The Irony Particle

Far greater literary minds than mine have praised Emily Gould‘s And the Heart Says Whatever. Curtis Sittenfeld describes it as a “Twenty-first century version of the The Bell Jar.”  Jonathan Franzen claims “It makes sense of much that is puzzling about our cultural moment.” For me, however, the most telling is Amy Sohn‘s use of the word limpid. Meant as a compliment, it epitomizes all that is frustrating and painful about this book.

More a series of essays, it lacks the narrative drive and sense of stalking menace that might in any way make Gould a true and worthy successor to Plath. Every word of the The Bell Jar pulls its reader in closer and closer as Plath’s thoughts become more frenzied and the darkness of its inevitably dark climax looms large. In And the Heart Says Whatever nothing much happens at all.

In part that’s because Gould, a former Gawker Editor and experienced blogger, writes with the full weight of the “Irony Particle”. Discovered in the 1990s, the irony particle works much like that of the Higgs-Boson adding ironic mass to every word and thought. It’s this that allowed us to celebrate “Carry On Films” for the casts’ comedic genius and not the tired sexism of their scripts and enjoy the social intricacies of Downton Abbey with a knowing eye and smirk when someone leaps from their wheelchair. Here, it just means we get to read long, hip anecdotes about getting punched in the arm by a lesbian and failing to love the dog you’ve bought, before worrying we’re not quite hip enough to understand why we don’t like reading this more. What’s missing is the rawness of an event that actually has a point. I found myself skimming each page, thinking something really bad has to happen soon, anything more serious than this endless parade of fractious friendships and romantic break-ups with people, who have interesting hair and tattoos.

Everyone feels like the lead actor in the film of their life and what the author captures well is the hysteria of being in your twenties and thinking “THIS IS GREAT. I’M HAVING FUN. WHY AREN’T I HAVING FUN? THIS IS THE BEST TIME OF MY LIFE EVER!!!!! GOD I FEEL ANXIOUS” I also know New York is all about real-estate, but stories about a series of apartments you don’t want to live in and cool jobs that run out of steam, does not a Catcher in the Rye make. It’s just an exercise in trying to find adjectives that can make buying morning coffee sound epic for writing class.

So Good It Made My Eye Twitch

There’s an ease that comes with reading the best kind of books: those with great characters and moments. They may not always be the most literary of works, but they are the ones that remind you of the joy of reading and the insight to be gained through time spent in someone else’s world.

Jeremy Vine‘s “It’s all news to me.” is one such book. In essence a 339 page love letter to the BBC, it covers Vine’s 25 year working relationship with the organisation and the realities of modern-day news reporting. Like all the best love affairs, Vine recognises the quirks, failings and strengths of his amour and celebrates both the glories and indignities his work there has brought him.

The most telling anecdotes are the most personal. With casual cruelty, a software analyst and his wife refuse to return a beloved dog to Paulina, Vine’s maid (and close friend) in South Africa, and in doing so typify generations of disregard by the haves for those who deserve better. The Blair revolution transforms political media management, but also takes politicians and the people who report on them one step further away from those who matter most – the public. In the media, as in politics the bigger the ego, the bigger the fall and Vine never shies away from revealing his own rampant ambition and that of his colleagues.

Vine’s love and enthusiasm for what he does is self-evident and contagious. I couldn’t put this book down. It has a cast of characters all the more fascinating for being real, people like Jim Moir, who reinvented Radio 2; John Sergeant, journalist, ballroom dancer and purveyor of the lethal one-liner and Sir Jimmy Young, whose exit from Radio 2 seems as painful to all involved as Lear.

Most importantly, this is just a really good read and well worth packing for those fleeing Britain’s soggy shores this summer.

Related articles

• Jeremy Vine: ‘I’ve been tailgating the greats’ (guardian.co.uk)
• It’s All News to Me by Jeremy Vine: review (telegraph.co.uk)
• BBC presenter Jeremy Vine worries famous colleagues with his unusual memoir (telegraph.co.uk)

And the band knitted on…

Graham Norton. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It will come as no surprise that I’m still struggling to complete a leg warmer. I am not a natural knitter it seems. Considering all the hideousness and pain in the world, this hurts me less than you’d imagine in a society where women are expected to give the best blowjob ever and produce chic bakery-standard cupcakes in equal measure.

