to be a beginner again and I'm not sure I like it.

When I say I'm a novice photographer I'm not exaggerating. I've taken a few decent snaps in my time, but these have been happy accidents - an interesting subject or good natural light. I used a digital SLR camera for the first time three weeks ago and it's all I can do to remember to remove the lens cap. I've always been interested in the idea of a photography, but what with aperture sizes, focal lengths et al I wasn't expecting a maths lesson.

Perhaps it's being assessed that makes me compare myself to the experienced photographers who wow the on-line with Mumbai street scenes, lions on the African savannah and studio-lit portraits. I keep forgetting to measure my progress against the 'before me' rather than these masters of photography.

Then again, we need to see what we can aspire to and learn from those so much more skilled than we are. In the blogosphere there are two photographers I admire. The first is Denise at Solway Scribbles. She has captured some of the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen. Fontilan is completely different, showing the poetry in urban decay. Denise combines her photography with descriptive prose, whereas Fontilan lets the pictures and the accompanying soundtrack say it all. Both inspire me.

In the meantime I grapple with a myriad of buttons and dials. On Tuesday I took a photo excursion to Morecambe. There's plenty of potential in Morecambe, both as a writer and a photographer, with stunning views across the bay to the Lake District and also the wonderful art deco Midland Hotel. I went with the best intentions, but I'd forgotten how cold the seafront can be on a November morning. Camera shake was a definite problem, but I managed to brave the slicing wind until my fingers went numb. Talk about suffering for one's art...

The Soul of Kindness - Elizabeth Taylor

Our book club choice this month was Elizabeth Taylor's The Soul of Kindness, published in 1964.

Loneliness seems to be a recurring theme in Taylor's novels. Mrs Secretan finds a gaping hole in her life after the death of her husband and the marriage of her only child, Flora. Then there's Flora's friend Meg, still young, but 'on the shelf' and already showing signs of becoming an 'old maid.'  Flora wants to marry Meg off to Richard, but he's pining for his fickle friend Frankie, buying in treats just in case Frankie calls round. Meg's brother Kit is trying to find work as an actor, but without success. Flora's husband, Richard, befriends a Elinor who also leads a lonely life, despite being married.

At the centre of it all is Flora herself, a young newly-wed, living in London. She's beautiful and charming, the very 'soul of kindness'. There's something appealing, but also quite appalling, about Taylor's heroine:

'Here I am!' Flora called to Richard as she went downstairs. For a second, Meg felt disloyalty. It occurred to her all of a sudden that Flora was always saying that, and that it was in the tone of one giving a lovely present. She was bestowing herself.'

Perhaps Flora is a woman of her time and class. With no need to work for a living, her 'job' is to be kind and charming, the perfect wife and mother.  If such a thing as selfish selflessness is possible, then Flora is its embodiment. She's a fixer and wants everyone to be happy, but only because their unhappiness disturbs her own peace of mind. The other characters seem to have to put their own feelings to one side, so as not to disturb her well being. They can't even resent her for it, since she is apparently so kind and well-intentioned in all she does.

Flora congratulates herself on cheering up Kit when he's in bed with flu:

'she felt invigorated, sure that she had accomplished something for Kit, had left him uplifted and inspired. It was the gift she had - to be able to do this for him, to give him something to lie and think about and hope for.'

Events don't always turn out as she'd like them to and Flora realizes, albeit briefly, that what she takes for kindness may not be kindness at all.

Elizabeth Taylor

Until the last few pages, I must admit that the book was a little too understated for me. But then, at the very end, the denouement underlines the absolute irony of the title. The story seemed unremarkable as I read it, but it will linger in my memory for quite some time.

Inspiring Dickens

A few weeks ago Lancaster library hosted a Dickens Readers Day. I nearly didn't go, but I'm very glad I did.

