Every Little Thing

The Fringe

2009-09-03T01:48:00.003+01:00

Whilst everybody who knows me well can confirm that I live in my head most of the time, my official residence (for the first seventeen years and a half years of my life at least) is in Edinburgh, Scotland. The 'burbs to be precise.

Living in a city such as Edinburgh is such an incredibly diverse experience. There's the wondrous splendour and decadence of the elite Edinburgh New Towners; the abject poverty and social exclusion of the deprived estates. The incredibly rich culture; the incredibly deep-set lack of education and awareness. Cities always seem to have a seedy side to them.

The light side of Edinburgh in without any doubt in my mind, a little thing called the Fringe. A festival that celebrates the nobodies of the entertainment world and is internationally renowned for discovering some of the newest talents.

As an Edinburger I would like to say that I take advantage of the Fringe as much as possible. That would, however, be a falsity. As with most city-dwellers I rarely take advantage of just how darned awesome by city is. How many Parisians visit La Louvre regularly?

This year I made a small effort to experience the Fringe, after all, this is my last year in Edinburgh for the time being at least.

My small effort consisted mainly of attending free comedy shows, being unable to refuse fliers for shows I had no desire of attending and buying a wonderful dress made from scraps from a wonderful Israeli woman despite the fact I neither needed nor could afford it.

Inevitably I have now fallen in love with Edinburgh all over again. How could I not love knowing the short-cuts through closes and wynds, having people tell me how they loved my accent and spending my afternoons drinking and listening to truly awful comedians performing truly awful sketches? Sure, there were moments when I felt like snapping and walking straight through those Japanese tourists taking a gazillion photos, sure I yelled like a crazy person at the man and woman taking a picture of the house I work in. (It was creepy, OK?)

But now the Fringe is over, the performers are leaving, the tourists have (thankfully) left. All of a sudden I seem to be the last person to leave a party. It is a strange feeling, being here even after the festivities are over. Still, there's always the next year, right?

Writing and Writers

2009-08-28T02:23:00.005+01:00

When I was a child I wanted to be JKRowling as an adult. Not a writer like JKRowling. Not a successful novelist but JK herself. It was my dearest ambition and life-plan to go back in time and thwack JK over the head before Harry ever entered into her head. I instead would write the books and viola! Instint fame, fortune and total adoration. Unfortunately I proved to be no scientist and all plans of time travel are currently on hold (although never say never).

Meanwhile my thoughts turn to writing again and to my current decision to focus my energies not on bending the space-time continum (I watch Heroes) but on soaking as much literature in as many forms as possible. Today I've been reading Kerouac's "spontaneous prose", On the Road, buying Aldous Huxley's LitCrit Brave New World...Revisited and discovering the simple tragedy of Ewart Alan Mackintosh's poetry. I'd like to share this poem with you all and leave you thoughts of how much a word can convey. They say a picture says a thousand words: I say codswallop.

So you were David’s father,

And he was your only son,

And the new-cut peats are rotting

And the work is left undone,

Because of an old man weeping,

Just an old man in pain

For David, his son David,

That will not come again.

Oh, the letters he wrote you,

And I can see them still,

Not a word of the fighting,

But just the sheep on the hill,

And how you should get the crops in

Ere the year get stormier,

And the Bosches have got his body,

And I was his officer.

You were only David’s father,

But I had fifty sons

When we went up in the evening

Under the arch of the guns,

And we came back at twilight

O God! I heard them call

To me for help and pity

That could not help at all.

Oh, never will I forget you,

My men that trusted me,

More my sons than your fathers’,

For they could only see

The little helpless babies

And the young men in their pride.

They could not see you dying,

And hold you while you died.

Happy and young and gallant,

They saw their first-born go,

But not the strong limbs broken

And the beautiful men brought low,

The piteous writhing bodies,

They screamed “Don’t leave me, sir”,

For they were only your fathers

But I was your officer.