It’s more that I wonder: how many times can I restart knitting a leg warmer before I give up? Or should I never give up, is this a metaphor for what’s needed in life…an indomitable spirit, however poorly executed your knitwear? I can speak of one personal triumph, however, from last week. Apparently, the more washing powder I use, the cleaner my clothes get. Who the f*** knew that? I thought if I was using ECOVER, then stringency was key given the perilous state of our planet. But apparently not, I need to double up!

In other news, I’m rediscovering the genius that is Graham Norton. Every fool gets given a chatshow now with varying levels of success. It seems to be a standard part of signing a long-term contract with  a channel. What’s so great about Graham N is that he lets his guests do the talking and actually listens to them. This is rarer than it should be in the chatshow world now.

There is the standard trotting out of anecdotes, but it all somehow combines to create brilliant and unexpected chemistry between guests and an incredibly enjoyable show. Here are two prime examples – Paloma Faith, Emily Blunt and Russell Brand and an absolutely wonderful Will i am with Miriam Margolyes and Greg Davies.

I also had an amazing dream. Now I hesitate to tell you this, because well other people’s dreams are inherently boring especially when they try to interpret them. But this was brilliant, as it was all part of a weekend where I got to read two books and have two two-hour naps. The dream somehow revolved around me going to find Matt Damon‘s house in London, which thanks to a Melvyn Bragg interview I knew was in a church near a tube station. Jung, at least I think it was Jung, thought that houses in dreams represented our minds. So here – according to what I found in the church, which came complete with long winding corridors, shops and a cafe – is what I’m currently interested in…

Second hand clothes – there were bags and bags of them.
Victoria Sponges
Knitting equipment (the leg warmers must be preying heavier than I thought)
Jennifer Saunders – who made a guest appearance, discreetly enjoying a coffee and slice of cake
Holby City – I overheard a group of scriptwriters discussing future plot points
And colours – everything was so bright and breezy.

I never did find Matt Damon’s house, but just felt incredibly guilty in the attempt. This I’m choosing to perceive as my damning indictment of celebrity culture. Though I enjoyed these: Hollywood Reporter‘s Emmy Roundtables. I did, however, notice yet another example of the overbearing patriarchal society in which we live in  that the comedy actors got massive pastries and a laid-back set, while the comedy actress got mini brownies and a series of summer dresses in primary colours. Back to the leg warmers.

Happiness and the pursuit of the perfect leg warmer

Attributed to hale_popoki (2006)

Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been thinking about happiness and trying to knit a pair of leg warmers. The two things aren’t intrinsically linked (otherwise, God knows, Fame would have been a far cheerier film.), but what I’m learning in the course of my endeavours is that the art of both requires a fair bit of practice to perfect.

My consideration of happiness – perhaps, our most elusive emotion – currently centres around two books: Gretchen Rubin’s “The Happiness Project” and Tal Ben-Shahar’s (P.h.D) “Happier”

Rubin, the best-selling author of “Forty Ways to Look at Churchill“, is like the best friend we all need. In fact, I have a best friend like her – @teadevotee. Not a week goes by without her achieving something amazing. Lately, she’s managed to start ghostwriting someone’s memoir, organise one of the most kick-ass raffles you’ve ever seen, bake a Christening cake and go on holiday. This is all despite life knocking her on her arse repeatedly over the last couple of years.

People like her and Gretchen Rubin get things done, but not in an annoying way. That said, like the rest of us, Rubin worried that she was wasting her life and decided to dedicate a year in pursuit of what she really wanted – to be happy. Luckily for the rest of us, she documented that process and her book is a month-by-month project plan of how we can set off for calmer waters.

I’m now focused on month one and two – Boost Energy and Remember Love, which cover clearing out some of the baggage from your life and placing personal relationships at the centre of your life.  What this book has in common with Ben-Shahar’s “Happier” is its emphasis on taking small steps. Ambitions viewed as grand designs too often seem insurmountable, or like all grand follies too often consume those who pursue them. It’s better to think big, but start small such as taking just twenty minutes every day to meditate. Based on his incredibly popular course at Harvard, Ben-Shahar’s book is filled with essential, but achievable steps like these, which although simple are often forgotten in the frenzy of everyday life and offer us the strongest foundations for personal contentment.

