He sits at his desk smoking a cigarette, a window cracked to let in the cold air. The night is long and still, and somewhere across the snowy city, a bell tolls the time.
The woman in his bed has dark hair, spilling in curls across the pillows. She sleeps with her knees almost to her chin, her arm curved gently around her stomach, as if naturally protecting an unborn child.
He writes a string of thoughts in the journal open on the desk. It’s rubbish. He never does good work at this late hour, but always he thinks. Breathing in and out, the bell tolling across a quiet city. The cigarette is almost finished. A glass ashtray is on the windowsill, next to the basil plant she bought for him. She put the leaves in the pasta she made for dinner tonight, humming a rich melody while the noodles boiled in the pot and chicken roasted in the oven. The windows in his one-bedroom flat steamed up in the heat, and her face flushed while she hummed and sliced basil from the plant at the window. She moves quietly whenever he’s writing; she never wears shoes in his apartment, not even when the wood floor grows cold at the onset of the winter. She doesn’t notice when she hums. The tune sounds like a lullaby.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Letters on a Rainy Night
So, this is the sequel/counterpart to an older blog post, Letters on a Sunny Day. It's sometimes the way I journal –– a way to commemorate what I'm thankful for, the things that make me smile.
Dear Costellos' scones, you are a tiny taste of heaven.
Dear Daniel Craig, you're the best Bond.
Dear church on the corner of my street, I adore how creepy-looking you are at night.
Dear homemade Thanksgiving stuffing, you make my whole flat smell amazing. I want to bottle your scent –– it is giddy holiday cheer in one whiff.
Dear sissies, it's awful to be without you this time of year.
Dear saxophone, I'm glad you're an instrument.
Dear striped duvet, you smell of clean laundry. Love it.
Dear Autumn leaves, please stop falling. I want you to stay gold and in the trees all through the winter.
Dear iPhone, it's so very nice to have you working again.
Dear Tetley's, you're my favorite beer at the moment.
Dear Elizabeth Bennet, you are fierce.
Dear cozy charity shop jumper, you nearly swallow me, but are the warmest thing ever invented.
Dear squash (the drink), I think I'm actually developing a taste for your fruity sweet goodness.
Dear Katie, I love your room –– it's like a pillow fort!
Dear Cinemas, all I can say is: well done. This season, we've got Les Miserables, The Hobbit, Life of Pi, Perks of Being a Wall Flower, Great Expectations, Anna Karenina, The Great Gatsby . . . a collection of my favorite novels turned to films. What can be better than that?
Dear slow cooker, you're an amazing invention. Brilliantly low maintenance.
Dear Eliot, Pound and Hardy, did your brains hurt from being so smart?
Dear rain, please visit again soon (but please, not on my walk to class). You are soothing when I'm falling asleep.
Dear cheeky knickers, I just like saying that with a smile.
Dear countryside, miss you. Hiking date this weekend?
Dear Brotherton Library, you're very pretty, but inconveniently chilly when studying. I hope you're not offended by this.
Dear freshers, what is the obsession with wearing onesies out on the town?
Dear Jason Segel and Neil Patrick Harris, it's my favorite thing in the world when you sing Les Mis songs together.
Dear strange British sayings, you crack me up (still!).
Dear Phase 10 card game, thanks for the hours of entertainment this weekend.
Dear lavender bouquet on my bookshelf, you brighten up my room.
Dear Dad, thanks for passing along your love of creative cooking.
Dear primary schools, I think it's the most adorable thing that the kids wear little uniforms, with tiny folded white socks and navy blazers.
Dear blanket, I promise I haven't forgotten about you. I will finish crocheting you soon, don't worry.
Dear museums, you're invaluable.
Dear my perfume, you smell of vanilla and coconut and California.
Dear cat who lives outside my flats, lose the attitude so we can be friends.
Dear used book shops, please stop being so seductive!
Dear northerners, I like being called "Luv."
Dear dry shampoo, you've revolutionized my life. Seriously, I'd write a ballad in your honor.
Dear Aragorn and Gandalf, can you please be real?
Dear Cumberland Road, climbing the hill to get home is awful, but the view at the top (especially at night) is particularly lovely.
Dear winter, please bring snow (...and mistletoe, and presents under the tree...)
Dear Bertha-the-turkey, please defrost in my fridge and cooperate for me tomorrow.
Dear Billie Holiday, "Stormy Weathers" is the perfect song for tonight. Thank you.
Dear Costellos' scones, you are a tiny taste of heaven.
Dear Daniel Craig, you're the best Bond.
Dear church on the corner of my street, I adore how creepy-looking you are at night.
Dear homemade Thanksgiving stuffing, you make my whole flat smell amazing. I want to bottle your scent –– it is giddy holiday cheer in one whiff.
Dear sissies, it's awful to be without you this time of year.
Dear saxophone, I'm glad you're an instrument.
Dear striped duvet, you smell of clean laundry. Love it.
Dear Autumn leaves, please stop falling. I want you to stay gold and in the trees all through the winter.
Dear iPhone, it's so very nice to have you working again.
Dear Tetley's, you're my favorite beer at the moment.
Dear Elizabeth Bennet, you are fierce.
Dear cozy charity shop jumper, you nearly swallow me, but are the warmest thing ever invented.
Dear squash (the drink), I think I'm actually developing a taste for your fruity sweet goodness.
Dear Katie, I love your room –– it's like a pillow fort!
Dear Cinemas, all I can say is: well done. This season, we've got Les Miserables, The Hobbit, Life of Pi, Perks of Being a Wall Flower, Great Expectations, Anna Karenina, The Great Gatsby . . . a collection of my favorite novels turned to films. What can be better than that?
Dear slow cooker, you're an amazing invention. Brilliantly low maintenance.
Dear Eliot, Pound and Hardy, did your brains hurt from being so smart?
Dear rain, please visit again soon (but please, not on my walk to class). You are soothing when I'm falling asleep.
Dear cheeky knickers, I just like saying that with a smile.
Dear countryside, miss you. Hiking date this weekend?
Dear Brotherton Library, you're very pretty, but inconveniently chilly when studying. I hope you're not offended by this.
Dear freshers, what is the obsession with wearing onesies out on the town?
Dear Jason Segel and Neil Patrick Harris, it's my favorite thing in the world when you sing Les Mis songs together.
Dear strange British sayings, you crack me up (still!).
Dear Phase 10 card game, thanks for the hours of entertainment this weekend.
Dear lavender bouquet on my bookshelf, you brighten up my room.
Dear Dad, thanks for passing along your love of creative cooking.
Dear primary schools, I think it's the most adorable thing that the kids wear little uniforms, with tiny folded white socks and navy blazers.
Dear blanket, I promise I haven't forgotten about you. I will finish crocheting you soon, don't worry.
Dear museums, you're invaluable.
Dear my perfume, you smell of vanilla and coconut and California.
Dear cat who lives outside my flats, lose the attitude so we can be friends.
Dear used book shops, please stop being so seductive!
Dear northerners, I like being called "Luv."
Dear dry shampoo, you've revolutionized my life. Seriously, I'd write a ballad in your honor.
Dear Aragorn and Gandalf, can you please be real?
Dear Cumberland Road, climbing the hill to get home is awful, but the view at the top (especially at night) is particularly lovely.
Dear winter, please bring snow (...and mistletoe, and presents under the tree...)
Dear Bertha-the-turkey, please defrost in my fridge and cooperate for me tomorrow.
Dear Billie Holiday, "Stormy Weathers" is the perfect song for tonight. Thank you.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Exceptionalism
Exceptionalism: "the perception that a country, society, institution, movement, or time period is 'exceptional' (i.e., unusual or extraordinary) in some way."
But then, this weekend at the Christian Union conference, we talked about the Samaritan woman at the well. She looked for love in all the wrong places. Only Jesus saw her and knew her and loved her. It made me happy to remember that at least one Person knows me –– not the "me" I want to be, or the "me" I put out into the world, but the raw "me." And He thinks I'm exceptional. He thinks humanity is exceptional. We've each been fingerprinted with different personalities, hair colors, laughs, styles, abilities. But we don't have to work so hard, put up fronts, live on mythic stories that accentuate our uniqueness and pump up our exceptional qualities. Our weakness is human, and unavoidable. That's unbelievably freeing. You know you're truly loved (by that forever friend, that boy, that family, that God) when you don't have to work to be extraordinary. You just are.
In my "American Crisis" module (every Monday in a book-lined and slightly-chilly office in the brick English building), the five of us in the class have been talking about America –– obviously. One idea I've seen continually brought up in American Studies research, publications, and teaching is that of America's sense of exceptionalism. Throughout the years, Americans have constructed a lens, a perspective of our nation's greatness. America is heroic, built on freedom and equality. America is the scrappy nation that pulled itself up from nothing and became a global power. America is different. America is strong. America is founded on all things good. America values individualism, invention, independence. America has no classism, and no issue too big to handle. America is exceptional, out of the ordinary, and wonderful. I love my country, and think we have been extraordinarily blessed as a nation. However, critical and academic conversation is moving to re-look at America's foundations, to re-evaluate our mythic sense of exceptionalism. In all reality, we were built more on bully imperialism than plucky colonialism, racism more than equality, and violence more than peace and safety. But looking at the negative is what allows for change –– civil rights, suffrage, social reforms. It's just not fun to see the grit.