Secrets

2009-07-14T17:46:00.003+01:00

Every family has its skeletons. Big or small; literal or metaphorical, each family has them. Take your average suburban family of four. Is everything really what it seems? Is his job satisfying, the money he makes worthwhile? Is she truly happy with her role as housewife, with her aging looks? And the children, can they ever feel enough? Maybe, maybe not. I suppose it differs.

But what happens in a family when these insecurities, these differences are concealed from each other. A family whose skeletons are also their secrets. Is it naive to suppose that your family has no such secrets? Again maybe, maybe not.

I thought that my family was fine. It turns out that I was naive. I know that his job isn't satisfying him, that she feels useless, that the children feel inferior and incapable. I know because this is us. The fact that we try to support each other's feelings of inadequacy is what makes us a family.

So it is only natural to feel betrayed when the family keeps a secret from you for two decades, right?

Because my family is not alright. In fact, it seems to be imploding around me at an incredibly sudden rate.

Two weeks ago my grandfather collapsed and was rushed into hospital. My father was inexplicably furious - why? Why would his father's illness cause such a petrifying reaction from the son? I found out the next day that my grandfather had drank himself unconscious.

Last night my mother revealed more to me - that my grandfather has been an alcoholic for about twenty years; that my grandmother had packed her bags on many an occasion; that my father was close to cutting off his father; that almost every time my uncles called they were calling to say that he had been drinking again; that Grandad refused to go to A&A.

But what worried me the most - my uncle attributes the drinking to a deep depression. Depression that has spanned twenty years. And now the issue of betrayal rears up again - depression is a hereditary disease (as is, coincidentally, alcoholism). Depression is something that I have struggled with and any sufferer will know that it is the most isolating of experiences. Why me? What's wrong with me? I was so young when I had depression and yet nobody stopped to tell me that I wasn't alone. There was nothing wrong with me.

Where do you go from here? Where do I go from here? My grandfather is an irritable, jagged, crotchety man. Hard to know, hard to love, but I always wanted so very much to know him. But now...I find it hard to love him when he's being so stubborn. He needs help and if he won't do it for himself then he needs to do it for my Gran. She's the most wonderfully kind-hearted individual and he's been treating her like dirt for years. Gran will never leave him - she might pack her bags but we all know she won't follow through. He knows that too.

I don't find it easy to keep my thoughts to myself. I have to, for her, but it will always be a struggle. Knowing that each time she leaves the house for a few hours she's going to return to a drunk? It isn't fair for her, for him, for us. But what can I do when the adults bury their head in the sand? My uncles are too indecisive to ever act, my father too hot-headed and judgemental to be reasonable. My grandfather is 75 and not in good health. So what happens when he dies and we're that family. The ones who are resentful at the funeral, who hold grudges and bad memories and are unable to remember the simple fact that we loved him?

Nobody deserves to die like that, much less a man with a disease such as depression. So how to stop it? I told my mother that I thought we should have some kind of an intervention. Issue an ultimatum that we will love and support him but no longer will we do so unconditionally. Her response? Don't say anything to your father. This is all a secret - we don't talk about secrets.

So where do the secrets end, and the healing begins? Can a family really survive the skeletons in the cupboard just by ignoring them? Or, as they say, will the truth always out?

Stop-Loss

2009-06-10T11:59:00.006+01:00

First of all I have to offer great thanks to my father for choosing me as his favourite daughter. Well, for choosing my laptop as the recipient of the great gift that is Sky Player over that of my sister's. Me and Arabella won out over S and poor-nameless-laptop due to our future plans for travel and world domination. With the aid of Sky Player we can do this whilst keeping up on documentaries and hit movies. Goody.

And why do I praise the Lord for Sky Player? Because after sifting through (and admittedly watching) dross such as The Hottie and The Nottie (so sue me, I had a morbid curiosity) I have found gems such as The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a truly magnificent film based on the book of a truly magnificent man written under the most trying of circumstances.

Yeah, I know...times are boring round my part of the world right now and there is only so much high-brow literature (and zombie-filled Austen) that a girl can handle of a day.

