The Ocean and Carolina

Yesterday I did my first field trip and went to Dundee, the nearest town. Not much of a town, but with a well equipped Borders bookstore. Bought five books, The Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri (short stories by one of my favourite writers), Netherland by Joseph O'Neill (a novel), Ascent by Jed Mercurio (part novel, part historical fact), God is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens (on religion, or rather, Hitchens' attack on religion) and The Daily Druckerby Peter Drucker (about management). Ascent was an impulse, but the others were books I've been meaning to get for some time now but haven't for various reasons. But now the gloves are off. My three years in St Andrews will not only be spent on film, but on all the things that interest me. The aim is to expand all my intellectual horizons. (And besides, I got a 20% student discount.)

But I also found the time for an evening celebrating the Bengal film tradition, with wine, dance and a screening of Satyajit Ray's film Devi (1960).

And I bought the weekend's issue of The Guardian, which I will sink my teeth into now. The luxury of living in Britain.

Another luxury is living next to the ocean. I've been going there every evening, when it's dark and quiet, and I stand there and listen to the waves, all alone. It's a wonderful feeling, very relaxing. Soothing. This time I went right after I'd chatted with Carolina. Now that's a way of ending your day!

The photos are from Deans Court where I live. The garden, and the door from the garden to my house.

Back home

It's business as usual. Running, bonding, sleeping, eating, washing and sweating. Still hot.

I'm sorting out my personal archive together with Helene. Stuff written by me, or to me, or newspaper articles I've saved, it's all being organized finally. Now it's like my whole life is spread out on the floor, or at least the last 19 years. There's been a lot of that lately, and it's both nostalgic and interesting. To see both how I've changed and how I haven't.

Another nostalgic thing is to watch The Cosby Show on TV. Haven't seen it for 20 years maybe but on one of the many channels the airwaves are littered with these days, they're showing the old episodes again. It's not the best in television history (although very influential), but it's comforting to watch. Soothing somehow. It's weird though how much the acting abilities differ among the cast.

I've finished reading Wilfred Thesiger. I liked the book a lot. At one point he's trying to get some sleep in the cold desert night. He's very hungry and even more thirsty and is feeling miserable. But then he asks himself if there's some place he'd rather be and when he realizes that the answer to that question is No, he relaxes, stops feeling sorry about himself and falls asleep.

And from Thesiger I've moved on to C.P. Snow. I'm now on my third of his Strangers and Brothers novels, The Affair. It's not great literature but he's sharp and knowledgable and they're unputdownable. After reading them you almost feel like you're a Fellow at Cambridge yourself, and that the selection of a new Master (as in The Masters) are among the most important things in your life.

By the way, I hope you know I have a film blog as well? Fredrik on Film. Go nuts!

Rain and Tea and Influences

It's been a windy day and now it's raining. Soon my tea is ready and I will drink it whilst either reading Surfing the Zeitgeist, a collection of Gilbert Adair's culture criticism from the 1990s, or watching the last episode of David Attenborough's The Trials of Life. 

Adair is occasionally confusing, such as when he says that there's no such thing as television history (because according to Adair there has never been a classic tv-series or classic show which has stood the test of time like old movies have, which if you ask me is just poppycock) but more often than not he's rather brilliant.

Attenborough is never less than brilliant, but more on him later. He is after all one of the defining individuals in my life, outside friends and family. (Others that belong in that category are Alfred Hitchcock, François Truffaut, Enid Blyton and Jan Lindblad.)

don't think of me

It's late, I'm drinking tea and listening to Dido. When I was in Auckland, New Zeeland, in 2002 I spent a lot of time at the big Border bookstore which also sold music and where you could listen to the albums for free. Dido was what I listened to most, Dido and Mano Chau.

I've got a new bed, much bigger that my previous, and it feels good. I've got some books with me in bed, four of them actually, lying on top of each other, and when I wake up, I don't want to leave the bed but stay there the whole day. If it wasn't for the warmth and the sun I probably would. Apparently it's going to rain on Monday so...

Right now I'm reading Temptations of the West: How to be Modern in India, Pakistan and Beyond  by Pankaj Mishra and Britton on Film - The Complete Film Criticism by Andrew Britton. The first one is excellent, Mishra is a favourite. He's writing about politics in South Asia, both on a personal level and on a national level. Here he's slightly repetitive, which may be due to the fact that the book as a collection of essays previously published in various newspapers and magazines, and now re-edited for a book. 

Andrew Britton is also good, when writing about films. When writing about politics he's much less astute. It's the other way around with Mishra.

Maeby and Locke

A dog is a man's shoes best friend.

