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Gadzooks!!
May. 30th, 2003 12:21 pmThere are foxes everywhere here.
Okay, so this post is going to be meandering and unstructured, but it's only because I have a lot of different things to say and haven't had an opportunity to post in days. As a free user I think I only get three posts per day or something like that. So here goes:
On Foxes:
As I said, foxes everywhere. Of course, this is because this is a land made for foxes. It's called the Isle of Saints and Scholars, after all. Scholarship is historically one of Ireland's biggest industries. The current economic success of the "Celtic Tiger" is due to this (the next silicon valley, the tax exemption for artists and writers, etc.) Ireland's Golden Age occurred during the dark ages of Europe, when the Celtic Church's scholastic work combined mysicicism and spirituality with intellectual pursuits and temporal power. Many major learning centers throughout Europe were started by Irish monks during this time, and Ireland was home to some of the best places of learning. Obviously, foxes felt a natural affinity for this.
Plus, there's all the chickens.
Quinn found a whole yard full of chickens when we were in Cashel. I took pictures as he stalked them. Unfortunately (or fortunately as the case may be), a stupid old dog came bounding in just as Quinn was about to pounce.
I will be putting up pictures of this and Quinn's other adventures on a picturetrail site just as soon as I find a computer that allows me to access the disk drive. When I do I'll include the link here.
On Commas:
So, I am certainly not the comma expert of our little circle. I'm actually pretty comma happy. Almost, you might say, a comma egalitarian. I pretty much let the individual commas go wherever they feel they need to be, and trust that they'll respect my individual need to have a paper that is not overly commadified (one might call me a concrete individual in my comma egalitarianism, but only if one were reading Perdido Street Station -- see below -- and had a particularly odd sense of humor). I definitely do not follow the party line of the comma opressors (down with the comma oppressors!), who feel that commas should only go in certain places in particular situations, and who use their positions of power, authority and influence to enforce their comma oppression on others (I love you David, and I'm kidding, only kidding!)
However, what I have noticed in Ireland is a type of comma anarchy. They're everywhere, and in the oddest places. Or they're nowhere. They aren't even in places where commas really should be to keep the narrative flow. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to comma use here, either within or between texts. They don't follow standard rules (except when they decide they want to). They're not used to indicate verbal pauses (as I often use them when I'm not using parens for asides), except, again, when they feel like it.
It's very weird. But it got me thinking on a potentially good reason for republishing books from England in americanese (like the Harry Potter books). It has to do with basic grammar and spelling. Our standards do not coincide with British standards. This got me in a lot of trouble as a kid, since I read a lot of english books. I'm wondering if part of the reason to republish books in an american format is to counteract this type of confusion for kids (since typesetting books is pretty expensive, or used to be).
On Peake, Mieville, Pearce and Gaiman:
Okay. Perdido Street Station. Oh my god what an incredible book. To illustrate it's incredibleness, let me tell you about a quandary I was put in. I was reading in the common room of my hostel, and only had about 100-150 pages left. It was the big climax (and oh jesus was it amazing!). Then some people came in and started pulling out instruments. Two fiddlers, a flautist and a squeezebox player. They began jamming together, and all of a sudden I was reading in the middle of a truly impromptu trad session.
Gah!
So, do I continue reading one of the most incredibly amazing books I've encountered in ages, where I'm right in the middle of the race to the finish, or do I listen to this unsought, uncommercialized fest of trad music going on all around me.
Gah!
I ended up doing both.
It's an interesting experience, splitting your consciousness (and ironic, given how the book ends). I am the queen of multi-tasking.
And I will never forget the experience of finishing Perdido Street Station.
As to the book, I strongly suggest everyone read it. I'll be interested to chat with Roby as to why he likes it, mostly because I see a similarity between the way Mieville structures his thematics in the book, and the way Roby structures his thematics in his Holer game. Maybe that's just me.
New Crobuzon reminds me of Dublin (which, if you've read the book, should give you an idea of what I thought of Dublin). I'm assuming that Mieville modeled it more on London, but having been both places, Dublin feels more New Crobuzonish to me. London is too clean, spacious and tree-filled.
As to the comparisons between Peake and Mieville, I was thinking a lot about that. Perdido moves a lot faster than Gormenghast, and the prose is...more wet and murky, less dry and moribund. But I can see the comparison. I came up with a metaphor that amused me, mostly because it included Gaiman in the mix. I've often mentioned a similarity between Gaiman and Peake, so I thought it appropos. I also included the author of my nostalgic favorite series (Meredith Anne Pierce) because it amused me to do so.
So, if this group of writers and their works were the River Liffy that flows through Dublin, then Mervyn Peake (Gormenghast) would be the darkest depths, where the water is so slow-moving that the silt that covers the ancient, calcifying detritus of civilization littering the river bottom is hardly stirred by its movement. Mieville (Perdido Street Station) would be the oil-slicked upper waters, faster moving with eddies and currents, but dark and littered with feces and bloated corpses. Pearce's (the Darkange Trilogy) light, almost ephemeral prose would be the grey reflection of clouds flitting across the surface of the water. Although dark, it is a darkness borne of reflection rather than depths. Finally, Gaiman's works would be the brightly painted Ha'penny Bridge that spans the River Liffy. Clean and bright and vaguely victorian, with always the awareness that darkness and crap and more things that we can (or want to) imagine flow not-so-innocuously underneath.
Okay, that's enough for one post. I'll try to post again later today since I won't have e-mail access for the next few days.