Anyway, after sifting through the nonsense 'comedies' I stumbled across Stop-Loss.

Warning: Spoilers ahead for Stop-Loss

So I may have tuned in to watch Channing Tatum in military khakis (how cliched am I?) but I found the actual film surprisingly enjoyable. I'm perplexed as to why it performed so poorly at the box office - Stop-Loss offers a stellar cast, engaging plot line and opens political debate where, certainly in my case, ignorance previously existed.

Stop-Loss focuses on three soldiers returning from a tour in Iraq. Brandon, played by Ryan Philippe, has become disillusioned over the loss of several in a preventable ambush and plans on leaving the army now his compulsory service is complete. Steve, portrayed by Channing Tatum, a talented marksman and Brandon's best friend, is also due to complete his service and plans on wedding his long-term girlfriend upon returning to Texas. Tommy, acted by Joseph Gordon-Levitt, the more unsettled of the three, is fighting to be allowed to be kept in the army but his drink problem causes problems for both his career and marriage.

For those of us who have never served in the military it is hard to understand the links and honour felt by servicemen and women to the army. It is hard to understand why Tommy, after being thrown out by his wife and being given a 'big chicken dinner' (bad conduct discharge) by the army, takes his own life. It is hard to understand why Steve sacrifices his relationship and re-enlists as a sniper. It isn't hard to understand why Brandon goes AWOL after being 'stop-lossed.'

Stop-lossed is an interesting idea. Referred to by John Kerry as 'back-door recruitment' the American military reserves the right to, in times of war, re-enlist soldiers who have completed their service even if this happens to be against their will. America land of the free and the brave. America, the mother of democracy, swooping in to save the poor people of Iraq, or Afghanistan, or Vietnam, or Korea, or Iran, or Germany, or Russia. Where will it be next? Great Britain? I'd like to suggest America herself. What kind of institutionalised hypocrisy allows for volunteers to be forced into further military service or face criminal charges? As the old adage goes, charity begins at home America.

However, Stop-Loss is more mature than I and refuses to become a petty swipe at an authoritarian reality masquerading under the democratic sham evident today. Instead it is an accurate portrayal of human relationships and the biological desire of fight or flight. In a situation like this we need to stop and think, not what Jesus would do, but what I would do. Would I glibly follow orders and fight for a hypocritical cause that I no longer believed in? Would I flee my duty, bid farewell to my family, friends, identity? Would I spend the inevitable future railing away in a military jail?

After 9/11 enlistment inevitably skyrocketed. But now, nearly eight years on we need to stop and re-evaluate our war on 'terrorism'. How are we combating this enemy, and has our method been successful? Results would indicate, no. I'm no political expert - heck, I know very little about politics but what I do know is people. What I see in our world today is terror: soldiers returning from war broken men and women; soldiers not returning from war at all; acts of terrorism and religious hatred increasing; a steady abandonment of trust in mankind; fear, fear of when the next attack if coming.

Our men shooting their men, women and children. It hardly seems fair to them at all, but what about the cost to our brave young volunteers? Who is caring for them, looking after them, giving them the democracy they go to war for? What do soldiers get from the US government: stop-loss and big chicken dinners.

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

2009-06-10T03:53:00.006+01:00

I must admit, I was rather apprehensive when I first heard of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies a few weeks back. I was also rather affronted. Who was this Seth Grahame-Smith and what had he done to my Jane's masterpiece? Therefore my initial impressions of Grahame-Smith and his work were less than favourable.

However, I find it impossible to hate a book which replaces Austen's classic aphorism with "it is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains." Genius.

And Grahame-Smith's work only gets better from thereon in. As any good book should do, it includes illustrations by Philip Smiley:

"Mr Darcy watched Elizabeth and her sisters work their way outward, beheading zombie after zombie as they went."

The portrayal of the Bennet sisters as hardened warriors adds an even deeper element to Elizabeth's pride, Jane's goodness of heart and Lydia's self-importance. The contrast between Mr Bennet's cynicism and Mrs Bennet's foolishness is further demonstrated by Mr Bennet's desire to keep his daughters alive and Mrs Bennet's desire to see them well married.

