Judging me, judging you (Aha!)

I've just recently finished reading The Quarry by Iain Banks, his last novel. I put off reading it for a while because I assumed that it would be quite upsetting for me to read, knowing that the story was about a man dying of cancer, written by a man who has recently died of cancer. And not just any man, but someone who was, to me at least, a literary hero. Many authors I love were long since dead before I had even heard of them, so it was nice to have an author who was still about and still writing, although many of his recent books, whilst still saying something interesting about the human condition, did not reach the awesome heights of The Crow Road, Complicity or The Wasp Factory for me. Having said that, The Quarry, is, in my opinion, his best book for a while, which just makes it all the more bittersweet that it was his last. The aspect of the novel that struck me the deepest, apart from the ‘facing your own mortality’ facet, was the complex nature of the feelings that the character who was dying, Guy, had towards his old friends. The way he moaned at and about his friends, his frustration towards them combined with a sense of belonging and nostalgia, was very familiar to me. It felt like a very honest account of what it truly is to love a friend. Because I do get frustrated with my friends, hurt by them, I feel in reaction to their choices as though those choices they were my own. I find it hard to be measured and rational in response to their actions because I’m utterly emotionally invested in them. I hold them to same high standard that I fail to live up to myself. This is not because I see my friends as useless, it is because, to me, they are awesome, and yet they often don’t seem to realise it. They have all this potential and intelligence and ability, and I want them to reach for the stars, and that is why I get frustrated when they underestimate themselves.

A work in progress...

'A writer writes, always.'* Except, that is, when that writer is tired, bored, hungry, at work, excited, upset, stressed, content or distracted by even the slightest thing, such as an unusually shaped orange, or something equally inane.

The problem is that there are literally thousands of things to do other than write, and sometimes, it feels impossible to sit still and concentrate for long enough to do anything constructive or useful. Although I seem to find an inordinate amount of time to play Fruit Ninja, which is neither constructive, nor useful, although it is bizarrely satisfying all the same.

'The night was humid....muggy...cold...dark...squamous?'

Ideology of the Individual

Where do our beliefs come from? To begin with, during childhood, our belief system is likely to be based on the belief systems of our parents, after all, they seem to manage to exist in the big wide world following those beliefs, they must have some idea of what they are doing, surely? This idea that we need to look to others to form our beliefs, particularly in early life, is reinforced by the fact that children, as a rule, are not really listened to or believed as often as they should be. Any beliefs I held as a child were considered, by the adult population for the most part, to be naive or fantastical. I think this is because children are not really considered reliable sources of information, because any real beliefs, from an adult perspective, must surely be learned through years of arduous trial and error. That idea is, I reckon, a half-truth. The beliefs we have developed as adults tend to go through a process of change and renewal as we experience more and they are put to the test, time and again. But we must not forget that children view the world in a far more honest manner, they tend to call things as they see them. That is something we train ourselves out of as we mature, for the sake of other people's feelings or differing perspectives. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it could serve to remind us that children should be listened to. Their perspectives are not necessarily wrong, but without the prejudice of years under their belts.

‘Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary’*

I am at the top of a rollercoaster. I mean figuratively of course, not literally, although that would be cool. I have that feeling in my stomach that you get just before the drop, because that’s where I am, just before the drop.

‘It’s impossible to be unhappy in a poncho’

I never have been a dedicated follower of fashion. Even when I tried to be, when I was much younger, I was always two steps behind. Or I found that whatever the fashion was, it didn’t suit me, so I couldn’t carry it off. I mean fashion as a concept across the board here, rather than just clothes. So to be more specific, by ‘fashion’ or ‘fashionable’ I mean whatever is popular or current. I long ago learnt that the only comedy I could watch was that which made me laugh out loud, the only music I could listen to was that which spoke to me, the only clothes I could wear were those that suited my figure and my style, even if all of the above were decades behind the trend.

Kaijus, Jaegers and a distinct lack of spoilers...

I have planned to write a post about Pacific Rim since I saw the film, a few weeks ago now. I wanted to recommend that you see it at the cinema, in full 3D Imax glory whilst it was still running. Unfortunately I think I may have missed the boat on that one. I left it too long, and as time passed, whilst my love for the film remained, my argument as to why you should see it above any others became a bit hazy. Try as I might, I just wasn’t feeling this one. The only way to write a post like that is to do it with a fire in your belly. Being the dumbass that I can be sometimes, I left it too long and the fire receded to a smoulder. I had effectively boxed myself into a corner, I promised myself I’d make it the topic for the next post and I even referenced it in my last post. I’ve written other posts in the meantime, and held them back (still holding, it’s nice to have a few arrows in the quiver!) I thought the moment had truly passed, that was, until I saw Kick-Ass 2, and then I remembered what my argument was all about.

'I give a little to you, I give a little to him, I give a little to her' * Making a Connection (also known as Falling in Love)

Amongst all the other weird and wonderful things that have been going on recently, I’ve been thinking about two things that I keep coming back around to. The first thing on my mind has been the role of an artist, the impact they have on the world around them and the impact that the world has on them. The second thing is Iain Banks, or more specifically, the recent passing of Iain Banks. The latter is something that I’ve mostly put to the back of my mind, because, quite frankly, the thought of it makes me feel sad. I didn’t know the man, I was once lucky enough to meet him, but it was a moment just like thousands of others for him and on no level do I claim the right of grief that people who actually did know him will be experiencing. But I can’t escape the fact that Iain Banks was, is, one of my literary heroes. If you have ever read my blog before you will know this well enough. So, because I don’t see it as a personal loss or upset that I have to bear, I’ve just opted not to think about it. I thought this was the best way to deal with it, or not deal with it as the case may be.