From a choice of workshops I selected the Close Reading Group. The idea is, rather than reading a book before hand and discussing it generally, a group meets and reads a chapter aloud together, pausing along the way to discuss interesting points. It felt rather like a university tutorial, but it was sensitively facilitated to encourage everyone to participate.  Readers were encouraged to focus on the chapter in hand rather than the book as a whole or contextualise with what many readers knew of the writer's background. The reading in question was the first chapter of Dombey and Son. Mrs Dombey has finally produced a male heir, much to her husband's delight:

'The earth was made for Dombey and Son to trade in, and the sun and moon were made to give them light. Rivers and seas were formed to float their ships; rainbows gave them promise of fair weather; winds blew for or against their enterprises; stars and planets circled in their orbits , to preserve inviolate a system of which they were the centre. Common abbreviations took new meanings in his eyes, and had sole reference to them: A.D. had no concern with anno Domini, but stood for anno Dombei- and Son.'

This isn't my favourite Dickens novel, but this first chapter does encapsulate so much of what makes him a great writer: humour and pathos, social commentary and characters that leap from the page.  Even if the novel is a hefty nine hundred pages, he does manage to cram so much into this chapter and set up the story effectively.

The highlight of the day was Claire Tomalin, Dickens biographer. Perhaps it was Tomalin's evident enthusiasm for her subject, her eloquence and knowledge, or perhaps it was just that Dickens is such an interesting subject. Either way, she had the audience's full attention - it was certainly the quickest hour of the day. I do admire a writer who can speak and engage equally well with those who know their work and those who don't. Some writers seem so keen not to give the plot away, that they seem to say little at all of any import. Certainly Tomalin left me wiser and wanting more.

It was only this last weekend that I caught up with my audiobook subscription. Since I only tend to listen to audiobooks in bed, they send me to sleep very quickly. After four attempts at Bleak House, I've definitely missed more than I've heard. For a change, I thought I'd give Tomalin's biography of Dickens a go. I've only reached chapter three, and my enthusiasm may be premature, but so far I'm captivated. He seems such a remarkable man, and I'm marvelling at his productivity, his long walks and philanthropic work. I wonder too at the impact of his childhood and family poverty on his adult life. I'm imagining the sensitive eleven year old boy, finishing a day at the blacking factory to rejoin his family in Marshalsea debtors' prison.

I find so much to admire in Dickens, in both his gift as a story teller and for his social conscience. It's true, I may revise my ideas somewhat when I know more about his relationship with his wife Catherine, but for now I'm enthralled.

It's this capacity of books to enthuse and inspire that makes me such a bibliophile. I think I may have found my remedy for the November blues.

Creative desert

For the past few weeks I've felt as though I've been living in some kind of creative desert. I haven't written any prose worth mentioning. I've looked at so many of my own badly composed, under-exposed photos can't that I can't seem to recognise a good one any more. I can't even bring myself to write a review of Brighton Rock, one of my favourite reads this year.

This feeling has come on gradually, I think. An expanding, imperceptible at first, of the mundane worries of everyday life until any thought of creativity seems irrelevant or just impossible.

After a good night's sleep, I'm feeling a bit more positive today. I scanned the plethora of creative writing books on my shelves and picked up Short Circuit A Guide to the Art of the Short Story, edited by Vanessa Gebbie. This is an excellent collection of twenty-four essays commissioned from well-published short story writers. I read a piece on setting by Nigerian author Chika Unigwe. It didn't tell me anything I didn't already know, but it did make an impression of sorts: bringing back memories of a holiday in Greece and a little girl being tested on her times tables. Perhaps there are a few rain clouds on the horizon after all.

How about you? Do you ever feel this way? How do you escape from your creative desert?

The Liebster Award

Thank you to Litlove at Tales from the Reading Room for nominating me for the Liebster Award. I've enjoyed answering your questions:

1. What do you think of literary prizes? Good or bad?

This question is giving me nasty flashbacks to a university dissertation from a few years ago.

I have mixed feelings about literary prizes. It seems to me a spurious notion, the 'best' book of 2012, and extremely reductive. There's the question of setting criteria and then getting the judges to agree on a final choice. Then there are the many very good books that don't even make it on to the longlist. It's all very subjective. In some instances I've wondered whether it's the cumulative work of the author that's being rewarded, rather than a particular book.

On the other hand, anything that gets people reading and talking about books has to be a good thing, particularly if that dialogue extends beyond the literati. It's especially gratifying to see books from small independent publishers such as And Other Stories' Swimming Home on the Booker shortlist.

