In a recent episode of Bones, Cam was much exercised about her daughter, Michelle, who’s about to go to university. Michelle, we are given to understand is an academic hot-shot, red-hot brainy and uber-bright and should, therefore, be a prime candidate for seriously academic universities such as John Hopkins.
The trouble is that the aforesaid academic hot-shot, red-hot brainy, uber-bright Michelle doesn’t want to go to John Hopkins or any of the other uni’s that Cam’s chosen. She wants to apply to a much lower-grade university at the far end of nowhere because her boyfriend is going there.
This all rang lots of bells with me, because daughter Lucy is in the middle of choosing a university. And, being bright, she hasn’t lost sleep about where her boyfriend’s going, she concentrating on the courses being offered. The writers of Bones set it up as conflict between Cam’s ambitions and Michelle’s desires, with a touchy-feely ending where Michelle, as she’s an academic hot-shot etc., etc., is bound to make the right decision and all Cam has to do is trust her. Fluffy fade-out.
Yeah, right. Seriously intelligent people can make bad mistakes and going to a duff uni is one of them. I think the trouble is, that the writers didn’t seem to have any real idea of what being dead bright is actually like. We’re not told how Michelle’s intelligence manifests itself, for instance. Is she entranced by language, fascinated by physics, haunted by history, bewitched by biology? No, she’s just Bright. About everything? Well, that can certainly happen, therefore the poor kid should have gone through hoops trying to decide what to study. Does she ever say words to the effect of, “If I go to X uni, I can study with Professor Y. S/he’s written the book about earthworms, is this close to finding the composition of a black hole, knows more about the Georgians than anyone else,” or whatever? No.
It’s a pity, especially on a series like Bones which centres round a very bright scientist, (Ms) Temperance (Bones) Brennan and her cohorts at the Jefferson. But Temperance Brennan, though nice, is seriously odd. There’s a lot of fun in Bones with her Mr Spock-like literal approach to social situations which I thoroughly enjoy. But nobody would want to be Bones, she’s so socially inept. Because, you can dress it up however you like, there’s still this idea in popular TV that very intelligent people (women especially) are somehow strange. Popular TV can really make a difference to teenagers, providing a powerful role model that might be lacking at home. So can’t it be cool to be clever? And do the clever kids have to be dorks? Perhaps, as it makes us dumb types watching feel better about being dumb. But I, for one, could get over it. And I’m sure you could too.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
The King's Speech
I went to see The King’s Speech on Saturday. What a great film! Incidentally, going back to what we were saying about titles last time, what a terrific title, too. A well-known phrase that’s given an enhanced meaning is one of those titles which is so exactly right, nothing else would do. The King’s Speech is perfectly cast, brilliantly written and really does seem to strike a chord across all ages. 16 year old Jenny loved it, 23 year old Jessica loved it, plus all the Gordon-Smiths in between and my 88 year old Dad, which is some trick to pull off.
As everyone knows by now, the story is about Bertie, the future George the Sixth, who has a terrible stammer that can render him virtually dumb. As afflictions go, that might not seem too bad, but we’re immediately shown just what that means. Bertie is commanded by his father, King George the Fifth, to give the closing address at the massive Wembley Empire Exhibition, an address not only to the huge crowd but, through the medium of the BBC, to a quarter of the world’s population. And he can’t speak. As the silence lengthens, we can feel the poor man dying the death before the silent, waiting crowd.
How Bertie finds his voice makes enthralling viewing, as he reluctantly learns to trust the cheerfully irreverent Australian speech therapist, Lionel Logue. It’s a personal quest at first, prompted by his wife, Elizabeth, and then, with the Abdication crisis and the rise of Nazi Germany, the stakes get much higher. Bertie’s brother, the gifted, handsome, loquacious David, the man who should be king, who’d been beloved by society and the people all through the 20’s and 30’s, who brought glamour and style to the throne after the stodginess of George the Fifth, doesn’t want to be king. With war looming, he walks away from the job. Hitler (a man who was never stuck for words!) is inspiring the Germans to war. Bertie is the King and simply has to speak.
As I said, it’s perfectly written, cast and acted. The thing about really good acting, as with really good writing, is that, when you’re watching or reading, you’re living in the world. It’s only afterwards you realise how good the acting and writing has been. Helena Bonham-Carter (last seen as the gleefully over the top, completely barking, Bellatrix Lestrange) is outstanding. It’s a very subtle performance. It’d be easy, with such a personal film about royalty, to pretend that everyone is just dead ordinary really, that they’d actually be happier as Mrs Average living in a bungalow and all this fame nonsense is just for show. Helena Bonham-Carter doesn’t do that. We’re always aware of who she is and, at the same time, always rooting for her.
When The King’s Speech first came out I thought speech therapy sounded a really odd premise for a film. (I mean, where’s the conflict? Where’s the chase? Where’s the explosions? Where’s the story, for pete’s sake?) To work at all, it would have to be brilliantly done. It is.