I do hold some criticism for Grahame-Smith's work though. I found myself tsk-tsking like an old women at the crass and tawdry humour of Mr Darcy's comments and was rather disappointed in Grahame-Smith for sinking as low as to insert a 'balls' joke into my beloved Austen. Whilst I am now quite satisfied that zombies do belong in Meryton, crude jokes should most certainly not be involved. Grahame-Smith's comedy was at times schoolboy in its language. Show some restraint and reverence Mr Grahame-Smith!

However, what I missed most from Austen's original was...the comma. Having studied Pride and Prejudice (without Zombies) in great depth, I fell in love with the comma, and have taken to using it liberally, AS IT SHOULD BE. This is what a comma looks like:

Surely they taught you that as a child, Seth?

Still, I find it hard to fault this man and his 'work' (although in reality the majority of the original text stands unchanged and as beautiful as always). Indeed, Grahame-Smith amendments almost serve to make the original text more wonderful than ever, high praised indeed from a die-hard Austenian like myself.

Angels and Demons

2009-05-27T11:42:00.013+01:00

Warning: spoilers ahead!

Angels and Demons was always going to be a controversial plot. Murder within the Vatican by the Camerlengo is certainly sure to ruffle a few feathers but the film seems to have upset fewer people than expected. Unlike the Da Vinci Code, the Vatican has announced no boycott against the film - in actual fact, the Vatican newspaper gave Dan Brown's film a positive review.

I must admit that I found it to be exceedingly entertaining. However, this is most possibly due to the low expectations I had when going to see the movie which has been panned by critics.

Whilst the plot line certainly does burl about at quite a speed, I found myself able to follow it along at a reasonable pace and understood the majority of what was happening. It probably helps that I read the book a few years back (although I had completely forgotten the plot and fell hook, line and sinker for Ewan McGregor's Camerlengo and his rather cliched self-sacrifice in the face of annihilation of the forces of good. Of course, good writers never leave things so straightforward. Where would the fun be if the reader/viewer could predict everything that happened?

The plot of Angels and Demons centres around an ancient sect, the Illuminati, or Perfectibilists as they preferred to be called in reality. Whilst Dan Brown's Illuminati have little tangible similarities with the genuine organisation (whose members supposedly have included notable characters like Churchill and Rockefeller) the idea of a secret organisation infiltrating world organisations and controlling universal politics is undoubtedly fascinating, if not a little unbelievable and, dare I say it, unoriginal.

The Illuminati follow the same stereotypical history or repression and bitter struggle against the Church as the Knights Templar depicted in The Da Vinci Code. However, what makes them markedly different is their methods of offensive action in contrast with the Templar's meticulous concealment.

Modernity conflicting with traditional values is the centre pillar holding Brown's plot line up. For thrills he relies on the excitement of revealing glimpses at a world so guarded and secretive that only a select handful of people have any comprehension of it. For me, glimpses at what the Vatican Library may look like and the Cardinal's conclave is what makes Angels and Demons such a success. Secret societies are all very well and good but when we know that things exist just beyond our reach, almost close enough to sense, that is when interest is caught. On a more personal note, I greatly enjoyed the scenes of the Cardinals due to my growing up around Cardinal Keith Patrick O'Brien. Whilst I never took to him myself and renounced my faith at an early age, as any child would be, I was enamoured by the pomp and prestige of a man so powerful and so important to the beliefs of so many. Politicians can never have as much importance as religious and spiritual leaders. Brown plays on this fact and not only attacks the Church in Angels and Demons but murders the Pope, absolute leader of one of the world's strongest religions.

The Cardinal Keith Patrick O'Brien

Further demonstrating his understanding of the human psyche, Brown's plot also plays on the 'Doomsday Complex', inherent in all human beings. Such is our fear of the apocalypse that Brown displays it in three separate ways in his book: the gradual disintegration of civilised society and our abandonment of human dignities, the family and political order; the attempted act of terrorism masterminded by the Camerlengo against Vatican City and the fear that such an attack would (and has done elsewhere) cause; and the potential for the literal end of the world, as presented by the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva.