Neither book promises 24/7 ‘raindrops on roses, or brown paper parcels tied up with string’ – investments always go down as well as up – but they do offer a potential roadmap for anyone brave enough to take the journey. As for the leg warmers, I need to go back and unravel some stitches due to a mis-knitted row. Apparently in knitting as in life, it’s the simplest things that often prove the most difficult.

So are you in or are you out?

(attributed to dovima_is_devine_II)

Since we last spoke, I’ve done a lot of thinking…a heck of a lot of thinking…and quite a bit of housework…but mostly thinking…and my conclusions? It’s time for a few changes around here (pause for a Larry Davidesque peer).

The whole point behind St Bernard’s Bluestocking Club is ‘to try to be more’ – to learn more, see more and do more with our lives. If we could speak Latin, that’s what the club’s motto would be. It’s a desire borne out of standing in a thousand great rooms and always feeling like, somehow, you shouldn’t really be there. That you’re not smart enough – intellectually or sartorially – to make the grade, even if you are. We all sometimes feel it…it’s that nagging doubt you can never quite run away from and which intensifies when you hear Boris Johnson quoting classical Greek somewhere. If any of this sounds familiar, St B’s is the place for you.

Let’s be as smart as everyone thinks we are. Let’s make 2012 about more than just shot-putting in Stratford. Let’s dress how we want to dress. Eat new food. Ignore everyone’s ones to watch list and find some new stuff ourselves. Let’s enjoy being ourselves and most importantly, let’s have an opinion about stuff and blog about it in a semi-amusing way.

It’s time to get cracking. Are you with me?

The one where I get anxious about super-injunctions…

Super-injunctions have brought a whole new level of anxiety to my life. Why? Like millions of other people I’ve spent the last few weeks combing the internet to find out the names behind the recent rash of super-injuctions and increasingly, it’s become apparent to me that none of these stories are actually any of my business.

If they were covering up corruption, absolutely. If they were covering up a crime, definitely. But mostly, this is all about people making stupid decisions in the pursuit of sex and hurting their families. Their screw up has no impact on my life.

Freedom of the press is always important, but I’m struggling to see how any of this stuff is actual news in the first place. Also as everyone scrambles to find out the names of those involved, innocent people are getting dragged into this mess.

Every five minutes, it’s “I saw Goody Khan dancing in the moonlight with Goody Clarkson.” Well actually, you didn’t. Yet it doesn’t seem to matter as in the blink of an eye links are tweeted; rumours become “facts” and the hate mail descends.

Previously, I just used to worry about what I would have done if I’d been around in Nazi Germany. Would I have had the courage to stand up and speak out, or would I have just followed everyone else? Now as part of this feeding frenzy, I also have the worry of what would I have done during the Salem witchhunts.

This whole debacle also raises a thorny etiquette issue. What is the correct way to behave if you’re the friend of someone with a super-injunction? They haven’t told you about it, but you know, because apparently everyone knows and despite not wanting you to know, they know that you know.

As a friend, you want to offer your sympathy, but you have to pretend like you don’t know that they know that you know what they didn’t want you to know, but the whole world if they so wish already knows and wants to tell everyone else about it.

This could be a chapter in Debretts all of its own.

The facts are these, super-injunctions are a major problem that needs legal clarity, but an even bigger one is what a lot of our media now considers to be news in the public interest. As for me, I try to be a good person but curiosity makes me evil’s bitch sometimes. It isn’t big or clever and often it hurts innocent people.

Backlash Begins – Secret Cinema

Like most people I’m a bit suspicious of actors.

I can trace this back to thespians I have encountered. My English teacher- who liked to  describe how Wuthering Heights gave her hot flushes – made me dress up as a cockney barrow boy in her production of A Christmas Carol. Her husband – with long shaggy curls and ‘tache in accordance with his wife’s Heathcliffe fantasies- made assemblies his one man show and once smugly set fire to a five pound note to add flair to an anti-smoking monologue*.

Later on, at King’s College Uni, it became clear that I had overlooked the demographics of studying English in theatreland .  A gaggle of flicky-haired and florally-named blondes demanded I list, reverse order, my ten favourite actors in the role of Hamlet. I failed that initiation test and they were actually ok about me being unable to name one, but I in turn couldn’t get over the fact they had never seen Neighbours. What the WHAT?!