As everyone knows by now, the story is about Bertie, the future George the Sixth, who has a terrible stammer that can render him virtually dumb. As afflictions go, that might not seem too bad, but we’re immediately shown just what that means. Bertie is commanded by his father, King George the Fifth, to give the closing address at the massive Wembley Empire Exhibition, an address not only to the huge crowd but, through the medium of the BBC, to a quarter of the world’s population. And he can’t speak. As the silence lengthens, we can feel the poor man dying the death before the silent, waiting crowd.
How Bertie finds his voice makes enthralling viewing, as he reluctantly learns to trust the cheerfully irreverent Australian speech therapist, Lionel Logue. It’s a personal quest at first, prompted by his wife, Elizabeth, and then, with the Abdication crisis and the rise of Nazi Germany, the stakes get much higher. Bertie’s brother, the gifted, handsome, loquacious David, the man who should be king, who’d been beloved by society and the people all through the 20’s and 30’s, who brought glamour and style to the throne after the stodginess of George the Fifth, doesn’t want to be king. With war looming, he walks away from the job. Hitler (a man who was never stuck for words!) is inspiring the Germans to war. Bertie is the King and simply has to speak.
As I said, it’s perfectly written, cast and acted. The thing about really good acting, as with really good writing, is that, when you’re watching or reading, you’re living in the world. It’s only afterwards you realise how good the acting and writing has been. Helena Bonham-Carter (last seen as the gleefully over the top, completely barking, Bellatrix Lestrange) is outstanding. It’s a very subtle performance. It’d be easy, with such a personal film about royalty, to pretend that everyone is just dead ordinary really, that they’d actually be happier as Mrs Average living in a bungalow and all this fame nonsense is just for show. Helena Bonham-Carter doesn’t do that. We’re always aware of who she is and, at the same time, always rooting for her.
When The King’s Speech first came out I thought speech therapy sounded a really odd premise for a film. (I mean, where’s the conflict? Where’s the chase? Where’s the explosions? Where’s the story, for pete’s sake?) To work at all, it would have to be brilliantly done. It is.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
What's in a name?
My pal, Jane Finnis, was talking about titles on her blog this week (see for yourself – it’s at
http://janefinnisblog.wordpress.com/)
The reason why Jane is pondering about titles is because Jane’s working on the fourth of her mysteries set in Roman Yorkshire (Yo!) and her publisher, not unreasonably you may feel, wants to know what the book’s going to be called. Jane eventually decided on Danger in the Wind which gives a nice frisson of lurking menace.
It’s amazing how hard it can be to come up with the right title. It has to be pithy, memorable, relevant to the book, a few words – maybe one word - that will jump out at the reader from the bookshop shelf and inspire them to part with hard-earned cash. Geez.
Names are often a good bet and carry their own baggage of expectation. You don’t pick up Emma, for instance thinking she’s going to turn into Dracula. (Which would be confusing but fun.) Or it may reflect the book’s theme: Pride and Prejudice or Death on the Nile.
In the heyday of the gothic novel, you could get away with titles such as Geralda, The Demon Nun, which could still be – just about – be used today. Joanna Polenipper, Female Horse Stealer, Foot-Pad, Smuggler, Prison Breaker and Murderer is probably too wordy for modern tastes but you’d be wrong in thinking that Joanna came to a bad end. At the end of the book, “Joanna was transported for her crimes, retrieved her character in Australia, married a rich settler and lived for many years respected and beloved by all who knew her.”
If you found Joanna’s unexpected embrace of virtue unsettling, you’d probably be better sticking to another novel of the 1830’s, Lovel Castle, where the anxious author told his readers exactly what they were getting: Lovel Castle, or The Rightful Heir Restored, a Gothic Tale Narrating how a Young Man, the supposed son of a Peasant, by a train of Unparalleled Circumstances, not only discovered who were his Real Parents, but that they came to Untimely Deaths; with his Adventures in the Haunted Apartment, Discovery of the Fatal Closet, and the Appearance of the Ghost of his murdered Father; relating also how the Murderer was brought to Justice, with his Confession and the restoration to the Injured Orphan of his title and estates.
They don’t write them like that any more.
http://janefinnisblog.wordpress.com/)
The reason why Jane is pondering about titles is because Jane’s working on the fourth of her mysteries set in Roman Yorkshire (Yo!) and her publisher, not unreasonably you may feel, wants to know what the book’s going to be called. Jane eventually decided on Danger in the Wind which gives a nice frisson of lurking menace.
It’s amazing how hard it can be to come up with the right title. It has to be pithy, memorable, relevant to the book, a few words – maybe one word - that will jump out at the reader from the bookshop shelf and inspire them to part with hard-earned cash. Geez.
Names are often a good bet and carry their own baggage of expectation. You don’t pick up Emma, for instance thinking she’s going to turn into Dracula. (Which would be confusing but fun.) Or it may reflect the book’s theme: Pride and Prejudice or Death on the Nile.