What I don't understand is why the Church seems to be so against such acts of scientific advancement. I can concede that their condemnation of the God Complex is justifiable but when the Church has received such criticism and derision in the past due to its ridiculous anti-scientific views (the world is of course flat...) I can see little reason to halt their support of such experiments. Their argument surely can't be that the Large Hadron Collider could end life on Earth - after all, we're all going to heaven or hell for all eternity, aren't we?

Whilst I can never quite support the aging Tom Hanks in the role of hero, I can't exactly criticise it either. His voice is as magnificent as ever and the conviction he has for his lines shows. Again, I wasn't thrilled by Ayelet Zurer's Vittoria Vetra. The Catholic officials were more successfully portrayed and I adored the sweet sincerity of Thure Lindhardt, whom I have been a fan of since Into the Wild.

Angels and Demons certainly isn't cinematographic perfection - far from it but I think that is an unfair expectation. It is what it is, just like the book it is based on, a fun, fast-paced confrontational drama. I defy anybody not to enjoy it.

Stephen Wiltshire

2009-05-22T04:49:00.001+01:00

Nolite te bastardes carobrundorum = don't let the bastards keep you down.

And autistic savant Stephen Wiltshire certainly hasn't. He has overcome autism, a disability known for its crippling effects and become one of the best - if not the best - cityscape artist of our time. More than that, he can smile and chat to his admirers. His work is incredible; mind-boggling; flawless; accurate.

Some have dubbed Wiltshire a 'human camera' for his ability to recollect buildings and recreate them perfectly on paper. He has drawn panoramas of London, Rome, Hong Kong and Frankfurt on massive canvases in short periods of time after viewing the cities for only a few minutes from helicopter.

His cityscapes have, for me at least, redefined urban landscapes as beautiful, interesting, fascinating places. Through Wiltshire's eyes I can see cities as a place of comfort, safety and never-changing security. Experts believe that Wiltshire's obvious love for city scenes has been a product of his autism: he feels security in never-altering buildings and I can see why.
Wiltshire struggled with speech as a child, as do many autistics. It wasn't until he discovered art that his vocabulary began to grow and Stephen became liberated. His talent as a child was astonishing and led to fame, unimaginable for most mentally disabled people. It also led to his being declared a 'savant', similar to the Rain Man Kim Peek. When Wiltshire drew this drawing of the Kremlin (on a visit to Russia), he was only a child:

His drawings are startlingly accurate and his talent reminds me of a young Picasso.
Such prodigious talent at such a young age and with such difficulties? Stephen Wiltshire can only improve from here.

My lovely shiny new template...

2009-05-22T03:53:00.003+01:00

My most sincere thanks go out to Jecca for not only helping (and greatly impressing me) with her knowledge of code formatting, but for showing cynical old me that there are people (sorry, jedis) out there who are willing to help out virtual strangers for nothing more than being called a Grand Master, the biggest ((((((((((Internet hugs)))))))))) ever and warm fuzzies from knowing that they are awesome!

Thank you, thank you, thank you :-)

My Sister's Keeper

2009-05-22T01:33:00.005+01:00

I just lent my friend Fiona a copy of Jodi Picoult's My Sister's Keeper. Part of me feels like a lending library: a source of enlightenment, passing out my knowledge to my friends. The other part is just a teeny tiny bit ashamed. As much as I would like to be able to claim that I was a cultured and artistic person, I am forced to admit that I love nonsense chick-lits and have a strange obsession with Australian soap opera; Home and Away is sheer genius.

Its been awhile since I've read any Picoult (although my I have several of her books) but what always strikes me about each novel is just how well-researched they are. I often get the impression that some writers are 'winging-it'; making it up as they go along. But Jodi, despite being a book-writing conveyor belt, has a way of realising each of her plots in magnificent detail.