There was a time when I didn't much care for dogs. That was before Maeby. Now I care about very little else. There's so much love in her it's sometimes unbearable, if for no other reason than that she is so very physical in expressing it. After a few hours no part of my skin which she's been able to reach with her tongue and her teeth (that is my face, ears, neck, arms and hands) is left unmolested. It's a good thing I'm not her owner but only her very good friend.

I had a cold last week but now I'm well and good again. Not very eager to get back to work though, so it's a good thing I have 26 days of paid vacation which I must take advantage of before the last of June. There will not be many office hours the coming month.

I've bought myself some books, and begun reading one called Locke, unsurprisingly about Locke, the British philosopher from the 17th century. Always had a soft spot for him so it's about time I read a book entirely devoted to him. Have read a fourth of it and I like it.

Other than that I spend most of my time listening to Pet Shop Boys. They're so very very good. 

post easter post

When I wrote about Israel some weeks ago I was worried about Kadima not getting a seat in the government. Now it seems everybody but Kadima is in the new government. We'll see how that pans out, But it doesn't really matter who's in charge as long as the peace process, such as there is, continues and gives birth to something lasting. 

It's finally warm here and I've started running. It's going very well and it feels good, very fulfilling and satisfying. I'm simultaneously reading Haruki Murakami's book I wrote about in my last blog post, which is also fulfilling and satisfying. For some reason I only read it in the bathtub, bathing. Oh, well.

I've also finished reading Cosmopolitanism, which I also mentioned in my previous blog post. It was slightly disappointing. It's written by a professor at Princeton University, Kwame Anthony Appiah, a philosopher, and I had expected more. I agreed with most of what he wrote, in fact I've written myself most of the same things he wrote. But shouldn't he, with all his experience and age, gone farther than me? On the other hand, if he can write a book like that, so can I. One of these days I'm gonna. The working title is at the moment Transit.

more time and more keys

I think finally I'm beginning to get it all together (including my keys) and can actually allow myself some time off, doing idle things. I even had a bath yesterday. Fancy that. Whilst bathing I began reading Haruki Murakami's latest, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. It's not a novel but his own thoughts about his life, especially his life as a runner. It seems amiable enough. 

I've also begun reading Cosmopolitanism, by Kwame Anthony Appiah. I feel strongly that it's a book for me. I'll tell you later if it is. Just let me finish it.

I'm working on my application for St Andrews. It's going quite well. A bit back and forth, but that's to be expected I suppose. And it's very inspiring, just thinking about it, and a lot of ideas for articles and papers are popping up in my head. Right now I feel like I can do anything, and not only academically and creatively, but socially as well. It's a good feeling, and I hope it lasts. 

time and keys

When coming home, realising that you and your key are no longer together is not the most joyful of discoveries. But I'm keeping my upper lip stiff. I suppose the key decided to spend the weekend at the office. It's a good thing I have relatives with spare keys.

These last three weeks have been intense and hectic to say the least. First four days in London, which were packed with meetings, museums, plays and films, most of it related to Ingmar Bergman. Not the film though, that was Joseph H. Lewis' magnificent and outrageous Gun Crazy from 1949. It's has such master of framing and camerawork it's uncanny, and the sexual tension between John Dall and Peggy Cummins is quite something.

And after London, four big projects at work have been taking up all my time. And then there was my mother's 60th birthday and... well, you get the idea. But it has been fun almost every single minute of every single day. And that's not bad . Not bad at all.

Last I wrote I mentioned Michael Chabon's Gentlemen of the Road. I've now read it, and it was rather good. But it was my third book by Chabon, and every time I've been slightly disappointed. It's like they're not as good as they should've been. But I haven't given up yet. Soon I'll sink my teeth into The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. I've also read P.J. O'Rourke's book about Adam Smith, which I enjoyed immensely. By the way, O'Rourke's piece in The Atlantic, about the future and the fact that we seem to have lost faith in it, is among the best articles I've written in a long time.

In Israel they still haven't manage to form a government. But apparently Kadima is out of the picture for the time being. I'm worried. But the new administration in Washington is making some promising sounds. And speaking of international politics, it's appaling and terrifying how Pakistan is deteriorating further and further, whilst the politicians are more inclined to beat up lawyers than tackle insurgents and terrorists, not to mention the fast diminising economy. What if it becomes a failed state? Then where would they be? Or we? 

I have Pankaj Mishra's Temptations of the West - How to be Modern in India, Pakistan and Beyond right next to me, and I'll probably start reading it over the weekend. I love his writing, what little I've read so far, and I have great hopes for this collection.

But now it's time for tea. Bon weekend!

Time, and it's Quickness

It's already the 8th of February and it seems to me it was Christmas just the other day. What's that all about?