In the heyday of the gothic novel, you could get away with titles such as Geralda, The Demon Nun, which could still be – just about – be used today. Joanna Polenipper, Female Horse Stealer, Foot-Pad, Smuggler, Prison Breaker and Murderer is probably too wordy for modern tastes but you’d be wrong in thinking that Joanna came to a bad end. At the end of the book, “Joanna was transported for her crimes, retrieved her character in Australia, married a rich settler and lived for many years respected and beloved by all who knew her.”
If you found Joanna’s unexpected embrace of virtue unsettling, you’d probably be better sticking to another novel of the 1830’s, Lovel Castle, where the anxious author told his readers exactly what they were getting: Lovel Castle, or The Rightful Heir Restored, a Gothic Tale Narrating how a Young Man, the supposed son of a Peasant, by a train of Unparalleled Circumstances, not only discovered who were his Real Parents, but that they came to Untimely Deaths; with his Adventures in the Haunted Apartment, Discovery of the Fatal Closet, and the Appearance of the Ghost of his murdered Father; relating also how the Murderer was brought to Justice, with his Confession and the restoration to the Injured Orphan of his title and estates.
They don’t write them like that any more.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
An American Point of View
I’ve just solved a bit of a puzzle. Last August I published a book on Amazon’s Kindle. The book, Frankie’s Letter, isn’t a Jack story but one I wrote as a bit of a refresher. It’s a First World War spy/detective story, a sort of John Buchan/Agatha Christie mix of dark doings, country houses, deception, beautiful women, heroes and villains. It very very nearly got taken up by Hodder and Stoughton but was finally turned down, with sincere regret by the editor as the massive bookseller, Waterstones, didn’t think it was really for them. Pause for a sigh here, I think.
Long gone are the days when editors could take a punt on a book they liked and hope sales would follow. For instance, The Lord Of The Rings, was liked – very much liked – by its publisher, Stanley Unwin of Allen and Unwin, but he was convinced it wouldn’t make any money. He believed it was worthwhile, though, and went ahead and published it anyway. Well, we all know that story had a very happy ending and the world was enriched by the doings of Middle-Earth (although Legolas does break into rather too much poetry for my taste.)
So what, failing a Stanley Unwin, does a writer with a book on their hands do? Especially one they believe in? Imagine a light-bulb going on at this point. Yes, that’s right! Ebooks! It’s time-consuming to publish on kindle but it’s possible. So I did it. Now, to read what’s written on the interweb, at this point it should go ballistic. Did it? Er… no. Waiting for a reaction to Frankie’s Letter was like dropping a rose petal into the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo. Why, I asked, as I paced my lonely garret?* So I asked the good people of the website Murder Must Advertise and got some fascinating answers.
I’d diligently linked Frankie’s Letter to Amazon with a nifty little logo on the Books page (go and see for yourself – it’s there!) BUT the link only works in Britain. I didn’t know that. I wouldn’t have known that if the nice American websiters hadn’t told me. It is on Amazon.com, the US site, but you have to come off my website, log on to Amazon.com and start from scratch and in the meantime you’ve probably put the kettle on, put the cat out, walked the dog, made the dinner and generally lost interest in the entire process.
Hopefully, these problems are being fixed. And a big thank you to all those kind Americans. It’s genuinely appreciated.
*This is artistic licence. It’s a sort of metaphorical garret.
Long gone are the days when editors could take a punt on a book they liked and hope sales would follow. For instance, The Lord Of The Rings, was liked – very much liked – by its publisher, Stanley Unwin of Allen and Unwin, but he was convinced it wouldn’t make any money. He believed it was worthwhile, though, and went ahead and published it anyway. Well, we all know that story had a very happy ending and the world was enriched by the doings of Middle-Earth (although Legolas does break into rather too much poetry for my taste.)
So what, failing a Stanley Unwin, does a writer with a book on their hands do? Especially one they believe in? Imagine a light-bulb going on at this point. Yes, that’s right! Ebooks! It’s time-consuming to publish on kindle but it’s possible. So I did it. Now, to read what’s written on the interweb, at this point it should go ballistic. Did it? Er… no. Waiting for a reaction to Frankie’s Letter was like dropping a rose petal into the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo. Why, I asked, as I paced my lonely garret?* So I asked the good people of the website Murder Must Advertise and got some fascinating answers.
I’d diligently linked Frankie’s Letter to Amazon with a nifty little logo on the Books page (go and see for yourself – it’s there!) BUT the link only works in Britain. I didn’t know that. I wouldn’t have known that if the nice American websiters hadn’t told me. It is on Amazon.com, the US site, but you have to come off my website, log on to Amazon.com and start from scratch and in the meantime you’ve probably put the kettle on, put the cat out, walked the dog, made the dinner and generally lost interest in the entire process.
Hopefully, these problems are being fixed. And a big thank you to all those kind Americans. It’s genuinely appreciated.
*This is artistic licence. It’s a sort of metaphorical garret.
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