And I was thinking how just like humanity this is. We all want to be unique. To be good at something. To be the superhero. To be special. To do things differently. To make a difference. To be the David, not the Goliath. To be what everyone else wants to be, but better. And that's also the fascination with romantic love, right? The idea that someone who wasn't stuck with you would choose to be –– well, that's intoxicating. But talking about America's misconceptions and the bits we conveniently overlook made me wonder. What lies do I believe about myself? What aren't I seeing that I should be? Am I in denial? What can I do better, and what should I face? Maybe I'm not that extraordinary. Maybe I'm not at all unique. Maybe it's all just a hype I've used in creating my identity. And that's the gritty thought no one wants to have.
But then, this weekend at the Christian Union conference, we talked about the Samaritan woman at the well. She looked for love in all the wrong places. Only Jesus saw her and knew her and loved her. It made me happy to remember that at least one Person knows me –– not the "me" I want to be, or the "me" I put out into the world, but the raw "me." And He thinks I'm exceptional. He thinks humanity is exceptional. We've each been fingerprinted with different personalities, hair colors, laughs, styles, abilities. But we don't have to work so hard, put up fronts, live on mythic stories that accentuate our uniqueness and pump up our exceptional qualities. Our weakness is human, and unavoidable. That's unbelievably freeing. You know you're truly loved (by that forever friend, that boy, that family, that God) when you don't have to work to be extraordinary. You just are.
As the speaker said this weekend, "People have two things in common: we want to be happy, and we want to be loved." And I am loved, I am known, I am exceptional –– without even trying. That's amazing.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Best. Holiday. Ever.
Bonfire Night, the 5th of November, is amazing (imagine me saying this in a posh British accent). To give you some insight (not derived from V for Vendetta), it is 4th of July and Halloween in one. I'm going to show my small American understanding of Guy Fawkes day by saying the 5th of November commemorates Guy Fawkes, who tried to blow up Parliament. He failed and was executed, so now the night is celebrated with bonfires (for burning Guy of course) and fireworks (because England is awesome!). I love 4th of July and Halloween for their own magical reasons. Here's what to love about each of these holidays . . . all of which you can find on Bonfire night:
Bonfire Night is full of roasted marshmallows, street fireworks, excited and crowded parks-full of people, and a HUGE bonfire. Even though it seems gruesome to say so, I'm glad there was a Guy Fawkes. If only because he gave England an eerie, magical, sparkler-filled night.
This was stuck in Sara's (and then my) head all day. Now let it be stuck in yours:
Remember remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
Should ever be forgot.
- Favorite bits of Halloween: Candy. Walking around outside in the cold autumn weather, hearing leaves crunch and looking at stars. Bonfires (Watch this clip of "Meet Me in St. Louis" for a glimpse of why Halloween should always have bonfires: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l3NFOMHDFzg). Being able to wander the streets late at night. Small children running about being adorable (on Bonfire Night, in small beanies and boots).
- Favorite bits of 4th of July: Fireworks! (of course). Hanging out with friends and family in the park. Feeling wildly patriotic. Sparklers. Good food.
Bonfire Night is full of roasted marshmallows, street fireworks, excited and crowded parks-full of people, and a HUGE bonfire. Even though it seems gruesome to say so, I'm glad there was a Guy Fawkes. If only because he gave England an eerie, magical, sparkler-filled night.
This was stuck in Sara's (and then my) head all day. Now let it be stuck in yours:
Remember remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
Should ever be forgot.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
As a Rule
So, I have a confession. Instead of doing homework last night and getting into bed at a reasonable hour, I found myself writing this little story. I love people-watching, especially in lines, at airports, and on trains. Since moving here, I've been on a train or bus very often (California needs to work on its public transportation system), and I love it. This story was pieced together from bits of people-watching and, of course, my imagination.
***
As a Rule
The 6:10 train was four minutes late. This set Henry on edge –– he nervously shifted his weight from one loafered foot to the other. Cold wind whipped through the station, combined with the warm rush of inbound and outbound trains on either side of him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, wishing the headache away. When the train squealed up to platform 12, Henry was chilled and irritated. The roast he'd left in the slow cooker this morning would probably be chewy and flavorless now. Read the rest: http://calliesshortstories.blogspot.com/
***
As a Rule
The 6:10 train was four minutes late. This set Henry on edge –– he nervously shifted his weight from one loafered foot to the other. Cold wind whipped through the station, combined with the warm rush of inbound and outbound trains on either side of him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, wishing the headache away. When the train squealed up to platform 12, Henry was chilled and irritated. The roast he'd left in the slow cooker this morning would probably be chewy and flavorless now. Read the rest: http://calliesshortstories.blogspot.com/
Sunday, October 21, 2012
On Being United
Us humans can have such a difficult time in our relationships. We clash, we get irritated, we have trouble just plain meshing. We get jealous and competitive, condescending and snippy. There are times when small talk is painful, and even dear ones exhausting. But then inevitably, because God is good, there are days when you get into bed smiling –– brimming with the lightness of friendship and frolicking, of good conversation and laughter.
The topic of "unity" has come up a lot over the last few weeks. We are going through Philippians in bible study and 1 Corinthians at church. Both books have the theme of unity thread throughout, so it's been on my mind. And today, I was given such a lovely picture of what Christian unity looks like.
The first part of my day was spent with Sara and Sarah (I know, my parents must've missed the naming memo) running all around Kirkstall Abbey. It's only a 45-minute walk from our flat to "one of the most complete examples of a medieval Cistercian abbey in Britain." First of all, who am I that I can just wake up in the morning and decide to walk (which is free-of-charge and quite healthy so they say) to real-life medieval ruins (which also has free admittance. They'd definitely charge you at least $15 for anything half this pretty in the States). We just walked through town, and then there among the shops and brick townhouses was a lovely park with water and grass and small children riding scooters through puddles –– and this park just happens to have some amazing stone abbey ruins. We ate lunch on a picnic table inside the crumbled walls, and talked of God and faith and growing up. We ran around on the tops of rocks and hid inside crevices along what used to be a library or a kitchen. Then, we sat on a bench in the sunshine and read/crocheted until us California girls couldn't feel our fingertips.
I could have gone home fully content right then –– I'd had a peaceful day of communing with red maple trees, of good girl chats, and taking loads of pictures. But the day just got better. Church was great, a service where you find yourself smiling all the way through worship. And afterwards we got kidnapped for dinner by the sweetest couple. It was a potentially awkward situation –– being required to make socially-acceptable small talk with four strangers (2 guys came along as well) without my getaway car (we were driven because their house was far away and fog had rolled in heavily). But it turned out to be an incredibly warm evening of candlelight and stew and laughing and playing Bananagrams. One of those evenings where the hours pass comfortably and swiftly because you're among friends and genuinely good people. On the way home, Sara and I dropped by Katie's house and sat around another kitchen table laughing and talking even more. You'd think I'd be worn out at this point; I'm a bit of an introvert and being with people all day can absolutely wipe me out. But then (I know, stop gushing, right?) I got to talk to bosom buddy Bethany on Skype for a few hours. I laughed so much today that, combined with the all walking and the talking, I definitely burned off any extra carbs (yes, in my world talking burns carbs).
I am going to sleep a happy girl. And all this got me thinking:
Here I am, miles away from family and friends in a new culture. They might speak English here, but I still find myself saying, "Huh?" more than I like to admit. I mean, they'll say things like "plaster" instead of "Band-Aid" and "courgette" instead of "zucchini." My flatmates have never seen snow and their Facebook pages are entirely in Portuguese. Yet, basic humanness brings us together–– cooking or relationship woes or tripping on the street. There are universal things to show we're all basically alike, just with different sets of backgrounds, cultures, families, climates, experiences. But today, I also really noticed the beauty of the connection of Christianity. When you believe in the same God, another layer of difference is stripped away, and that's when the "unity" and the "body of Christ" the Bible's always talking about becomes so sparkling clear.
The topic of "unity" has come up a lot over the last few weeks. We are going through Philippians in bible study and 1 Corinthians at church. Both books have the theme of unity thread throughout, so it's been on my mind. And today, I was given such a lovely picture of what Christian unity looks like.
The first part of my day was spent with Sara and Sarah (I know, my parents must've missed the naming memo) running all around Kirkstall Abbey. It's only a 45-minute walk from our flat to "one of the most complete examples of a medieval Cistercian abbey in Britain." First of all, who am I that I can just wake up in the morning and decide to walk (which is free-of-charge and quite healthy so they say) to real-life medieval ruins (which also has free admittance. They'd definitely charge you at least $15 for anything half this pretty in the States). We just walked through town, and then there among the shops and brick townhouses was a lovely park with water and grass and small children riding scooters through puddles –– and this park just happens to have some amazing stone abbey ruins. We ate lunch on a picnic table inside the crumbled walls, and talked of God and faith and growing up. We ran around on the tops of rocks and hid inside crevices along what used to be a library or a kitchen. Then, we sat on a bench in the sunshine and read/crocheted until us California girls couldn't feel our fingertips.
I could have gone home fully content right then –– I'd had a peaceful day of communing with red maple trees, of good girl chats, and taking loads of pictures. But the day just got better. Church was great, a service where you find yourself smiling all the way through worship. And afterwards we got kidnapped for dinner by the sweetest couple. It was a potentially awkward situation –– being required to make socially-acceptable small talk with four strangers (2 guys came along as well) without my getaway car (we were driven because their house was far away and fog had rolled in heavily). But it turned out to be an incredibly warm evening of candlelight and stew and laughing and playing Bananagrams. One of those evenings where the hours pass comfortably and swiftly because you're among friends and genuinely good people. On the way home, Sara and I dropped by Katie's house and sat around another kitchen table laughing and talking even more. You'd think I'd be worn out at this point; I'm a bit of an introvert and being with people all day can absolutely wipe me out. But then (I know, stop gushing, right?) I got to talk to bosom buddy Bethany on Skype for a few hours. I laughed so much today that, combined with the all walking and the talking, I definitely burned off any extra carbs (yes, in my world talking burns carbs).
