I seem to have been afflicted with a temporary bout of Anglophilia. There was that trip to Wales, for one - which stirred up cosy childhood memories of lovely meadows, limestone cliffs, English cottages, crumbling castles, sinister caves, jolly good adventures and thrilling mysteries for 4 (or 5) children and a dog.
Moving on from Enid Blyton, London evoked another series of literary associations. I just had to visit St. James' Park to see the ducks for myself, and perhaps keep my eyes open for... interesting man-shaped creatures feeding the ducks at the lake. On a related tangent, I nosed around Soho, getting inordinately excited whenever I saw small, dusty bookshops selling rare volumes. I saw the stairs where Nancy, from Oliver Twist, was killed (I applaud Charles Dickens' choice - those stairs are creepy). At the intersection of Shaftesbury Avenue and Charing Cross Road I stopped to ponder the feasibility of Cambridge Circus as the location of Britain's foreign intelligence headquarters (I concluded that le Carre was probably making it up), in the buildings of Whitehall I envisioned the grand Admiralty offices of Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey-Maturin series, and I even made a special trip down to Chelsea, at night, trying to espy dear old George Smiley's residence at Bywater Street. But alas, that cunning old fox chose too well - I walked down King's Road for a seeming eternity without ever seeing the street sign I'd hoped for. Oh well, at least I was in Chelsea.
In Soho and Bloomsbury, I caved in to the natural charms of British bookshops and bought 3 books, one of which was the guide to the UK citizenship test, containing earnest advice about all aspects of life in the UK. I found it too amusing to pass up.
I also caved in to the temptation of buying feminist retellings of the Arthurian legend (yes, Lin Zi, it was all your fault, telling me about that interesting thing that transpired between Morgaine and Arthur) - in particular, The Mists of Avalon. More Brit-ness, albeit ancient Brit-ness.
Er. And I've just watched Maurice (this is for you, my dear sister, with a big, soppy grin), a Merchant-Ivory film adaptation of E.M. Forster's posthumously published and very controversial novel.
And goodness me, it was heartbreakingly gorgeous and bittersweet and all those things you get when you put together 2 pretty boys, Cambridge, weirdly homoerotic classical literature, social prejudices, and the conceits of Edwardian England upper-class society.
Really, I'm just an old softie.
words were spilled on Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Comments:
oh, brenda. such a pilgrimage of fangirlism.
(what, no shiny bentleys parked outside buildings with small, dusty bookshops selling rare volumes?)
i remember mists of avalon. mainly that it was very thick. bradley compared it to giving birth to an elephant.
i also remember maurice. the book, that is. i thought maurice is supposed to be all bearded and rugby-playerish?
it, uh, was mainly rather purple and not all that good, i think. although i do feel for forster's grand wish to have two gay men live happily ever after.
(what, no shiny bentleys parked outside buildings with small, dusty bookshops selling rare volumes?)
i remember mists of avalon. mainly that it was very thick. bradley compared it to giving birth to an elephant.
i also remember maurice. the book, that is. i thought maurice is supposed to be all bearded and rugby-playerish?
it, uh, was mainly rather purple and not all that good, i think. although i do feel for forster's grand wish to have two gay men live happily ever after.
# posted by 
: 7:54 AM
: 7:54 AM
if i had found a shiny bentley parked outside a small dusty bookshop, i would have died on the spot and never come back. :)
maurice was rather far from that description in the movie, but i don't know about the book. i haven't read it, but i guess purple prose might look better onscreen, with suitable accompanying music and good cinematography. :) supposedly forster himself thought that it was an inferior work but one that was personally important to him as a gay man?
maurice was rather far from that description in the movie, but i don't know about the book. i haven't read it, but i guess purple prose might look better onscreen, with suitable accompanying music and good cinematography. :) supposedly forster himself thought that it was an inferior work but one that was personally important to him as a gay man?
... yes, well. it would have been nice, mind you.
i distinctly remember mention of a moustache. it was quite purple stuff. there's that bit where maurice opens the window and cries out for alec, who does a romeo and juliet. and, uh.
also i thought the chap who falls ill and then wakes up a straight man was a bit weird.
i personally recommend tom stoppard's the invention of love. where you will learn far more nerdy references to greek and latin than you will ever need to know, such as the fact that 'venus' is pronounced 'wennus'. which, to quote, has got 'no chemistry at all.'
... also, it's about a homosexual playwright.
i distinctly remember mention of a moustache. it was quite purple stuff. there's that bit where maurice opens the window and cries out for alec, who does a romeo and juliet. and, uh.
also i thought the chap who falls ill and then wakes up a straight man was a bit weird.
i personally recommend tom stoppard's the invention of love. where you will learn far more nerdy references to greek and latin than you will ever need to know, such as the fact that 'venus' is pronounced 'wennus'. which, to quote, has got 'no chemistry at all.'
... also, it's about a homosexual playwright.
# posted by : 11:09 AM
: 11:09 AM
Speaking of uniquely British experiences, I took a train from King's Cross earlier today & passed by platform 9 3/4. It's funny, in a very understated manner.
p.s. & oh yeah, train + tunnel = pressure on ear drums.
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p.s. & oh yeah, train + tunnel = pressure on ear drums.
# posted by : 6:06 PM
: 6:06 PM