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.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Tangled
It was Jessica’s birthday this weekend and to celebrate, Helen came down from Edinburgh. She was asked at work what she was doing for her sister’s birthday and said, “We’re going to see the new Disney film, Tangled, and them we’re going to Pizza Hut.” Great, was the reply. How old is your sister? About twelve?
Err.. No. Double that and you’ll get the right sort of figure. The thing is, everyone, by and large, enjoys pizza (I remember this exotic new food being introduced in the Seventies!) and you must have a heart of stone if you don’t enjoy Disney.
Tangled is really good. Not, perhaps, up there with Aladdin, Beauty and The Beast and Little Mermaid but that’s a pretty high standard. It’s the story of Rapunzel, of course, a puzzling sort of story. I remember as a kid thinking that it must hurt poor old Rapunzel to have the Witch and the Prince clambering up her hair and I’m glad to say in the film she ties it round a sort of pulley arrangement before anyone starts doing gymnastics. It’s a good story with some very funny lines, looks wonderful, and has a scene with floating magic lanterns which is just beautiful.
However… I could have done with the Evil Witch being a jolly sight more evil. I wanted cackling and gloating and gleeful over-the topness, just like Ursula in Little Mermaid or, perhaps the grandmother of all evil witches, the Wicked Queen in Snow White. One of the many satisfying things about Harry Potter is how completely evil Voldermort is.
I’m not giving away too much of the story when I say that Tangled’s Wicked Witch is your average Old Crone who, by the magic in Rapunzel’s hair, is granted Youth and Beauty. Only she’s more 30-oddish and not that stunning. And that’s all she wants. Why?
It might seem a bit of an Ur? Dur? Question, but Youth and Beauty isn’t really enough. The WW from Snow White wanted Y+B so she could be the powerful Wicked Queen. Ursula is after power too and the magnificent originator of these seekers after Y+B, Rider Haggard’s She, wanted to be eternally young so she could stick around long enough for the boyfriend to turn up. (He was last seen in Ancient Greece, so no one could accuse her of inconstancy!) The trouble with Tangled’s WW is that she was more like Wilma from Desperate Housewives or Tyra Banks being Fierce on America’s Next Top Model than genuinely scary. (One of Tyra Bank’s lines really is genuinely more scary; Who will be eliminated tonight? Makes you think a bit, that.)
Maybe the Disney people wanted to tone down the scariness, but I think they just didn’t think her motivation through enough. It’s worth keeping in mind if you’re thinking out your own story. What does the villian want?
But I enjoyed Tangled. And Jessica had a lovely birthday.
Err.. No. Double that and you’ll get the right sort of figure. The thing is, everyone, by and large, enjoys pizza (I remember this exotic new food being introduced in the Seventies!) and you must have a heart of stone if you don’t enjoy Disney.
Tangled is really good. Not, perhaps, up there with Aladdin, Beauty and The Beast and Little Mermaid but that’s a pretty high standard. It’s the story of Rapunzel, of course, a puzzling sort of story. I remember as a kid thinking that it must hurt poor old Rapunzel to have the Witch and the Prince clambering up her hair and I’m glad to say in the film she ties it round a sort of pulley arrangement before anyone starts doing gymnastics. It’s a good story with some very funny lines, looks wonderful, and has a scene with floating magic lanterns which is just beautiful.
However… I could have done with the Evil Witch being a jolly sight more evil. I wanted cackling and gloating and gleeful over-the topness, just like Ursula in Little Mermaid or, perhaps the grandmother of all evil witches, the Wicked Queen in Snow White. One of the many satisfying things about Harry Potter is how completely evil Voldermort is.
I’m not giving away too much of the story when I say that Tangled’s Wicked Witch is your average Old Crone who, by the magic in Rapunzel’s hair, is granted Youth and Beauty. Only she’s more 30-oddish and not that stunning. And that’s all she wants. Why?
It might seem a bit of an Ur? Dur? Question, but Youth and Beauty isn’t really enough. The WW from Snow White wanted Y+B so she could be the powerful Wicked Queen. Ursula is after power too and the magnificent originator of these seekers after Y+B, Rider Haggard’s She, wanted to be eternally young so she could stick around long enough for the boyfriend to turn up. (He was last seen in Ancient Greece, so no one could accuse her of inconstancy!) The trouble with Tangled’s WW is that she was more like Wilma from Desperate Housewives or Tyra Banks being Fierce on America’s Next Top Model than genuinely scary. (One of Tyra Bank’s lines really is genuinely more scary; Who will be eliminated tonight? Makes you think a bit, that.)
Maybe the Disney people wanted to tone down the scariness, but I think they just didn’t think her motivation through enough. It’s worth keeping in mind if you’re thinking out your own story. What does the villian want?
But I enjoyed Tangled. And Jessica had a lovely birthday.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
B.U.G.
I intended to write about my usual busy, glamorous, jet-setting life-style this week, but the wheel came off the wagon as I got struck by a B.U.G. That’s a Beastly Unyielding Germ. 