I am going to sleep a happy girl. And all this got me thinking:
Here I am, miles away from family and friends in a new culture. They might speak English here, but I still find myself saying, "Huh?" more than I like to admit. I mean, they'll say things like "plaster" instead of "Band-Aid" and "courgette" instead of "zucchini." My flatmates have never seen snow and their Facebook pages are entirely in Portuguese. Yet, basic humanness brings us together–– cooking or relationship woes or tripping on the street. There are universal things to show we're all basically alike, just with different sets of backgrounds, cultures, families, climates, experiences. But today, I also really noticed the beauty of the connection of Christianity. When you believe in the same God, another layer of difference is stripped away, and that's when the "unity" and the "body of Christ" the Bible's always talking about becomes so sparkling clear.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Autumnal Glow
“I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” -- L.M. Montgomery
Here is my yearly ode to Fall. If you know me at all, you know I love odes, and you know I live for Autumn. Every year around this time, I turn into a ten year old. A ten year old who, instead of being hyped up on the promise of Christmas or birthday cake, is high on red maple leaves and pumpkins and rainstorms. I know it's technically been Autumn since late September, I've been wearing a jacket since I arrived here, and there's been numerous rainstorms. But still, I was waiting. I was waiting for that feeling –– a feeling which inevitably hits me and lets me know that Autumn has finally arrived. Yes, Autumn is a combination of its own smells, sounds, and a feeling. Really, it's 6th sense I have. Not as cool as seeing dead people, but still.
It all started last night, when I began feeling that Autumn-tingle while walking to a party with Sara. There was no moon in the sky to be found, and the night was thickly dark. The kind of dark that makes you want to tell scary stories and burn a big bonfire. You could see your breath, and the air held a thin chill that's sharp and clear against your lungs. Then, all day today was spent in my favorite bakery, lost deep in the vampire world of Transylvania because I'm reading Dracula for one of my classes. Too perfect for this time of year, right? On the way home, we chased the last of the sunlight through Hyde Park, but it had bent behind the tree line before we reached the patch of sunny grass. The trees in the park and along the pathway home are all turning–– bits of vibrant yellow and red in the green. And the air still held the clear cool that manages to smell slightly smoky.
When I get this Fallish-feeling, I have to give in to it. Giving in means that when I got home this evening, I immediately had to bake an apple crisp, which is browning and bubbling in the oven as I type. It means I have to dig out my favorite Winnie the Pooh fuzzy socks and re-read favorite passages from the Anne books. It means it's time to watch Little Women and the BBC Pride and Prejudice. It means I start daydreaming of the time when I'll finally live in a place with a wood-burning fireplace and an overstuffed armchair. It means baking oatmeal cookies and creating soups in the crockpot. A time for pumpkins and hay mazes and countryside hiking jaunts in boots and woolen scarves. It means I might never change out of the jumper (sweater) I bought at the charity shop, and it means I might keep myself awake at night just listening to the rain against the window.
Now I will finish my rant, my ode, my soliloquy and return to homework and cleaning up the mess I just made in kitchen. But the smell of cinnamon clings to my sweatshirt, and there's the promise of pumpkin-carving in the very near future. Autumn is here, so it deserved its own post.
As my L.M. Montgomery would say, “Why do dusk and fir-scent and the afterglow of autumnal sunsets make people say absurd things?”
Here is my yearly ode to Fall. If you know me at all, you know I love odes, and you know I live for Autumn. Every year around this time, I turn into a ten year old. A ten year old who, instead of being hyped up on the promise of Christmas or birthday cake, is high on red maple leaves and pumpkins and rainstorms. I know it's technically been Autumn since late September, I've been wearing a jacket since I arrived here, and there's been numerous rainstorms. But still, I was waiting. I was waiting for that feeling –– a feeling which inevitably hits me and lets me know that Autumn has finally arrived. Yes, Autumn is a combination of its own smells, sounds, and a feeling. Really, it's 6th sense I have. Not as cool as seeing dead people, but still.
It all started last night, when I began feeling that Autumn-tingle while walking to a party with Sara. There was no moon in the sky to be found, and the night was thickly dark. The kind of dark that makes you want to tell scary stories and burn a big bonfire. You could see your breath, and the air held a thin chill that's sharp and clear against your lungs. Then, all day today was spent in my favorite bakery, lost deep in the vampire world of Transylvania because I'm reading Dracula for one of my classes. Too perfect for this time of year, right? On the way home, we chased the last of the sunlight through Hyde Park, but it had bent behind the tree line before we reached the patch of sunny grass. The trees in the park and along the pathway home are all turning–– bits of vibrant yellow and red in the green. And the air still held the clear cool that manages to smell slightly smoky.
When I get this Fallish-feeling, I have to give in to it. Giving in means that when I got home this evening, I immediately had to bake an apple crisp, which is browning and bubbling in the oven as I type. It means I have to dig out my favorite Winnie the Pooh fuzzy socks and re-read favorite passages from the Anne books. It means it's time to watch Little Women and the BBC Pride and Prejudice. It means I start daydreaming of the time when I'll finally live in a place with a wood-burning fireplace and an overstuffed armchair. It means baking oatmeal cookies and creating soups in the crockpot. A time for pumpkins and hay mazes and countryside hiking jaunts in boots and woolen scarves. It means I might never change out of the jumper (sweater) I bought at the charity shop, and it means I might keep myself awake at night just listening to the rain against the window.
Now I will finish my rant, my ode, my soliloquy and return to homework and cleaning up the mess I just made in kitchen. But the smell of cinnamon clings to my sweatshirt, and there's the promise of pumpkin-carving in the very near future. Autumn is here, so it deserved its own post.
As my L.M. Montgomery would say, “Why do dusk and fir-scent and the afterglow of autumnal sunsets make people say absurd things?”
Monday, October 8, 2012
Jonah Day
I had one of those days today. One of those days that starts with not hearing your alarm and ends with crawling into bed by 7pm to watch the Kardashians. One of those days where your outfit is completely wrong (I chose a thin blouse on the day the fog rolled in and it decided to plummet to the 40s), and you're sure the whole world can see the sore on your lip or the pimple on your forehead. You find yourself stuttering to make basic conversation. One of those days where the syllabus is wrong and you show up for class (the day of a presentation you're giving) having read the wrong story. You manage to get miffed at/ irritate half your family members, even being across an ocean. One of those days where between seminars you end up sitting in a crowded pub eating leftover Cheerios from the Ziplock bag in your purse because you forgot your packed lunch in the fridge at home and you're too cheap to buy a pasty or sandwich.
It was one of those days where nothing all that terrible happened. But to quote my favorite character, Anne (yes, the one of Green Gables), it was just a "Jonah Day." A day where all that's left to do is hole up in bed with the blanket I'm crocheting and a few chocolate-covered biscuits. Okay, more than a few. I think I've eaten my weight in Digestives since I've been here. And if you count how many pounds (meaning British $, not weight –– though better be careful now that I'm thinking about it) Sara and I have spent just on these cookies, we might be able to help lower American debt or something.
But if there's a sure-fire way to turn my bad day better, it's to re-watch one of my favorite childhood movies. Tonight's pick: A Little Princess. While watching, I was thinking how the movies we watch and books we read when we're young inform our developing views of life. From A Little Princess, I learned that Daddys always like to dance with their daughters. I learned that goodbyes and death and cruelty are part of life, but that doesn't mean life loses its luster (I love the part where she dances out in the snow, flinging out her hands and giggling at the wonder of snow flakes. Even though she has nothing to be happy about, she finds magic.) I learned that imagination keeps life vibrant, and good stories are intoxicating. I learned that kindness will be rewarded in turn with kindness (even when you thought it went unnoticed). I learned to work on upper-body strength in case I'm ever hanging by my fingers out a 5th-story window in the rain and need to pull myself up. I learned that friendship should be extended to the different, the strange, and even the bullies. I learned that bad guys never win, and that your dolls come to life when you walk out of your room.
In the movie, Sarah (aka the Little Princess) draws a circle around herself –– for in her imaginary stories, that circle will protect her from any real harm. I couldn't help but think how comforting that would be to have a "safe circle." On days like this –– or those so much worse –– you could pull your legs up to your chin and sit in safety, away from heartache and pettiness and disappointment and sin. But then, come to think about it, I do have safe circles. I have sweet childhood memories (like this movie) that taught me the beauty of kindness and patience and laughter. I have a Dad who danced with me. I have a good imagination. I have friends and family who accepted me. I have a God who can allow a man to get swallowed by a fish and still live to tell the tale. I'm not naive enough to think that sin and hurt won't ever touch me, but thanks to A Little Princess (and some life experience), I am still optimistic enough to know the bad guy doesn't win.
It was one of those days where nothing all that terrible happened. But to quote my favorite character, Anne (yes, the one of Green Gables), it was just a "Jonah Day." A day where all that's left to do is hole up in bed with the blanket I'm crocheting and a few chocolate-covered biscuits. Okay, more than a few. I think I've eaten my weight in Digestives since I've been here. And if you count how many pounds (meaning British $, not weight –– though better be careful now that I'm thinking about it) Sara and I have spent just on these cookies, we might be able to help lower American debt or something.