This blog’s author Sara – a genuine theatre-buff – likes to say that I ‘have no fourth wall’ and it’s true. During the last play I went to at the respected Tricycle theatre in Kilburn I spent the whole time thinking “How can that serious actor be ok with all his friends and family seeing his flaccid willy?”

Given all this actor-hatin’ you wouldn’t expect me to enjoy Secret Cinema – essentially immersive theatre around the theme of a film, in a fitting location.

A Mosque installation at Secret Cinema

The last Secret Cinema was at Tobacco Wharf in Wapping and recreated 1930s Covent Garden complete with National Ballet’s rehearsal rooms, hair and make-up.  Around fifty actors stayed in character throughout – barracking you to take off your shoes and join the rehearsal or taking you through some vocal exercises. There were dancers and performers, a 1930s band in the bar and rabbit pie available in a period style cafe. The film was Powell and Pressburger’s The Red Shoes an absolute blinder of a film but one that you might normally rent at the local library rather than pay £30 a ticket for. Still we all felt the night was good value for money, considering the scale of the event and the presumably huge cost of hiring the venue.

This time we met at Waterloo, dressed according to a quiz that predetermined our group. Mine was urbane 1950s French, sunglasses, scarves and bold prints. Some of my friends were in ‘pale whites, faded by the sun’. While filling out carte d’identitie on the tube the puzzle pieces fell into place. As the run as ended I’m now permitted to say that the film is Battle of Algiers, I was dressed as a Parisian expat, my friend as an Algerian insurgent.

The venue was Waterloo’s Old Vic Tunnels, transformed into a souk, a mosque and even a gritty prison where guards interrogated actors and punters alike, in a fairly terrifying manner.

The 1960s film itself was stunningly prescient and its timing at Secret Cinema highly topical  considering the recent Osama killing. As before, I was stunned by the scale of the operation, transported fully to another time and place.  Saying anything remotely negative about such a grand operation feels a bit churlish, but let me just get it out there – there was something a bit icky about people role-playing Arabs and their abusers.  It felt like a cross between Abu Graib and an activity Max Mosely might enjoy.

The ticket price had gone up again to £35 and not one but THREE of the people around me’s cinema seats collapsed during the film, something that wouldn’t be a biggie if the tix had been cheaper. I noted that on this occasion there were more food stalls than installations.

Maybe it being Saturday afternoon I was just being a tough audience, maybe I’ve got no stomach for fake torture, regardless of the political point it underlines or perhaps it just felt like a lot of money. Whatever my niggles, I await Secret Cinema’s next grand endeavour with interest. As long as those actors stay in character, we’re all good.

*Given that I strongly disapproved of this gesture, imagine how cross I was when the KLF burnt £1m as “art” a few years later.

Boring, Boring, Boring…

Image via Wikipedia

It feels like every magazine and newspaper you pass has the same stories week in, week out….Nick and Dave, George and Dave, Ed and Ed, Kate and Wills. But, no matter how hard they try to get me worked up I just can’t get interested.

Here are just a few of the media’s current obsessions that I’m trying, but failing to ignore…

1. Who will be the new X Factor judges?

This should actually be two entries: one for the UK and one for the US. But really, who gives a flying f***.

Every day, it’s Cheryl’s got it. No she doesn’t. Cheryl needs to change her accent. Nobody knows who she is. Everybody loves her. Does any of this stuff have any basis in fact?

All it proves is what everyone knows already – that Simon Cowell is a phenomenal business person and now, an unrivalled publicity machine. He pretty much spews column inches.

It doesn’t even end, when the bloody programmes start. Then, it’s all who hates who? Is Paula Abdul conscious? Why, Oh why did [insert name here] get eliminated? It’s a Cylon conspiracy! I’m outraged! God help us.

2. Jordan’s horrific car crash…

I’m not referring to the terrible accident Katie Price was in a few days ago, but her love life. First we had the split from Peter André. Then we had the quickie romance and marriage to Alex Reid. Now we have her Argentine romp.

It’s boring, and it’s everywhere you look. Basically an entire industry have built their business model around who is, who was and who could be shagging Katie Price. It’s also gone multi-media with twitter, reality shows, books, fashion and so on and on and on.

I find the whole thing depressing and meanwhile a whole generation of young girls grow up believing this is a successful career – when really it’s selling your soul.