2. If you could write any sort of book, what would you write?

Best-selling literary fiction. A novel of ideas, but a page turner too. Is this too much to ask for? I've just finished reading Graham Greene's Brighton Rock, which strikes me as just the kind of book I'd like to have written, with a compelling plot, well-drawn characters, and a strong sense of place.

3. Describe your ideal home library/study.

Once I've written the aforementioned literary fiction, I'd rather like a library like the one at Alnwick Castle:



Alnwick Castle library - photo from Beautiful-Libraries.com

Those of you who follow this blog will know that I am in the process of creating my own reading room, with leather armchairs and a home for my ever-expanding collection. It's not quite on the scale of Alnwick but, thanks to the invaluable support of my in-laws, it is progressing nicely. The chairs have been ordered and the fireplace arrived yesterday.

I'm very excited at the prospect of this calm, TV-free sanctuary and if my book cases are Ikea rather than antique then who's to worry? It's what you fill them with that counts.

4.  Name two new authors whose work you think will stand the test of time, and explain your choices.

For me this is the toughest question. I'm a flighty reader, moving from classics to contemporary fiction quite indiscriminately. I very seldom read many books by the same author - I'm always looking out for something new.

My choice is a contemporary, rather than new, author - Ian McEwan. Whilst I haven't enjoyed all his books in equal measure, there are times when his writing seems to capture something fundamental about being human. Some books, such as Solar, are very much of our time, and it will be interesting to see what readers make of them a hundred years from now. Others, like Atonement, I think will stand the test of time.

As for a second choice - can I get back to you on that one?

5. Which books do you hope to get for Christmas?

I'd sooner receive books than anything else (with the possible exception of plane tickets), but I haven't compiled my wishlist yet. I'm still trying to choose the perfect books for friends and family.

Two books have caught my eye, however. The first is Masters of Photography: A Complete Guide to the Greatest Artists of the Photographic Age. Not the catchiest title, I know, but I do like to have a picture book for Christmas Day when there's too much going on to lose oneself in a novel. As a novice photographer myself, I'm very much at the 'conscious incompetence' stage, but this does look inspiring.

I still have forty-seven books left to read for my Classics Challenge and the series of Clothbound Classics would sit very well in my new reading room. I wouldn't say no to this rather fine Les Miserables for example:



6. What's the last book you did not finish and why?

With the exception of short story collections which I dip into and then forget to pick up again, it's been a long time since I didn't finish a book. It's not that I'm a completer/finisher, just that I'm getting better at choosing books I think I'll enjoy.

7. Would you accept 20 books that were absolutely perfect for you and dependably brilliant reads, if they were also the last 20 books you could ever acquire?

What a good question, but no great dilemma for me. So much of my literary pleasure comes from sourcing interesting books, that I'd be very sad to give up the thrill of the chase. It might take me twenty years to find those twenty books myself, but imagine the fun I'd have on the way. Providing they're not real stinkers, I think we can learn much about ourselves and about writing from the less than brilliant reads too.

However, if you could just point me in the direction of one or two of them...

Wonderful libraries

I have been writing a response to Tales from the Reading Room's seven questions, but I've been hopelessly distracted by this wonderful website Beautiful-Libraries.com

I'm not usually a nosey person, but this glimpse into beautiful libraries from around the world is just the ticket.

47 Sleeps

I have my children to thank for the indispensable app that tells me how many sleeps it is until Christmas.

Forgive me for using the 'C' word, but I feel sure you'll thank me in a month's time. What do you give the person who has everything? Books of course. I've been taking notes over the year. There'll be books by Elizabeth Taylor, Whipple and Graham Greene on my shopping list. I'm a bit stumped on the crime thriller front. Is there anything you can recommend for a fan of Larsson and Nesbo?

How about you? Which books will you be giving this Christmas? What are you hoping for in your Christmas stocking?

And, as I conclude this post, that's 47 sleeps, 1107 hours or 66426 minutes.

Just in case you're interested.

Dickens in Lancaster

Dickens visited Lancaster in 1857 on his way back from a walking holiday in the Lake District with his friend Wilkie Collins. They stayed at the Kings Arms, where the bride cake they were given after dinner gave Dickens nightmares.