But if there's a sure-fire way to turn my bad day better, it's to re-watch one of my favorite childhood movies. Tonight's pick: A Little Princess. While watching, I was thinking how the movies we watch and books we read when we're young inform our developing views of life. From A Little Princess, I learned that Daddys always like to dance with their daughters. I learned that goodbyes and death and cruelty are part of life, but that doesn't mean life loses its luster (I love the part where she dances out in the snow, flinging out her hands and giggling at the wonder of snow flakes. Even though she has nothing to be happy about, she finds magic.) I learned that imagination keeps life vibrant, and good stories are intoxicating. I learned that kindness will be rewarded in turn with kindness (even when you thought it went unnoticed). I learned to work on upper-body strength in case I'm ever hanging by my fingers out a 5th-story window in the rain and need to pull myself up. I learned that friendship should be extended to the different, the strange, and even the bullies. I learned that bad guys never win, and that your dolls come to life when you walk out of your room.
In the movie, Sarah (aka the Little Princess) draws a circle around herself –– for in her imaginary stories, that circle will protect her from any real harm. I couldn't help but think how comforting that would be to have a "safe circle." On days like this –– or those so much worse –– you could pull your legs up to your chin and sit in safety, away from heartache and pettiness and disappointment and sin. But then, come to think about it, I do have safe circles. I have sweet childhood memories (like this movie) that taught me the beauty of kindness and patience and laughter. I have a Dad who danced with me. I have a good imagination. I have friends and family who accepted me. I have a God who can allow a man to get swallowed by a fish and still live to tell the tale. I'm not naive enough to think that sin and hurt won't ever touch me, but thanks to A Little Princess (and some life experience), I am still optimistic enough to know the bad guy doesn't win.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Rain, Rivalry, and Rugby
I feel as though I should describe my first British rugby game. On Wednesday, I went to the University of Leeds (referred to affectionately as Uni) versus Leeds Metropolitan University (not-so-affectionally referred to as the Met) varsity rugby game at the Headlingly stadium (is it only because I'm in England that I kept thinking it looked like a Quidditch field?). The two schools have a long-standing rivalry, making this the game of the year. I had a wonderful time. It was kind of one of those experiences that's difficult to put into words, but for the sake of remembering, I have to try. So let me recount the many glorious things the experience taught me:
- When it decides to properly rain (and it was a downpour), even if you are wearing a beanie, a hood, two jackets, a sweatshirt, and carrying an umbrella, you will still look like you just got out of a shower by the end of an hour. I'm not sure how that's even possible, but I have pictures to prove it.
- It is a smart idea to make the Uni students and the Met students go in separate entrances and sit on opposite sides of the stadium. Even so, fights will still break out in the stands and on the pitch. Oh, and there's a standing tradition of streakers.
- When the queue to get into the stadium is miles long (not hyperbolic), you find any means by which to queue jump. Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say.
- If you lose the people you're with, that's pretty much a permanent problem. It's impossible to hear phones, it's dark and raining, and everything is non-descript. "I'm over near the pillars and the chairs in this crowd of people by the steps" just isn't a good enough locator. So, hold hands for dear life.
- Pushing, shoving, and squeezing my way through a tight thicket of bundled-up, wriled-up students to the opposite side of the jostling, rowdy crowd (just because a confused-and-stressed-looking attendant in a vested jacket told me that's where I needed to go to pick up my pre-paid ticket). . . not an easy task. Saw my life flash before my eyes a little bit.
- When there is complete chaos, you have to just join in. When I couldn't get into the right queue from where I was, I hopped a barrier rather than going back through the afore-mentioned jostling crowd. How's that for rebellious?
- The Met students have way better cheers, even though they're meaner. I'm sorry to say this, but it's true. The Uni students just chant "Un-i," over and over. Because everyone has an accent, it sounds like "Uuuuunn-naaay-aaay." I felt very school-spirity joining in (which as you might know, I'm not the best at being school-spirity, so yay for me).
- Rugby is kind of like American football, but kind of not. That's all the expertise I can bring to the subject.
- They weren't selling hotdogs, but you can get deliciously warm meat pies. Love it.
- A "scrum" is when all the rugby players make themselves look like a human spider. It's a word that either makes me think of a dirty, sweaty old T-shirt, or a scrumptious cookie crumb. . . cannot quite decide which.
- You will leave smelling like beer. Apparently winning means "Let's throw nearly-full pints out into the crowd."
- If we win (which we did!), Uni students get the right to run around in the streets yelling "Uuun-naay-aay," but will get honked at by irritated bus drivers and anyone who is not a student and does not care about the epic rivalry, or understand why their commute home has been turned into a harzard.
- The words "I'm putting the kettle on," and "Would you like some warm socks?" will never sound so good.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
A Day of Sweatpants
It is kind of amazing how productive I feel considering I did not change out of my sweatpants all day. Nope, not kidding. Since the sweatpants went on last night after the Christian Union meeting, they have not come off, which I warned Sara was my goal for today.
"What are you doing tomorrow, Callie?"
"Well, I've got big plans. I'm going to stay in my sweatpants for as long as possible." I'm really going places in my life, can't you tell?
In defense of the sweatpants, I did get them in the men's section at Primark, which means they are fluffy and soft and just the right amount of over-sized.
I have to say, one day in can do a world of good. Since arriving in Leeds, I've been out almost every night and running annoying errands every day. Now with the arrival of classes, it's time to buckle down and do some serious sweatpants-wearing. You'd be surprised at what can be accomplished without even leaving the flat:
I crocheted an entire scarf. It's blue and warm and soft and I like it a lot. Thank you Aunt Bev for showing me the double-crochet, I think I'd make you proud.
I got groceries. You order them online here and they're delivered right to your door, so you don't have to trek uphill in the pouring-down rain... really wish we woulda known that our first few weeks here. If this grocery-delivery thing isn't the road to gettin' fat in your pajamas, I don't know what is.
I finally finished decorating my room (with all the stuff that arrived from IKEA!). I hung pictures of my family and my new watercolor of Yorkminster Cathedral, which I bought in York from a guy who had no set prices for his artwork. His sign said "I don't discriminate based on economical status, please pay what you can." I stacked my new boots in the closet, and I organized everything in bins that would make my mom's heart full of joy. Need new decorating inspiration? Just become a poor student. Part of my wall is decorated with cardboard and yarn. I know it sounds a bit janky, but it's actually kind of cute. Creativity spawns from unexpected places –– I'd say mainly being broke.
Speaking of, I applied for three jobs, which meant updating my resume to become a very British CV. I still haven't gotten used to my new mobile number or post code. They stick letters in their zip codes and a zillion numbers in their phone numbers, with no distinguishable area code. Weird! (she says with a snobby face).
I sorted laundry. Did I actually brave the rain to go down to the washing machine? No. That would require putting on actual shoes, so that task will be saved for another day.
I painted my toenails. Not that anyone will see them under all the layers of socks I've been wearing. So basically, I made my room reek of acetone for no reason.
I read extensively for my "Mass and Modernism" module tomorrow. My thoughts on my readings are that Joyce's stream-of-consciousness writing in Ulysses kind of gives you a headache and makes you wonder if your tiny, minute thoughts would ever be interesting enough to publish. (I guess that's kinda what this blog is, though, huh?) The two essays I read have heady titles that made me feel smarter just reading them, and made me ponder the effect of mass culture on intelligentsia and visa versa. I even started writing down possible research questions for my master's thesis. I've gotta get a head-start before procrastination inevitably sets in.
I made a list with my flatmates of all the cleaning tasks we will split between the five of us. Gabriel wrote it all down in a neat list (he has amazing handwriting and he put little bubbles around all our names), and pinned it up in the kitchen. I am having so much fun hanging out with them. I'd like to say my Portuguese is getting better, but all I can remember so far is "Droga!" (Dammit!) Vanessa and Gabriel tried peanut butter for the first time, and I think we've created addicts. But who can blame them? Peanut butter is fantastic.
The afore-mentioned list inspired me to vacuum my own room. If you know how much I detest vacuuming, you will know that this is a big accomplishment in my book.
Watched the first Harry Potter movie. Living in England does give one a huge hankering for all things Harry Potter. That should be a warning label they put on your immigration visa or something.
On top of all that, I wrote birthday cards to my sissies (they'll be 21, woah!), downloaded pictures from my camera, wrote emails, Skyped a friend, danced around in the kitchen to various Disney songs . . . then, discovered world peace, cured cancer, wrote the next great American novel . . . just an average day.
However, I just want to point out that if one were to be inspired to create world peace, cure cancer, or think up the next big thing, it would be probably be done in nice, big comfy sweatpants.
"What are you doing tomorrow, Callie?"
"Well, I've got big plans. I'm going to stay in my sweatpants for as long as possible." I'm really going places in my life, can't you tell?
In defense of the sweatpants, I did get them in the men's section at Primark, which means they are fluffy and soft and just the right amount of over-sized.
I have to say, one day in can do a world of good. Since arriving in Leeds, I've been out almost every night and running annoying errands every day. Now with the arrival of classes, it's time to buckle down and do some serious sweatpants-wearing. You'd be surprised at what can be accomplished without even leaving the flat:
I crocheted an entire scarf. It's blue and warm and soft and I like it a lot. Thank you Aunt Bev for showing me the double-crochet, I think I'd make you proud.
I got groceries. You order them online here and they're delivered right to your door, so you don't have to trek uphill in the pouring-down rain... really wish we woulda known that our first few weeks here. If this grocery-delivery thing isn't the road to gettin' fat in your pajamas, I don't know what is.
I finally finished decorating my room (with all the stuff that arrived from IKEA!). I hung pictures of my family and my new watercolor of Yorkminster Cathedral, which I bought in York from a guy who had no set prices for his artwork. His sign said "I don't discriminate based on economical status, please pay what you can." I stacked my new boots in the closet, and I organized everything in bins that would make my mom's heart full of joy. Need new decorating inspiration? Just become a poor student. Part of my wall is decorated with cardboard and yarn. I know it sounds a bit janky, but it's actually kind of cute. Creativity spawns from unexpected places –– I'd say mainly being broke.