Last I wrote I complained about being at work but, as predicted, the next day went by in high spirits. I'm feeling confident and happy and it's ever so nice. It also helps that the atmosphere at the office is warm and playful. At my previous job on the other hand it seems it's been going downhill since I left. It's a shame actually.

Today I've seen Casablanca on the big screen, with a new print. It's certainly not the best of movies (and Howard Hawks' superficially similar To Have and Have Not made two years later is ever so much better), but it's still a very good film. It works on three levels: as a romantic thriller, as a political allegory about the Second World War and, today, as a mythological story which everybody knows and which has become a part of everyday life, with the music, the characters and the dialogue having a life of it's own. It has a kind of aura around it that very few films have. It's also a triumph of atmosphere and setting with Michael Curtiz' raw poetry being the perfect complement to the mixture of heartfelt romance and hilarious cynicism.

While I'm on the subject of the Second World War... I've also finished reading Unconditional Surrender. It's, as I've said, the last part of Evelyn Waugh's war trilogy Sword of Honour and it gets darker and more tragic as it progresses, up to its devastating climax. It's very good, and it made me want to reread Brideshead Revisited, still Waugh's masterpiece.

My next book is Gentlemen of the Road, by Michael Chabon. More on that later. Now I'd like to eat some crackers.

Beauty and the Ocean

There was precious little eating and maybe even less sleeping during my weekend, but that was only because there was so much fun going on I didn't particularly want to, or felt the need. And living with Lisa was a delight. She's delightful so that shouldn't have come as a surprise but still, you never know, do you?

There were a lot of strong emotions involved as well. For starters a very dear friend told me she and her girlfriend are getting married and I was surprised by the joy I felt, and the tears. There's so much beauty in the world all of a sudden, where was it two years ago? 

I had two perfect film experiences as well, Frost/Nixon and The Song of the Sparrows.

Today's been a long, rather tiresome, day at the office. I did my stuff on autopilot, still not recovered from the shock of being back there. Tomorrow will be better. I'm prepared now.

Now I think I'll read the last pages of Unconditional Surrender. It's good. Very good in fact. But first I'll listen to Sophie Zelmani. The Ocean and Me.

Remembrances and trilogies

There never seems to be enough time, and I'm always thinking about all the things I want to do but never actually get around to. Like write an enchanting blog in English. But I just realized that since I actually already have one; albeit one I haven't written on for quite some time, why not continue the good work I once started.

So here I go again. Let's see for how long I manage to keep it up this time.

Tomorrow I'm going to the film festival in Gothenburg with my friend Lisa. It's a business trip but I'll try to see some films of my own choosing as well. The film festival is always one of the highlights of the year and I see no reason why this year should be different. It's also the first time me and Lisa go on a trip together and it'll be interesting to see if that pans out. The longest we've been alone together before is a couple of hours and now it's for four days.

I've just begun reading Unconditional Surrender, the last part of Sword of Honour, Evelyn Waugh's trilogy about the Second World War, or rather about Guy Crouchback's experiences during said war. The first two parts were amiable enough and I'm looking forward to finishing this one as well.

Easter Bunny

I've been celebrating Easter like there's no tomorrow, and I've been having a ball. Things are good, but, alas, time is short. But I'm still here, only not so much. Soon days will come when I will be writing more, and who knows, maybe even publish some photographs.

Always one for trying new things, I today twitted, or whatever it is called. There doesn't seem to be much fun in that, but time will tell, it always does. If you want to twitt(?), go to twitter.com, and see for yourself.

And now, I'm off to do some reading in my bed, although the hour is late. Tonight's book is Mr. Potter by Jamaica Kincaid.

Phones and Essays

I bought a cordless phone the other day, and I feel like it's the beginning of a new era. I've been meaning to get one since forever, and now, finally, freedom has arrived. Since I'm so very seldom home, I have only used it twice so far, but it felt good.

When not talking on the phone. I'm supposed to be writing on an essay. It's not all that funny, not because it's difficult, but because it's boring. But I'm in no hurry, so I can afford myself the luxury of going about it slowly.

I'm no longer as sad and upset as I was when last I wrote. Now the feeling that lingers on is loneliness, not actually sadness. And loneliness is easier to handle than sadness. One thing though is making it harder, and that is the time of year. I wonder when it will be warm again, when winter will vanish. Loneliness comes easier when it's cold and dark outside.

I'm reading For Whom the Bell Tolls at the moment, and I love it, and I feel like I always want to carry a copy of it with me. Some books by Hemingway have that effect on me, like I want to pat them, after I've finished reading them. I wonder why.

A Rather Moving Story

Here's yet another photograph from Paris, of a particular boulangerie, or bakery. On the right you can see the back of my darling J.