'Mr Goodchild concedes Lancaster to be a pleasant place. A place dropped in the midst of a charming landscape, a place with a fine ancient fragment of castle, a place of lovely walks, a place possessing staid old houses richly fitted with old Honduras mahogany, which has grown so dark with time that it seems to have got something of a retrospective mirror-quality into itself, and to show the visitor, in the depth of its grain, through all its polish, the hue of the wretched slaves who groaned long ago under old Lancaster merchants. And Mr Goodchild adds that the stones of Lancaster do sometimes whisper, even yet, of rich men passed away-upon whose great prosperity some of these old doorways frowned sullen in the brightest weather-that their slave-gain turned to curses, as the Arabian Wizard's money returned to leaves, and that no good ever came of it, even unto the third and fourth generations, until it was wasted and gone.' (Chapter 3, 'The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices')

The last book I read...

was Trumpet by Jackie Kay. One of the best books in a while, but sine I've already reviewed it here, I'll mention instead Daphne du Maurier's My Cousin Rachel. This was only the second of her books I've read,  but what great psychological drama! Philip is such an unreliable narrator, but I couldn't help wanting the best and fearing the worst for him.

The book I'm reading now...

Graham Greene's gangland story Brighton Rock. This is a book that hits the ground running, plot wise. The characters are so well drawn as are the relationships between them.

What I'm reading next...

Our book group choice this month is The Soul of Kindness by Elizabeth Taylor. We enjoyed Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont so much that we've plumped for another by the same author. It was a last-minute decision with no time to phone a blogger friend for advice, so I don't know yet if we've picked a good one. I'm determined not to leave my reading until the last minute this time.

The last book I bought...

was on a shopping trip to Manchester with my daughter. In the biggest bookshop I've visited in a long time, I was like a kid in a candy store. No matter how good the on-line discounts, you can't beat handling the books. I managed to limit myself to just one - Umberto Eco's new novel The Prague Cemetery. I loved the combination of ideas and great storytelling in The Name of the Rose and Foucault's Pendulum, but found myself baffled by Eco's later works. I'm hoping this is a return to his early form.

The last book I was given...

The Bridge of the Golden Horn by Emine Sevgi Ozdamar. This was given to me by Lizzy Siddal as part of her German literature month. It tells the story of a Turkish teenager who goes to Germany in search of work. I must confess I'm struggling with this one. The first-person, almost childlike, narration was refreshing at first, but my enthusiasm has waned a little. I'm waiting for the right moment to pick this one up again.

You've started...but will you finish?

I don't know if this ever happens to you, but yesterday I found myself deep in the reading doldrums.

I have a few books on the go, but I just didn't fancy any of them. I know some people who always finish a book, come what may, and others who have no qualms about abandoning a book they're not enjoying. I wasn't ready to desert my current reads altogether, but something a little different was called for. I scanned my Classics Challenge shelf for inspiration and selected the three most appealing prospects: Hardy's The Return of the Native, di Lampedusa's The Leopard and Graham Greene's Brighton Rock. I planned to read a couple of pages of each and see which appealed most.

I began with the Greene:

'Hale knew, before he had been in Brighton three hours, that they meant to murder him.'

I had been warned; Brighton Rock is violent and it's nasty. But from the first page it has plot, interesting characters and very good writing. I'm hooked.

I read somewhere that Graham Greene only wrote five hundred words a day. I don't know if this is true, but certainly his output was prodigious: twenty-five novels, short stories, four travel books, six plays, three books of autobiography, two biographies and four children's books.

Five hundred words a day seems eminently do-able. The key, I suppose, is to write five hundred words every day. Edit to say: I've just googled Greene and found this page where he's quoted as writing five hundred words a day for five days a week. It's getting better by the minute.

This talk of daily word counts makes me think of NaNoWriMo, the annual challenge to write 50,000 words of a novel in November. I know a few people who've achieved this in previous years, and a few more who are attempting it this time round. 1667 words a day seems much more daunting than Greene's modest target. Of course, quantity not quality is the key, but making a commitment to writing every day seems a good way to begin.

So, good luck to all those who've signed up for the NaNoWriMo challenge. I won't be joining you. I'm back to work on Operation Reading Room (so far so good) and the dark world of gangland Brighton.