Speaking of, I applied for three jobs, which meant updating my resume to become a very British CV. I still haven't gotten used to my new mobile number or post code. They stick letters in their zip codes and a zillion numbers in their phone numbers, with no distinguishable area code. Weird! (she says with a snobby face).
I sorted laundry. Did I actually brave the rain to go down to the washing machine? No. That would require putting on actual shoes, so that task will be saved for another day.
I painted my toenails. Not that anyone will see them under all the layers of socks I've been wearing. So basically, I made my room reek of acetone for no reason.
I read extensively for my "Mass and Modernism" module tomorrow. My thoughts on my readings are that Joyce's stream-of-consciousness writing in Ulysses kind of gives you a headache and makes you wonder if your tiny, minute thoughts would ever be interesting enough to publish. (I guess that's kinda what this blog is, though, huh?) The two essays I read have heady titles that made me feel smarter just reading them, and made me ponder the effect of mass culture on intelligentsia and visa versa. I even started writing down possible research questions for my master's thesis. I've gotta get a head-start before procrastination inevitably sets in.
I made a list with my flatmates of all the cleaning tasks we will split between the five of us. Gabriel wrote it all down in a neat list (he has amazing handwriting and he put little bubbles around all our names), and pinned it up in the kitchen. I am having so much fun hanging out with them. I'd like to say my Portuguese is getting better, but all I can remember so far is "Droga!" (Dammit!) Vanessa and Gabriel tried peanut butter for the first time, and I think we've created addicts. But who can blame them? Peanut butter is fantastic.
The afore-mentioned list inspired me to vacuum my own room. If you know how much I detest vacuuming, you will know that this is a big accomplishment in my book.
Watched the first Harry Potter movie. Living in England does give one a huge hankering for all things Harry Potter. That should be a warning label they put on your immigration visa or something.
On top of all that, I wrote birthday cards to my sissies (they'll be 21, woah!), downloaded pictures from my camera, wrote emails, Skyped a friend, danced around in the kitchen to various Disney songs . . . then, discovered world peace, cured cancer, wrote the next great American novel . . . just an average day.
However, I just want to point out that if one were to be inspired to create world peace, cure cancer, or think up the next big thing, it would be probably be done in nice, big comfy sweatpants.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
I Hope
Yesterday . . . Wait, no, not yesterday because all day yesterday was spent on Katie's orange couch, cuddled under blankets with tea and too many sweets watching "Downton Abbey," and then going line dancing. Yes, line dancing! So, it must have been the day before –– on Thursday.
So on Thursday, I had my induction into the University of Leeds English program, which was of course marked by tea and biscuits, along with an orientation speech and first meetings with our supervising tutors (professors). My specialization, modern & contemporary literature, is a small one –– only 2 new students accepted this term. This is both amazing and scary: scary because I will not have a class of others to hide behind, but amazing because we'll really dig deep into the novels and essays on our reading lists, tossing around ideas with a professor who has studied contemporary literature and culture his entire adult life. I cannot wait for classes to start on Monday. When I say "I'm studying literature," everyone assumes I mean the Bronte Sisters, Beowulf, Twain and Austen. While I adore the classics, it's really rather fun to study the books that are newer and in some ways stranger, but still define art (in my opinion). Talking to my professor and fellow classmate got me high on academics again (nerd alert, I know). After leaving Professor Carroll's office, which is wall-to-wall books (Morrison, Melville and McCarthy... love it!), I started thinking about the time I will no longer be in school (though some people may argue this day will never come). And I realized how deeply I desire to always be learning. Here are my hopes for my future, whatever comes next.
I hope I never tire of thinking new thoughts. I hope I never grow complacent with what I already know. I hope I never lose that nervous feeling I get when I'm out of my element, which can be harnessed into so much creative energy. I hope I never stop loving deep conversations. I hope I never leave off wondering about human nature and about what drive us –– our families, our art, our cultures, our personalities, our lifestyles. I hope I'm never stuck in narrow-minded views. I hope I won't stop scribbling notes in books' margins and underlining parts that make me stop and think (this is why as awesome as the Kindle is, I can never love it like a real book). I hope I'll always want to ponder the complexities of purpose, beauty, faith, and relationships. I hope I never stop reading in inappropriate places at inappropriate times. I hope I'm always inspired by the people I meet, the places I see, the things I read, the conversations I have, the subjects I study, the thoughts I think, the experiences I live. I hope I never quit seeking the advice and opinions of those smarter than me. I hope I strive to define my own thoughts in a way that's constructive. I hope knowledge is always rich and never dry. I hope I'll always find God through the beauty and pain of human nature that I find both in life and in reading.
So on Thursday, I had my induction into the University of Leeds English program, which was of course marked by tea and biscuits, along with an orientation speech and first meetings with our supervising tutors (professors). My specialization, modern & contemporary literature, is a small one –– only 2 new students accepted this term. This is both amazing and scary: scary because I will not have a class of others to hide behind, but amazing because we'll really dig deep into the novels and essays on our reading lists, tossing around ideas with a professor who has studied contemporary literature and culture his entire adult life. I cannot wait for classes to start on Monday. When I say "I'm studying literature," everyone assumes I mean the Bronte Sisters, Beowulf, Twain and Austen. While I adore the classics, it's really rather fun to study the books that are newer and in some ways stranger, but still define art (in my opinion). Talking to my professor and fellow classmate got me high on academics again (nerd alert, I know). After leaving Professor Carroll's office, which is wall-to-wall books (Morrison, Melville and McCarthy... love it!), I started thinking about the time I will no longer be in school (though some people may argue this day will never come). And I realized how deeply I desire to always be learning. Here are my hopes for my future, whatever comes next.
I hope I never tire of thinking new thoughts. I hope I never grow complacent with what I already know. I hope I never lose that nervous feeling I get when I'm out of my element, which can be harnessed into so much creative energy. I hope I never stop loving deep conversations. I hope I never leave off wondering about human nature and about what drive us –– our families, our art, our cultures, our personalities, our lifestyles. I hope I'm never stuck in narrow-minded views. I hope I won't stop scribbling notes in books' margins and underlining parts that make me stop and think (this is why as awesome as the Kindle is, I can never love it like a real book). I hope I'll always want to ponder the complexities of purpose, beauty, faith, and relationships. I hope I never stop reading in inappropriate places at inappropriate times. I hope I'm always inspired by the people I meet, the places I see, the things I read, the conversations I have, the subjects I study, the thoughts I think, the experiences I live. I hope I never quit seeking the advice and opinions of those smarter than me. I hope I strive to define my own thoughts in a way that's constructive. I hope knowledge is always rich and never dry. I hope I'll always find God through the beauty and pain of human nature that I find both in life and in reading.
Normalcy
Before leaving for my year in England, I thought a lot about the fact that I am getting older, and yet still don't quite know how to prepare myself for the unexpected, the unknowable. In some ways, I hold on to a childish idea of normalcy; I cling to what is comfortable. But as I continue to grow up (despite my efforts to find Neverland), I am slowly and surely realizing that there is no "normal" to return to. Life in its seasons changes everything. There is no longer a status quo.
For so many years, we have set paths to follow–– you play the role of student from elementary through college. You have set notions of how to be a good daughter, sister, friend (mostly formed from watching adults and sometimes sitcoms). And you have set dreams –– the same ones you've been dreaming since childhood. For me, it's the quaint picket fence and babies and gardening on Saturday afternoons.
But when you move into adulthood, there are setbacks, failures, pain and complexities. You find yourself thinking "I just want to get back to normal." But, the thing is, you're never the same once you get through that move, that fight, that difficulty, that heart break. And in many ways, you're glad you're not the same. Yes, some of the childish optimism might be gone, but in its place, perhaps you'll find strength or perspective or richer faith. And after all that, you might find that your previous "normal" doesn't fit as comfortably as it once did.
That new reality is difficult for me to come to terms with. I like my set ideas, my set dreams, my set paths. I don't enjoy being uncomfortable, and who isn't scared a little of the unknown? But because life in its seasons, in its complexities, in its failures & triumphs has changed me, I am forced to move on –– to become more and more comfortable with having no control, no set role or view of reality, and to accept a shifting definition of what is "normal."
For so many years, we have set paths to follow–– you play the role of student from elementary through college. You have set notions of how to be a good daughter, sister, friend (mostly formed from watching adults and sometimes sitcoms). And you have set dreams –– the same ones you've been dreaming since childhood. For me, it's the quaint picket fence and babies and gardening on Saturday afternoons.
But when you move into adulthood, there are setbacks, failures, pain and complexities. You find yourself thinking "I just want to get back to normal." But, the thing is, you're never the same once you get through that move, that fight, that difficulty, that heart break. And in many ways, you're glad you're not the same. Yes, some of the childish optimism might be gone, but in its place, perhaps you'll find strength or perspective or richer faith. And after all that, you might find that your previous "normal" doesn't fit as comfortably as it once did.
That new reality is difficult for me to come to terms with. I like my set ideas, my set dreams, my set paths. I don't enjoy being uncomfortable, and who isn't scared a little of the unknown? But because life in its seasons, in its complexities, in its failures & triumphs has changed me, I am forced to move on –– to become more and more comfortable with having no control, no set role or view of reality, and to accept a shifting definition of what is "normal."