3. Absolutely, every single, minute detail of the Royal Wedding

Now I’m actually looking forward to watching the ceremony and I’m excited to see Catherine Middleton‘s dress and what everyone else will be wearing. In particular, I can’t wait for the E! Fashion Royal Wedding Special.

But really, do we have to know every single thing that’s planned for the wedding? This morning’s story is that trees will line the aisle of Westminster Abbey. Why is that exciting? Let’s just focus on the important stuff and play celebrity bingo – ooooh there’s Posh and Becks. House!

4. Ed Miliband‘s marital status

Let’s ignore the fact that Ed Miliband seems to have given into the pressure and proposed to his long-term girlfriend. And really, doesn’t that add a whole new layer of tension to the painful merry-go-round of love…”Are you really marrying me because you love me, or is it just because of the Daily Mail?”

How is any of this our business? There’s no scientific proof that this will make him a better leader or a better person. What matters is that his family is happy and he loves his children. The rest is just a sideshow. A non-issue whipped up, because at the moment there’s not really that much to say about the Opposition except “How’s David doing?”

5. Donald Trump for President

The guy’s a d***. Admittedly that’s never stopped someone becoming a political leader, but flogging the dead horse that is “Was Obama born in the United States?”, when there’s untold evidence that he was, is just malicious.

This isn’t Watergate, it’s pandering to prejudice and the enabling of an ego bigger than the world has ever seen.

All of these stories are emblematic of today’s celebrity culture, where every idiot with a microphone or camera pointed towards them gets a platform and where no area of anyone’s lives is off-limits.

It’s depressing, boring and most importantly of all, detracts from news that really matters. Y’know war, hunger, famine…but then again, where’s the Simon Cowell fun in that?

The stuff we tell ourselves

Image via Wikipedia (I hope you enjoy the only related to the article by a tenuous link)

At the moment, visits to the cinema are a rare and wonderful treat so I must admit to being slightly over-excited as I sat down to watch Little White Lies earlier this week.

Written and directed by Guillaume Canet (whose earlier film was the fantastic Tell No One, its plot focuses on the loves, dramas and obsessions of a group of close Parisian friends.

Every year, they stay for several weeks at the holiday home of Max, a wealthy hotelier and control freak. The film starts with Ludo, one of the leading members of the group, being horrifically injured in an accident. And a lot the film’s tension comes from everyone else’s decision to still go on the annual holiday, while he recovers in intensive care.

The pressure then builds as the friends, distracted in many ways from the plight of Ludo by their own lives, question themselves and their relationships and ultimately lie to each other.

You may already have spotted here echoes of The Big Chill, but I think this film is beautiful and French enough to stand up against that comparison. Far more so, I think than Peter’s Friends.

The characters are well-drawn and enjoyable company, which is important when the film runs to over 2 hours. The comedy and drama here feel genuine and organic. The cast are relaxed in each other’s company, smoking and drinking like there’s no tomorrow.

The two stand out performances for me are Francois Cluzet as Max and Laurent Lafitte (an oyster farmer in real life) as Antoine. Jean Dujardin as Ludo, also manages to cast a huge shadow over the film despite appearing in just a few key scenes.

Not every question raised by the film is answered at its end, and in many ways I wanted to know what happened next. But this was an enjoyable group to spend time with, however self-obsessed they got, and I was a little sad to see them go.

Related Articles

• Little White Lies – review (guardian.co.uk)
• Little White Lies, Guillaume Canet, 154 mins (15) Red Riding Hood, Catherine Harwicke, 100 mins (12A) (independent.co.uk)
• Lies and friends (bbc.co.uk)
• Little White Lies (notreallyworking.wordpress.com)

Another week goes by…

Image via Wikipedia

This is the week, I mostly…

1. Mulled over the thoughts of one of my heroes, Tina Fey

2. Wondered why the Daily Mail hates Kate Middleton so much

3. Finally got myself a Breton t-shirt. Now I’m French too!

4. Was underwhelmed by the last film in the Millennium Trilogy, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest

5. Tried to learn more about China’s foreign policy

6. Figured out how to watch The Daily Show in the UK. Jon Stewart, how I’ve missed you!

7. Sorted out my CDs and DVDs

8. Signed up to Vote Yes to AV

9. Donated to the Poppy Project, the source of work too good to be lost

10. Got excited about The Game of Thrones on Sky

Related Articles

• Tina Fey On Fresh Air (videogum.com)