I'm moving tomorrow, so this evening I'm putting away all my books and cds in boxes. I don't like that. My books are not to be put in boxes, they are to be read, or to be put on display in bookshelves. If possible I would prefer to take one book at a time, move them all separately. I wonder if anyone would volunteer to help?

When Francois Truffaut was a young man he left all his beloved books to a friend, for him to guard, while petit Francois was in custody. One day he got a letter from his poor friend, who told him that he had sold most of the books in order to get some desperately needed money. When reading that story my heart ached. For both of them.

Only one week left at work now. Will I sleep for a whole week after Christmas, or just the half week?

It's Friday, and I wish you all a jolly weekend.

Neighbours and Novels

One month from today I'm moving, and I'm very happy about that. But one good thing about my present location is that it always makes for good dinner conversation. Here's a priest who gives wild parties every other week, elevators that work at random, plumbing that works even more seldom, weird transvestites who occasionally comes barging in, demanding that I stop walking around without socks in my apartment, and that I stop vacuum cleaning in the middle of the night (my angry denial of such vile deeds was met with the comment "yeah, whatever"). To get to the nearest bus station, please to walk through the underground parking lot of a hospital. So part of me will miss this crazy building, affectionately known (at least in the good old days) as Chlamydia Tower.

I'm still reading The Namesake, by Jhumpa Lahiri. I love it, it's so real and nuanced. I feel every breath of the characters, I can see them, smell them, I know them better than I know myself. When I read it I feel like I'm there, with them. I am Nikhil (or Gogol, as he was called when young).

I like to read a book which engage you so much that afterwards you have memories of things, that you only after a little while realises are not your memories, but things that happened in the book that you read. The first part of Fasting, Feasting, by Anita Desai, takes place in India, in a big house, and I feel like I have been there. I have been sitting on that porch on agonisingly hot days, watching the air shiver in the sun.

Jhumpa Lahiri has won the Pulitzer Prize, I wonder when I will.

Dark Evenings, Dark Chocolate, Dark Matter

Tonight I've been on a release party for a book I contributed to. Maybe party is too strong a word, but there were some people gathered for the occasion. My contribution was proof reading, of which, alas, a lot was needed.

Afterwards the sun had set and it was dark outside. Soon it will be dark when I go to work and dark when I leave work. It's not the most cheerful of seasons, but at least it's cozy to snuggle up in bed with a good book (which disqualifies the book mentioned above), or maybe have a candlelit dinner. Candles are much more efficient for setting the mood when it's dark outside after all.

While in bed, or after dinner, you could do a lot worse than eat some dark chocolate. It should be about 55 - 60% cocoa, although it all depends on the quality of the beans, and the mixture of other ingredients. If ice cream is my summertime drug, chocolate is my autumn and winter's.

While we are on the subject of dark, apparently the existence of dark matter is finally proved positive. This is something that really intrigues me. Everywhere there is matter, which is perfectly visible to the eye. In fact, everything you do see is matter. But then there is dark matter, which you can't see, but which also is everywhere, even more abundant than regular matter. Since you can't see it, it has only been a theory, to be found in mathematics and physics. But maybe scientists have at last "seen" it, or the effect it has on it's surroundings. It's like the colour black. You can't see black, since no light is reflected from it to your eye. But you see everything around it, and so you see black as well, as the defined nothingness in between all the other colours.

And now I think I'll make myself a cup of black tea. See you soon!

Out of the Woods

Since last I posted here I have been out in the countryside, where, among other things, I have been swimming in a rather cold lake. There has been no phones and no disturbances. It was ever so nice, even if it was only for three days. I wish I had a place such as that on my own, so I didn't have to be dependent on friends and relatives. You see, the life of Thoreau, by Walden Pond, has always had a strong appeal to me. It still has, but now I'm beginning to view things a little different. He says in Walden that "Above all, as I have implied, the man who goes alone can start to-day; but he who travels with another must wait till that other is ready, and it may be a long time before they get off." It might very well be true, and I have lived my life feeling the same way, but now I feel that maybe the joy of company does compensate for the longer wait.

At the same time, the Pope has made some clumsy remarks about Islam and it's violent past. As a response Al-Qaida in Iraq has threatened to wage Holy War, and to kill all infidels (here). Now, if that doesn't prove the Pope wrong, than nothing will. When will they get off? There seems to be no end to stupidity, vanity and insanity in the world. It's like it's all a big game, and the less responsibility you take, the greater is the chance that you might win, or rather, be considered a winner. If by no one else, that at least by yourself. I wonder what motivated the officers who took power in Thailand. It would be a sad state of affairs if they turned out to be more responsible than the flashy premiership of Thaksin Shinawatra has been. (read more here).