Thank goodness for a God who is the one unchanging and constant force in life.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Have a Cup of Tea
One of my favorite things about the British culture is their love of tea. I've always been a tea drinker –– I grew up on English Breakfast with milk and sugar –– but now, I find I crave it every few hours. Today, though, I realized why I love drinking tea here so much. It's not just me jonesing for a caffeine fix, but it's because of the social aspect. I drank 5 cups of tea today, and it's been one of my favorite days on record.
Cup 1: Who doesn't love the first cup of tea in the morning, after getting to sleep in (or having a lie in, as the British would say). Especially after falling asleep last night snuggled under my striped duvet to the sound of rain against the window panes, and waking up to a breezy, sunny morning.
Cup 2: Lunch with the roommate: left-over pasta (pronounced pah-sta here) and Digestives with my tea for dessert. Who knew such a yummy biscuit (cookie) could have such a strange-sounding name. Plus, this second cup of tea gave me the jolt of energy needed for our adventure with Hannah and Vicki, two of our new friends –– and seriously, the sweetest girls I've ever met. The four of us walked up towards Headingly (right outside of Leeds) and tramped through the woods behind where they used to live. Rain drizzled down green trees, making the dirt smell dark and delicious. Favorite moment: finding and trying out the rope swing they put up in the middle of the forest last term (a stick tied to a rope, tied to a tree branch). Swinging made me feel about 7 years old again, in such a good way.
Cup 3: At the bakery/coffee shop in Headingly, where we ordered tea with scones and jam and clotted cream. There's nothing I'd rather do than chat the afternoon away –– with warm baked goods, comfy couches and soft acoustic music. And, of course, the best company. You've gotta love cute coffee shops and good ol' fashioned girl talk.
Cup 4: Served at Vicki and Hannah's house, an enchanting four-story with a garden, an attic, a 2nd kitchen in the basement, creaky staircases, and 10 rooms (most of which have fireplaces. I know, right?!). We sat around with their great set of housemates (out of 10, we've met 7 so far). When they were all talking and bantering, it was such a lovely homey feel (even though I have to say, I couldn't catch every word). The girls made us a delicious traditional cottage pie and pudding (dessert), which was apple crisp. Have you ever heard of anything sweeter than that? We had such good laughs that I got my ab workout for a month.
Cup 5: The last cup of tea, which is currently keeping me awake, was during a game of Articulate, which is essentially a board-game version of Catch Phrase. Loved it. I loved how it brought out the differences in our cultural expressions and explanations. Sara and I dominated, by the way. Then, we all watched the BBC sitcom, Miranda, which words can't explain. They just can't.
It's amazing how at home I felt in a place that's thousands of miles from my own, and how comfortable and loved I felt by dear friends I've only known days. After today, all I can say is that God is good, and so is tea.
Cup 1: Who doesn't love the first cup of tea in the morning, after getting to sleep in (or having a lie in, as the British would say). Especially after falling asleep last night snuggled under my striped duvet to the sound of rain against the window panes, and waking up to a breezy, sunny morning.
Cup 2: Lunch with the roommate: left-over pasta (pronounced pah-sta here) and Digestives with my tea for dessert. Who knew such a yummy biscuit (cookie) could have such a strange-sounding name. Plus, this second cup of tea gave me the jolt of energy needed for our adventure with Hannah and Vicki, two of our new friends –– and seriously, the sweetest girls I've ever met. The four of us walked up towards Headingly (right outside of Leeds) and tramped through the woods behind where they used to live. Rain drizzled down green trees, making the dirt smell dark and delicious. Favorite moment: finding and trying out the rope swing they put up in the middle of the forest last term (a stick tied to a rope, tied to a tree branch). Swinging made me feel about 7 years old again, in such a good way.
Cup 3: At the bakery/coffee shop in Headingly, where we ordered tea with scones and jam and clotted cream. There's nothing I'd rather do than chat the afternoon away –– with warm baked goods, comfy couches and soft acoustic music. And, of course, the best company. You've gotta love cute coffee shops and good ol' fashioned girl talk.
Cup 4: Served at Vicki and Hannah's house, an enchanting four-story with a garden, an attic, a 2nd kitchen in the basement, creaky staircases, and 10 rooms (most of which have fireplaces. I know, right?!). We sat around with their great set of housemates (out of 10, we've met 7 so far). When they were all talking and bantering, it was such a lovely homey feel (even though I have to say, I couldn't catch every word). The girls made us a delicious traditional cottage pie and pudding (dessert), which was apple crisp. Have you ever heard of anything sweeter than that? We had such good laughs that I got my ab workout for a month.
Cup 5: The last cup of tea, which is currently keeping me awake, was during a game of Articulate, which is essentially a board-game version of Catch Phrase. Loved it. I loved how it brought out the differences in our cultural expressions and explanations. Sara and I dominated, by the way. Then, we all watched the BBC sitcom, Miranda, which words can't explain. They just can't.
It's amazing how at home I felt in a place that's thousands of miles from my own, and how comfortable and loved I felt by dear friends I've only known days. After today, all I can say is that God is good, and so is tea.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Good, yes?
This post is an ode to our Brazilian flat mates, who are the best two guys ever. Today, Gui (we called him this because we cannot pronounce his full name), asked "What is this thing the rabbits eat? How do you say this?" Apparently, he was extremely happy because he was able to order a sandwich at Subway today, but he couldn't remember the word for carrot. Cute, no?
Gui: The babes here are very cute!
I am learning about a different culture right in my own flat. They speak Portuguese to each other, teach us about futbol, burn chicken in the oven (because they aren't used to cooking chicken, or cooking at all, really), sing "The Smiths" in the shower (well, Gabriel does; he has a great voice), and listen to samba music. They are warm and kind, and greet us with a hug and kiss on the cheek –– like it's been weeks since we've seen each other instead of hours. They ask us all sorts of questions about American culture, share easily, and stay out all hours of the night dancing. I love when they hunt and ask for the English word, or when they tell me about the pianos in the subways around Sau Paulo. Every day living with them, I'm reminded of the big world outside of myself and broaden my narrow experiences. This is good, yes?
Favorite exchanges so far:
Gabriel: "I think the rice it needs more water."
Gui: "More?!"
Gabriel: "Yes! More! That’s what Mama says."
Gui: "Are you sure??"
Gabriel: "No." *pours water in pot*
Gabriel: "I think the rice it needs more water."
Gui: "More?!"
Gabriel: "Yes! More! That’s what Mama says."
Gui: "Are you sure??"
Gabriel: "No." *pours water in pot*
* * *
Gabriel (to Gui): Would you like some of my vegetables?
Gui: No.
Gabriel: Would you like some of my lettuce?
Gui: No. But thank you.
Gabriel: Okay, but tomorrow you must eat some of this green. It is the 16th tomorrow and you have not eaten any since we get here. Okay?
* * *
Gui: The babes here are very cute!
Sara: The girls?
Gui: Huh?
Sara: In America, 'babes' means an attractive girl.
Gui: Uhhhh, no. . .
Me: Do you mean babies?
Gui: Yes, yes, the babies! The babies here are very cute. Awkward mistake, no?
Friday, September 14, 2012
The Journey
September 10 (or as the British would do it, backwards: 10/09/12)
They say it's all about the journey. I disagree. In fact, I've always said that my super power of choice would be teleportation–– that way, I could avoid the journey all together. The journey to getting there is not half the fun; in fact, it's rarely fun at all. Especially when the journey includes a 12-hour flight, two 50-pound duffel bags (and weak arm muscles), no sleep, bad food and claustrophobic tendencies.
I looked and felt like a hobo walking through the San Francisco airport, with my rainboots (which wouldn't fit in my bag, but couldn't be left behind) and a heavy hooded jacket. My jacket pockets were bulging with the stuff I had to take out of my purse when the grumpy airport worker made me consolidate one of my bags. Apparently, you can't get on a United flight with a purse and a rolling suitcase and a backpack and a pillow (which had a journal, book, beanie, crochet needle and yarn, and pair of slipper socks stuffed in its case). Getting through security was a chore, and I felt prouder of myself for getting onto the airplane in one piece than I had graduating high school.
During the first 5-hour leg of the flight to D.C., I sat next to an Irish couple, and I spent a good deal of time chatting with the husband next to me about his grandbabies and their summer house in Spain and the weather in Dublin versus London. He had a soft brogue and kind smile lines around his eyes. When we got off the plane, they both wished me luck with a hug. Part of the reason I needed luck was because my next flight was already boarding on the other side of the terminal. A one hour layover is hardly enough time as it is, but especially not if your first flight is 45 minutes behind schedule. I already mentioned how much stuff I had, so imagine all of that, and now add me running across the entire length of that terminal (in boots and a jacket) . . . well, let's just say the last uphill ramp felt like Everest.
Seeing Sara made everything happier, and after an epic hug, we were two of the last to board the flight. Then, a ridiculously cute Manchester boy helped me stuff (cram, shove, punch, heave, squeeze) my carry-on up into the overhead compartment. So, of course, it was definitely love right then and there.
7 hours of flight time and a bit of rough turbulence later, we were on the ground in Manchester, England, where it was gray and rainy. We gathered our baggage (now, Sara had as many suitcases as I did –– so double everything and we basically needed a small freight train to lug our stuff around), and met Malc outside, who was waiting for us with a sign. I've never been picked up at the airport with a sign before, so I immediately liked him. Malc and his wife Karen are friends of Sara's church friends from back home, and it was nice to be picked up by a friendly face. We steered our stuff out into the parking structure, where we saw his car. Malc was driving a Spider –– and if the name doesn't already give this away, it was a peanut of a car.