Lots of B.U.G.’s in fact, as there’s always more than one. Yeah, right, know the type. They gang up. Bullies. S’not fair. There’s more of them than me.
As Lucy, who’s studying Biology informed me, the B.U.G.s multiply, then the antibodies kick in and the site of all this bio-chemical warfare (aka Me) is left feeling like a battlefield; sort of flat and chewed up.
I had all the usual symptoms as listed on the box of Tesco's Max Strength Cold And Flu capsules – tiredness, headache, copious amounts of self-pity – but what the box didn’t mention was a severe outbreak of Poetry.
I always asked the kids to share
Their toys, (when young) their books and hair
Products, such as spray and straighteners and shampoo
Unfortunately, they’ve also shared the flu.
I spent last week mainly in bed
With aching limbs and pounding head
Caught from my open-hearted daughter
But germs are things you shouldn’t ought-ter
Share.
It started with Jenny’s tonsillitis
I looked down her throat and saw what the plight-is
Or was; because she is now quite well
And I am feeling not so swell
Or great. Or good. Or fighting fit.
I don’t like this virus one little bit.
So having done naught* all week through
I’m rather apt to feel blue
I wish I didn’t have the flu.
*I know nobody says “Naught” anymore (if they ever did) but this Poetry, right?
Lots of B.U.G.’s in fact, as there’s always more than one. Yeah, right, know the type. They gang up. Bullies. S’not fair. There’s more of them than me.As Lucy, who’s studying Biology informed me, the B.U.G.s multiply, then the antibodies kick in and the site of all this bio-chemical warfare (aka Me) is left feeling like a battlefield; sort of flat and chewed up.
I had all the usual symptoms as listed on the box of Tesco's Max Strength Cold And Flu capsules – tiredness, headache, copious amounts of self-pity – but what the box didn’t mention was a severe outbreak of Poetry.
I always asked the kids to share
Their toys, (when young) their books and hair
Products, such as spray and straighteners and shampoo
Unfortunately, they’ve also shared the flu.
I spent last week mainly in bed
With aching limbs and pounding head
Caught from my open-hearted daughter
But germs are things you shouldn’t ought-ter
Share.
It started with Jenny’s tonsillitis
I looked down her throat and saw what the plight-is
Or was; because she is now quite well
And I am feeling not so swell
Or great. Or good. Or fighting fit.
I don’t like this virus one little bit.
So having done naught* all week through
I’m rather apt to feel blue
I wish I didn’t have the flu.
*I know nobody says “Naught” anymore (if they ever did) but this Poetry, right?
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Officious 2007 - Help!
Here’s a request to anyone who uses Microsoft 2007. I’ve just installed it on my computer and it looks very nice, but it doesn’t behave in quite the same way as my tried and tested Word 2003. One thing in particular is bugging me. I don’t want this bossy system to leave a space between paragraphs. And it does. Here’s one coming up now. Arrrrgh!!!
Yes, yes, yes, I know! Spaces are left between paragraphs when you’re writing a letter, a commercial letter, that is, but books aren’t letters and I want to write books. And this blog. And all sorts of other things that don’t start with: “Dear Sir, thank you for your letter of the 4th instant which I now have safely to hand,” and end with: “I beg to remain your most obedient and respectful servant, Yours sincerely…” etc etc.
I only changed over from the old Word because the system, which has worked more or less perfectly for ages started sulking and closing down and going off to hang round with the other Types (or Fonts) in corners with a brief “Word has encountered a problem and has to close” message.
So how the dickens do I get Word 2007 to believe I’m using their all singing, all dancing system with its pretty colours to write books and not letters with and to stop acting like a badge-hungry Boy Scout who insists on helping old ladies across the road, whether they want to cross or not. To do, in short, what I want it to do instead of what it thinks I want it to do? At the moment, I’m thinking of re-labelling this “Officious 2007” as that’s what it’s being. Help everyone! It’s driving me nuts.
Yes, yes, yes, I know! Spaces are left between paragraphs when you’re writing a letter, a commercial letter, that is, but books aren’t letters and I want to write books. And this blog. And all sorts of other things that don’t start with: “Dear Sir, thank you for your letter of the 4th instant which I now have safely to hand,” and end with: “I beg to remain your most obedient and respectful servant, Yours sincerely…” etc etc.
I only changed over from the old Word because the system, which has worked more or less perfectly for ages started sulking and closing down and going off to hang round with the other Types (or Fonts) in corners with a brief “Word has encountered a problem and has to close” message.
So how the dickens do I get Word 2007 to believe I’m using their all singing, all dancing system with its pretty colours to write books and not letters with and to stop acting like a badge-hungry Boy Scout who insists on helping old ladies across the road, whether they want to cross or not. To do, in short, what I want it to do instead of what it thinks I want it to do? At the moment, I’m thinking of re-labelling this “Officious 2007” as that’s what it’s being. Help everyone! It’s driving me nuts.
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