Wandering Foxgirl signing off.
Okay, so this post is going to be meandering and unstructured, but it's only because I have a lot of different things to say and haven't had an opportunity to post in days. As a free user I think I only get three posts per day or something like that. So here goes:
On Foxes:
As I said, foxes everywhere. Of course, this is because this is a land made for foxes. It's called the Isle of Saints and Scholars, after all. Scholarship is historically one of Ireland's biggest industries. The current economic success of the "Celtic Tiger" is due to this (the next silicon valley, the tax exemption for artists and writers, etc.) Ireland's Golden Age occurred during the dark ages of Europe, when the Celtic Church's scholastic work combined mysicicism and spirituality with intellectual pursuits and temporal power. Many major learning centers throughout Europe were started by Irish monks during this time, and Ireland was home to some of the best places of learning. Obviously, foxes felt a natural affinity for this.
Plus, there's all the chickens.
Quinn found a whole yard full of chickens when we were in Cashel. I took pictures as he stalked them. Unfortunately (or fortunately as the case may be), a stupid old dog came bounding in just as Quinn was about to pounce.
I will be putting up pictures of this and Quinn's other adventures on a picturetrail site just as soon as I find a computer that allows me to access the disk drive. When I do I'll include the link here.
On Commas:
So, I am certainly not the comma expert of our little circle. I'm actually pretty comma happy. Almost, you might say, a comma egalitarian. I pretty much let the individual commas go wherever they feel they need to be, and trust that they'll respect my individual need to have a paper that is not overly commadified (one might call me a concrete individual in my comma egalitarianism, but only if one were reading Perdido Street Station -- see below -- and had a particularly odd sense of humor). I definitely do not follow the party line of the comma opressors (down with the comma oppressors!), who feel that commas should only go in certain places in particular situations, and who use their positions of power, authority and influence to enforce their comma oppression on others (I love you David, and I'm kidding, only kidding!)
However, what I have noticed in Ireland is a type of comma anarchy. They're everywhere, and in the oddest places. Or they're nowhere. They aren't even in places where commas really should be to keep the narrative flow. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to comma use here, either within or between texts. They don't follow standard rules (except when they decide they want to). They're not used to indicate verbal pauses (as I often use them when I'm not using parens for asides), except, again, when they feel like it.
It's very weird. But it got me thinking on a potentially good reason for republishing books from England in americanese (like the Harry Potter books). It has to do with basic grammar and spelling. Our standards do not coincide with British standards. This got me in a lot of trouble as a kid, since I read a lot of english books. I'm wondering if part of the reason to republish books in an american format is to counteract this type of confusion for kids (since typesetting books is pretty expensive, or used to be).
On Peake, Mieville, Pearce and Gaiman:
Okay. Perdido Street Station. Oh my god what an incredible book. To illustrate it's incredibleness, let me tell you about a quandary I was put in. I was reading in the common room of my hostel, and only had about 100-150 pages left. It was the big climax (and oh jesus was it amazing!). Then some people came in and started pulling out instruments. Two fiddlers, a flautist and a squeezebox player. They began jamming together, and all of a sudden I was reading in the middle of a truly impromptu trad session.
Gah!
So, do I continue reading one of the most incredibly amazing books I've encountered in ages, where I'm right in the middle of the race to the finish, or do I listen to this unsought, uncommercialized fest of trad music going on all around me.
Gah!
I ended up doing both.
It's an interesting experience, splitting your consciousness (and ironic, given how the book ends). I am the queen of multi-tasking.
And I will never forget the experience of finishing Perdido Street Station.
As to the book, I strongly suggest everyone read it. I'll be interested to chat with Roby as to why he likes it, mostly because I see a similarity between the way Mieville structures his thematics in the book, and the way Roby structures his thematics in his Holer game. Maybe that's just me.
New Crobuzon reminds me of Dublin (which, if you've read the book, should give you an idea of what I thought of Dublin). I'm assuming that Mieville modeled it more on London, but having been both places, Dublin feels more New Crobuzonish to me. London is too clean, spacious and tree-filled.
As to the comparisons between Peake and Mieville, I was thinking a lot about that. Perdido moves a lot faster than Gormenghast, and the prose is...more wet and murky, less dry and moribund. But I can see the comparison. I came up with a metaphor that amused me, mostly because it included Gaiman in the mix. I've often mentioned a similarity between Gaiman and Peake, so I thought it appropos. I also included the author of my nostalgic favorite series (Meredith Anne Pierce) because it amused me to do so.
So, if this group of writers and their works were the River Liffy that flows through Dublin, then Mervyn Peake (Gormenghast) would be the darkest depths, where the water is so slow-moving that the silt that covers the ancient, calcifying detritus of civilization littering the river bottom is hardly stirred by its movement. Mieville (Perdido Street Station) would be the oil-slicked upper waters, faster moving with eddies and currents, but dark and littered with feces and bloated corpses. Pearce's (the Darkange Trilogy) light, almost ephemeral prose would be the grey reflection of clouds flitting across the surface of the water. Although dark, it is a darkness borne of reflection rather than depths. Finally, Gaiman's works would be the brightly painted Ha'penny Bridge that spans the River Liffy. Clean and bright and vaguely victorian, with always the awareness that darkness and crap and more things that we can (or want to) imagine flow not-so-innocuously underneath.
Okay, that's enough for one post. I'll try to post again later today since I won't have e-mail access for the next few days.
Wandering Foxgirl signing off.