Being the gracious man that he is, Malc did not say a word, but gravely set about finding a way to fit all the bags into the convertible. It was like a jigsaw puzzle, but we finally managed it. It was touch-and-go getting the roof of the car up, and I have to admit, I genuinely didn't think the roof would clear the tower of suitcases. I was wedged in about a foot of space in the back seat, and could not see out of any window, while Sara was in the front seat with a 50-pound duffel on her lap.
Malc drove us to his flat for lunch, which is situated in a charming village over a pub. They had a springer dog named Ebony who looked like my dog Sienna, with her graying ears and droopy brown eyes. They fed us chicken and potatoes and vegetables, which seemed the most amazing thing in the world, until Karen brought out dessert, which was scones with jam and clotted cream, along with fresh raspberries and chocolate pudding (though I'm sure they don't call it pudding here). We sat with the door to the balcony open, overlooking small sailboats bobbing on the lake across the street from their flat, talking of British and American stereotypes, and of travel and road trips.
I slept most of the way into Leeds, hardly able to keep my eyes open (at this point, it was about 7 a.m. according to our body time, and I hadn't slept since about 7 a.m. the day before). But when I was awakened by the polite instructions of Malc's British GPS, and able to see out a small sliver of window over Sara's shoulder, I was struck by how familiar it all felt. I had thought it would all feel foreign. After all, I only studied in England for 4 months the first time, and it was in quite a different part of the country. But, the funny-named motorways, church steeples, turn-abouts, green countryside, rock walls, and small cobblestone villages with pubs and antique shops, all gave me a comfortable feeling of nostalgia and homecoming, in a way.
Arriving at the college is all a bit of a blur. I remember thinking it all felt lovely and familiar, like a college campus should –– with lots of trees and brick buildings. We found our check-in point, lugged our bags into a small room (and of course filled up the room almost entirely with our zillion bags), and were warmly welcomed with packets of information, along with a paper lunch bag full of crisps (chips), a tea bag and paper cup, cornflakes, and a green apple. They take really good care of you when you're an international student.
Luckily, we were able to move right into our flat. Even though we completely pissed off a taxi driver with all our bags (seriously, he was so miffed when he saw all our stuff), with 2 trips we were finally able to get everything up the narrow staircases, through multiple fire doors (with all this rain, why such concern for fire safety?), and into our new accommodation. Our flat is in a "block," surrounded by other brick houses full of students. We share the 5-bedroom flat with 3 other students, two boys and a girl. They are all from Brazil, but haven't arrived yet. We have a lovely kitchen ––which already had a hot pot in it!–– and cozy rooms. My comforter was vacuum-packed in my carry-on, which was a huge pain while packing, but now seems like the best idea ever. Right after a shower, I got to go straight to sleep under my fluffy duvet.
And best of all, my pillow still smelled of home even after 2 days of travel, making me feel closer to everyone somehow.
I have to say that when you do arrive at your destination, it makes all the stressful parts of the journey seem worth it. That 100+ pounds of stuff you just lugged across country fits easily into your closet (and makes you wonder why you didn't bring more?), your bed is like heaven, a shower never felt so good, and you begin another journey –– the journey of making a new place feel like home.
Also, I decided that the next time I move overseas, I am shipping all my stuff.
They say it's all about the journey. I disagree. In fact, I've always said that my super power of choice would be teleportation–– that way, I could avoid the journey all together. The journey to getting there is not half the fun; in fact, it's rarely fun at all. Especially when the journey includes a 12-hour flight, two 50-pound duffel bags (and weak arm muscles), no sleep, bad food and claustrophobic tendencies.
I looked and felt like a hobo walking through the San Francisco airport, with my rainboots (which wouldn't fit in my bag, but couldn't be left behind) and a heavy hooded jacket. My jacket pockets were bulging with the stuff I had to take out of my purse when the grumpy airport worker made me consolidate one of my bags. Apparently, you can't get on a United flight with a purse and a rolling suitcase and a backpack and a pillow (which had a journal, book, beanie, crochet needle and yarn, and pair of slipper socks stuffed in its case). Getting through security was a chore, and I felt prouder of myself for getting onto the airplane in one piece than I had graduating high school.
During the first 5-hour leg of the flight to D.C., I sat next to an Irish couple, and I spent a good deal of time chatting with the husband next to me about his grandbabies and their summer house in Spain and the weather in Dublin versus London. He had a soft brogue and kind smile lines around his eyes. When we got off the plane, they both wished me luck with a hug. Part of the reason I needed luck was because my next flight was already boarding on the other side of the terminal. A one hour layover is hardly enough time as it is, but especially not if your first flight is 45 minutes behind schedule. I already mentioned how much stuff I had, so imagine all of that, and now add me running across the entire length of that terminal (in boots and a jacket) . . . well, let's just say the last uphill ramp felt like Everest.
Seeing Sara made everything happier, and after an epic hug, we were two of the last to board the flight. Then, a ridiculously cute Manchester boy helped me stuff (cram, shove, punch, heave, squeeze) my carry-on up into the overhead compartment. So, of course, it was definitely love right then and there.
7 hours of flight time and a bit of rough turbulence later, we were on the ground in Manchester, England, where it was gray and rainy. We gathered our baggage (now, Sara had as many suitcases as I did –– so double everything and we basically needed a small freight train to lug our stuff around), and met Malc outside, who was waiting for us with a sign. I've never been picked up at the airport with a sign before, so I immediately liked him. Malc and his wife Karen are friends of Sara's church friends from back home, and it was nice to be picked up by a friendly face. We steered our stuff out into the parking structure, where we saw his car. Malc was driving a Spider –– and if the name doesn't already give this away, it was a peanut of a car.
Being the gracious man that he is, Malc did not say a word, but gravely set about finding a way to fit all the bags into the convertible. It was like a jigsaw puzzle, but we finally managed it. It was touch-and-go getting the roof of the car up, and I have to admit, I genuinely didn't think the roof would clear the tower of suitcases. I was wedged in about a foot of space in the back seat, and could not see out of any window, while Sara was in the front seat with a 50-pound duffel on her lap.
Malc drove us to his flat for lunch, which is situated in a charming village over a pub. They had a springer dog named Ebony who looked like my dog Sienna, with her graying ears and droopy brown eyes. They fed us chicken and potatoes and vegetables, which seemed the most amazing thing in the world, until Karen brought out dessert, which was scones with jam and clotted cream, along with fresh raspberries and chocolate pudding (though I'm sure they don't call it pudding here). We sat with the door to the balcony open, overlooking small sailboats bobbing on the lake across the street from their flat, talking of British and American stereotypes, and of travel and road trips.
I slept most of the way into Leeds, hardly able to keep my eyes open (at this point, it was about 7 a.m. according to our body time, and I hadn't slept since about 7 a.m. the day before). But when I was awakened by the polite instructions of Malc's British GPS, and able to see out a small sliver of window over Sara's shoulder, I was struck by how familiar it all felt. I had thought it would all feel foreign. After all, I only studied in England for 4 months the first time, and it was in quite a different part of the country. But, the funny-named motorways, church steeples, turn-abouts, green countryside, rock walls, and small cobblestone villages with pubs and antique shops, all gave me a comfortable feeling of nostalgia and homecoming, in a way.
Arriving at the college is all a bit of a blur. I remember thinking it all felt lovely and familiar, like a college campus should –– with lots of trees and brick buildings. We found our check-in point, lugged our bags into a small room (and of course filled up the room almost entirely with our zillion bags), and were warmly welcomed with packets of information, along with a paper lunch bag full of crisps (chips), a tea bag and paper cup, cornflakes, and a green apple. They take really good care of you when you're an international student.
Luckily, we were able to move right into our flat. Even though we completely pissed off a taxi driver with all our bags (seriously, he was so miffed when he saw all our stuff), with 2 trips we were finally able to get everything up the narrow staircases, through multiple fire doors (with all this rain, why such concern for fire safety?), and into our new accommodation. Our flat is in a "block," surrounded by other brick houses full of students. We share the 5-bedroom flat with 3 other students, two boys and a girl. They are all from Brazil, but haven't arrived yet. We have a lovely kitchen ––which already had a hot pot in it!–– and cozy rooms. My comforter was vacuum-packed in my carry-on, which was a huge pain while packing, but now seems like the best idea ever. Right after a shower, I got to go straight to sleep under my fluffy duvet.
And best of all, my pillow still smelled of home even after 2 days of travel, making me feel closer to everyone somehow.
I have to say that when you do arrive at your destination, it makes all the stressful parts of the journey seem worth it. That 100+ pounds of stuff you just lugged across country fits easily into your closet (and makes you wonder why you didn't bring more?), your bed is like heaven, a shower never felt so good, and you begin another journey –– the journey of making a new place feel like home.
Also, I decided that the next time I move overseas, I am shipping all my stuff.
Friday, August 17, 2012
My Classes
Semester 1
ENGL5348M AMERICAN CRISIS
Module tutor: Dr Hamilton Carroll
An introduction to current themes, methods, practices (including American Studies), and debates in American literary and cultural studies, the module will prepare students for advanced study in the field. The module does not proceed chronologically but is built around the organizing concept of crisis, which the module takes to be a foundational theme in American culture. Through the analysis of a group of core primary texts drawn from the past two centuries of American culture, students will examine how crisis functions, not only as a source of strife or hardship, but also as a site of possibility or transformation. Students will explore some of the central issues in American life: citizenship, democracy, nation, exceptionalism, capital, empire, possessive individualism. With a twinned focus on methods and practices, on the one hand, and themes and perspectives, on the other, the module will equip students both with advanced reading and interpretation skills and with the historical and contextual knowledge necessary for the study of American literature and culture at MA level.