And I haven't even mentioned her innate ability for plot-twists. No Jodi Picoult book has a generic ending and the last few scenes are almost always a revelation. That takes quite a knack as a writer - to be able to hold your reader captive until right at the very end of the book? I wouldn't mind that kinda skill myself!

I guess that is why her novels are now being adapted for the silver screen. My Sister's Keeper hits on so many topics relevant to today's society (as do many of Picoult's other novels - Nineteen Minutes focuses on the culture of bullying in today's high schools and the deep impact it can have; Keeping Faith focuses on our rejection of religion and press obsession with the unusual; The Tenth Circle looks at date-rape and the truth; Mercy discussed the controversial idea of euthanasia). In one novel we examine the family dynamic, the right of a child to control his or her own body, genetic engineering, problem children, teenage rebellion...

Warning: spoilers ahead!

As a two-year-old Kate Fitzgerald is diagnosed with leukemia, every parent's worst nightmare, as I experienced first-hand when my one-year-old neighbour was diagnosed with the same cancer.

However, the diagnosis is far from the hardest part of the Fitzgerald family's journey, for they take the controversial step of conceiving a genetically engineered child, Anna, to save their first daughter Kate.

This decision, is an easy one to criticise (or an easy one to praise?) but no person can claim to know how they would act in the same situation. A doctor offers you a chance to save your beloved daughter and welcome another child to your family? The appeal is obvious. The negatives only come after further examination. As a young child Anna is subjected to medical procedures and surgeries. As a healthy child with a disabled elder sister, I can't imagine submitting a child to such treatment. Would my parents have ever made the decision to use me as a medical convenience store? A little bone marrow here, a kidney there...I'd certainly like to hope that they wouldn't have, much in the same way that, as a seventeen-year-old adult, I would like to believe that I would make the decision myself to help Sarah in any way I could.

Picoult's ability to make us question our own reactions and her genuine relatability, lend her novels something rather more touching than your standard modern novel. Picoult understands that shaving your head for somebody you love can be the most loving gesture you can make - but how many of us could make it? I'm not entirely sure I could.

But Picoult's true genius has to lie in her ability to reveal astonishing twists at the very last minute. My favourite Picoult ending has to be in Keeping Faith. I read the book several years ago and still find myself wondering from time to time whether or not Faith was telling the truth about seeing God. She had stigmata, she quoted the Bible, she spoke in tongues for goodness sake...but all the same...To be able to leave such a long-lasting impression in a reader is an incredible talent. And to be able to repeat the feat time and time again?

So no, no I should not feel a teeny weeny bit ashamed at liking Jodi Picoult because she is quite frankly one of the most complex and inspiring writers of our time. I completely adore her.

An Introduction

2009-05-21T23:17:00.002+01:00

There's an inordinate amount of pressure associated with the first post you make to your blog. It sets the tone, pace and direction of all your future posts after all.

Do I want to be witty or serious? Dry or silly? Am I going to review for the general public or am I keeping an online diary? Well, nothing in life is ever easy. Choices are the most scary things but once they're made the fuss and panic caused by them almost always seems ridiculous. Well, that's how it works for me. I worry over the silliest little problem (should I wear my hair up or down tonight?!) in order to avoid the nasty 'big picture'. Shudder...

That's where this blog got it's name: Every Little Thing. I don't want to have to choose between reviewing and recording. Why can't I mix a little of everything? So, here goes: my mad attempt to blog about every little thing that I can ever conceive to type about. I warn you now, my mind works in bizarre and speedy ways!

Anyway, to anybody who this matters to - happy reading! I would be inordinately delighted to receive comment. That is one comment, not thousands! Oh, and views wouldn't be disastrous...after all blogging is no better than talking to myself if nobody reads my posts. No way I want to look more insane...

So I should probably start with a little about myself. I'm seventeen and I live in my head. I'm addicted to the therapeutic affects of yoga, I make the best sandwiches you'll ever try, I have an obsession with African elephants, I consider myself a totally socially-functioning geek and I am madly good at air-guitar.