Set Texts for Purchase :
Alison Bechdel, Fun Home
Herman Melville, Billy Budd and Other Stories
Toni Morrison, A Mercy
Edith Wharton, Summer
Stewart O’Nan, Last Night at the Lobster
ENGL5738M MODERNISM AND MASS CULTURE
Module tutor: Dr Katy Mullin
This module takes as its starting point Andreas Huyssen’s contention that mass culture is modernism’s “other”. Along with several other critics, Huyssen diagnoses at the heart of modernism a fundamental disdain for the popular and the mass, and a concomitant retreat into an increasingly esoteric intellectual elitism. We will examine the canonical texts of high modernism both in the context of the wide range of popular cultural forms which proliferated during the period, and alongside the realist texts which continued to be written. Do the canonical texts of high modernism necessarily express the disdain for mass culture Huyssen perceives? How do such texts compare in this respect to the apparently more “democratic” forms of realist writing? And, is disdain ever qualified by a modernist fascination with the exhilarating novelty of new forms of mass culture?
Texts for Purchase:
1) Framing the question of mass culture: John Carey, The Intellectuals and The Masses (1992).
ENGL5348M AMERICAN CRISIS
Module tutor: Dr Hamilton Carroll
An introduction to current themes, methods, practices (including American Studies), and debates in American literary and cultural studies, the module will prepare students for advanced study in the field. The module does not proceed chronologically but is built around the organizing concept of crisis, which the module takes to be a foundational theme in American culture. Through the analysis of a group of core primary texts drawn from the past two centuries of American culture, students will examine how crisis functions, not only as a source of strife or hardship, but also as a site of possibility or transformation. Students will explore some of the central issues in American life: citizenship, democracy, nation, exceptionalism, capital, empire, possessive individualism. With a twinned focus on methods and practices, on the one hand, and themes and perspectives, on the other, the module will equip students both with advanced reading and interpretation skills and with the historical and contextual knowledge necessary for the study of American literature and culture at MA level.
Set Texts for Purchase :
Alison Bechdel, Fun Home
Herman Melville, Billy Budd and Other Stories
Toni Morrison, A Mercy
Edith Wharton, Summer
Stewart O’Nan, Last Night at the Lobster
ENGL5738M MODERNISM AND MASS CULTURE
Module tutor: Dr Katy Mullin
This module takes as its starting point Andreas Huyssen’s contention that mass culture is modernism’s “other”. Along with several other critics, Huyssen diagnoses at the heart of modernism a fundamental disdain for the popular and the mass, and a concomitant retreat into an increasingly esoteric intellectual elitism. We will examine the canonical texts of high modernism both in the context of the wide range of popular cultural forms which proliferated during the period, and alongside the realist texts which continued to be written. Do the canonical texts of high modernism necessarily express the disdain for mass culture Huyssen perceives? How do such texts compare in this respect to the apparently more “democratic” forms of realist writing? And, is disdain ever qualified by a modernist fascination with the exhilarating novelty of new forms of mass culture?
Texts for Purchase:
1) Framing the question of mass culture: John Carey, The Intellectuals and The Masses (1992).
2) The Rise of Mass Culture: George Gissing, New Grub Street (1891).
3) Who owns culture? Thomas Hardy, Jude the Obscure (1895).
4) Modernism and New Technologies: Bram Stoker, Dracula (1897).
5) Edith Wharton, The House Of Mirth (1905).
5) Edith Wharton, The House Of Mirth (1905).
6) Educating the masses: E M Forster, Howards End (1910).
7) Modernism and Consumer Culture: James Joyce, ‘Calypso’ and ‘Nausicaa’, chapters 4 and 13 of Ulysses (1922).
8) Modernism and Cinema: Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway (1922).
9) Modernism and The Mob: T S Eliot, The Wasteland (1922).
10) After Modernism: Samuel Beckett, Happy Days (1960).
Semester 2
ENGL5338M IMPERIAL DESIGNS
Module tutor: Dr Sam Durrant
In his study of classical epic, Epic and Empire, David Quint argues that the epic tradition naturalises an imperial world view, that the business of epic is the production of master narratives, or more precisely, narratives of imperial mastery. In order to tell the story of modern empire, novelists have had recourse to many of the narrative strategies of epic, while seeking to disassociate themselves from the ideology of epic as a form. The distanced perspective of classical epic enables what Quint describes as the “heroic vision of concentrated power.” Modern epics bring this vision to crisis through the introduction of narrators whose self-reflexive world-view is at odds with the imperial designs of their heroes. This module begins by considering two seminal modernist narratives of empire, Herman Melville’s Moby Dick and Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. We then move on to explore the tension between conquest and its narration in a variety of twentieth-century narratives. During the course of our reading we will attempt to trace the continuities and discontinuities between epic, empire and masculinity; literature and violence; modernism, postmodernism and postcolonialism; race, empire and capitalism; and British and American imperialism.
Texts for Purchase:
Herman Melville, Moby Dick
Semester 2
ENGL5338M IMPERIAL DESIGNS
Module tutor: Dr Sam Durrant
In his study of classical epic, Epic and Empire, David Quint argues that the epic tradition naturalises an imperial world view, that the business of epic is the production of master narratives, or more precisely, narratives of imperial mastery. In order to tell the story of modern empire, novelists have had recourse to many of the narrative strategies of epic, while seeking to disassociate themselves from the ideology of epic as a form. The distanced perspective of classical epic enables what Quint describes as the “heroic vision of concentrated power.” Modern epics bring this vision to crisis through the introduction of narrators whose self-reflexive world-view is at odds with the imperial designs of their heroes. This module begins by considering two seminal modernist narratives of empire, Herman Melville’s Moby Dick and Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. We then move on to explore the tension between conquest and its narration in a variety of twentieth-century narratives. During the course of our reading we will attempt to trace the continuities and discontinuities between epic, empire and masculinity; literature and violence; modernism, postmodernism and postcolonialism; race, empire and capitalism; and British and American imperialism.
Texts for Purchase:
Herman Melville, Moby Dick
Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
William Faulkner, Absalom! Absalom! (Vintage 1936)
Wilson Harris, The Guyana Quartet (Faber 1960)
Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, or The Evening Redness in the West
Charles Johnson, Middle Passage
Derek Walcott, Omeros
ENGL5347M SOMETHING ROTTEN: TRANSLANTIC CAPITALISM AND THE LITERATURE OF WASTE, 1945-PRESENT
Module tutor: Dr Andrew Warnes
In his tour de force Wasted Lives (2003), Zygmunt Bauman claims that the production of human waste—refugees, lumpen proletarians, outcasts and misfits—is an inevitable consequence of modern capitalism. Modern capitalist culture, Bauman argues, remains obsessed with novelty and obsessively consigns what was new yesterday to its burgeoning rubbish dumps; it is hardly surprising, therefore, that it should begin to treat certain kinds of people the same way, deeming them, too, disposable, “used,” or otherwise redundant. In this MA module we consider this recent sociological idea at length, and ask how it is reflected or resisted in certain key literary and cultural works produced in the UK and US since World War Two. Albeit in very different ways, William Golding’s Pincher Martin and Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye certainly reveal a common fascination with moments when humans are treated as flotsam or rubbish, and both of them might be said to understand their own narrative practices as a kind of redemptive activity in which interior monologue and other devices recover the humanity that the plot is imperilling at every turn. But this anxious interest in human waste comes to the surface in all of the primary novels on the module, surfacing in Doris Lessing’s depictions of an inhuman bureaucracy in Briefing for a Descent into Hell (1971) as well as in Raymond Carver’s accounts of commodification and bankruptcy in Collected Stories (1985). In the course of the module we will also step outside literature to consider other phenomena, and particularly UK punk and postpunk’s celebration of all things rotten, in which individual artists have almost seemed to affirm the low designation Bauman critiques.
Texts for Purchase:
Zygmunt Bauman, Wasted Lives (2004)
In his tour de force Wasted Lives (2003), Zygmunt Bauman claims that the production of human waste—refugees, lumpen proletarians, outcasts and misfits—is an inevitable consequence of modern capitalism. Modern capitalist culture, Bauman argues, remains obsessed with novelty and obsessively consigns what was new yesterday to its burgeoning rubbish dumps; it is hardly surprising, therefore, that it should begin to treat certain kinds of people the same way, deeming them, too, disposable, “used,” or otherwise redundant. In this MA module we consider this recent sociological idea at length, and ask how it is reflected or resisted in certain key literary and cultural works produced in the UK and US since World War Two. Albeit in very different ways, William Golding’s Pincher Martin and Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye certainly reveal a common fascination with moments when humans are treated as flotsam or rubbish, and both of them might be said to understand their own narrative practices as a kind of redemptive activity in which interior monologue and other devices recover the humanity that the plot is imperilling at every turn. But this anxious interest in human waste comes to the surface in all of the primary novels on the module, surfacing in Doris Lessing’s depictions of an inhuman bureaucracy in Briefing for a Descent into Hell (1971) as well as in Raymond Carver’s accounts of commodification and bankruptcy in Collected Stories (1985). In the course of the module we will also step outside literature to consider other phenomena, and particularly UK punk and postpunk’s celebration of all things rotten, in which individual artists have almost seemed to affirm the low designation Bauman critiques.
Texts for Purchase:
Zygmunt Bauman, Wasted Lives (2004)
William Golding, Pincher Martin (1956)
Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49 (1966)
Cormac McCarthy, Suttree (1979)
Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye (1970)
Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye (1970)
Doris Lessing, Briefing for a Descent into Hell (1971)
Raymond Carver, Collected Stories (1985)
Cormac McCarthy, The Road (2006)
In addition, a series of You Tube links will be circulated in advance of a seminar focusing on images of waste in UK punk and postpunk.
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