Twenty eighty four? Time for another Orwellian novel...

Sunrise in the Lincolnshire sky

 

 

'It was a bright cold day in April and the clocks were striking thirteen...'

 



What makes an author see into the future? Watching a science fiction film the other day, one made way back in the 1940s, I saw a saucer-like  spacecraft glide silently to the ground. As  it came to a standstill the doors opened seamlessly, as if by remote control. Yet remote control hadn't been invented.

My favourite book of all in this genre is George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, the first line of which is quoted above.  Written in 1948, it's a  breath-taking insight into the world of Big Brother where cameras tracked  the minutiae  of Oceania  'inmates' as they went about their daily lives.

Described as 'the definitive novel of the 20th century,' the book was translated into 65 languages and sold millions of copies world wide.

The name Big Brother is now sadly famous for a very different reason - the popular reality television programme devised in America.   In 2000, the Estate of George Orwell successfully sued CBS for copyright infringement and received undisclosed damages.

Robert McCrum, in an article in the Observer in May 2009, suggests 'The irony of the societal hounding of Big Brother contestants would not have been lost on George Orwell.'

In the book, Big Brother is the dictator of a totalitarian state where everyone is under complete surveillance by the authorities, mostly by 'telescreens.' Now that we have reached the age of CCTV  what, I wonder, are the next generation's fears for the future? Will Britain still be a green and pleasant land or a place where law and order no longer exists? Are our children aware of the power of the technology they have in their own hands,  a power that is constantly evolving even as I write.

Now may be the time for a bright young graduate to pen a ground-breaking novel about life in 2084.  I can think of an ideal publishing date - 13.13.13.  When the clock strikes thirteen, of course.





 

From Chiclitz to Chick lit....

 Cosied up with your Kindle?   Knee-deep in 99p novels?     Life was so much better when we  borrowed our  books from Boots. Or was it? My favourite  film of all time 'Brief Encounter' sees the heroine calling in at Boots on a regular basis to change her library book (pronouced libe-brear-ree by the wonderful Celia Johnson.)

And this week I learned some fascinating facts about our  reading habits from a thirty-three-year-old hardback book 'Novel and Novelists - a Guide to the World of Fiction,' which  I discovered in a second hand book shop. It begins with the simple statement - The novel could not have had such a long and persistent history had it not been for public demand...

'The main market,' it adds, 'for the (pre-war)  novel was the commercial circulating library.  The largest were the Boots and WH smith chains with up to 400 branches each in their  heyday - whilst a myriad network of 2d or 'cornershop libraries' supplied fiction to the whole population.'

Edited by Martin-Seymour Smith, this 'guide to the world of fiction' makes reference to 'Old Bloody Chiclitz,' one of  400 characters  in Thomas Pynchon's famous novel 'Gravity's Rainbow,'   which won America's National Book Award in 1974.

The Chiclitz character, first seen in Pynchon's novella 'The Crying of Lot 49,' is thought to be a metaphorical form of the once popular 'Chiclets' chewing gum.  The small pieces of chewing gum looked like teeth and 'bloody chicklitz,' it seems,  became  cockney slang for broken teeth.

I'm not sure who invented the name  Chick lit, though the idea has been attributed to international author Kathy Lette. Interestingly, the increasingly  popular independent publisher Choc Lit, founded in 2008,  almost swept the board in national awards for romantic novelists  last year.

 I read recently that there is a growing interest in 'religious chick lit' which sounds to me  like  a bit of an oxymoron. Come to think of it, Oxymoron would be a wonderful name for a character in a 21st century e-book. All I need now is the plot...
 

From suffragettes to school runs....

  

 'School Run - Sorry - be back at 4pm'  The sign on the gift shop door made me stop and stare. Had I  stepped  back in time?  After almost a hundred years of campaigning for women's rights  some of us, it seems, are  still  hedging our bets. So what did happen to equality for women?

I wasn't around when suffragettes were starving themselves in prison or throwing themselves in front of the king's racehorse, but I do remember Women's Lib.  It wasn't  about bra-burning, though that bit has gone down in history. 'Women in a Man's World' ran the headlines in newspapers across the land. We were trying to prove we could do anything the men could do, in the same way, for the same pay.

'You want equality - then earn it,' said my then news editor, sending me to cover Sunday League soccer in the pouring rain.  I listened and I learned.  Women  worked harder to keep up with their  male counterparts;  took the flack,  resisted the sack and got the job done.

Back then job interviewers routinely asked married women if they were planning to start a family. Mothers were quizzed about childcare provision and always kept it a secret when their children were ill, even enlisting the help of a trusty neighbour. They may have been frazzled but they swore they could cope.

Today comes the news that working mums spend 28 hours a week looking after the home and family on top of their full-time jobs. This includes shopping, cooking, making beds and - you've guessed it - driving their children to school.

 'So why did the school sign make you mad?' asked my other half, innocently.
 'The shop owner,' I sighed. 'She's just making excuses.'
 'She?' he said, smiling at my indignation. 'How do you know it's not  a He?'

 He's right, I admit. But then he's a man,  Maybe we've found a different kind of equality after all?

 

Mum's definitely the word...

My post last week encouraging children to 'believe in make-believe' has a fitting post script today.

When three-year-old Millie got her mum a Mother's Day card, she wanted to scribble on the envelope, too.  Her dad didn't think anything of it till he spotted a special word in the wavy lines.  Yes, it was Mum...

 

Maybe we have another writer in our midst?

A ghost in the sea?

Sunrise at Bordeaux Harbour

This exquisite sunrise was sent to me by Guernseyman Robin Banneville, a brilliant amateur photographer who captures the island just as I always remember it. The first thing I saw when I opened this photograph was a ghost staring out from the sea. Just my imagination? Maybe.

But  where would we be  without our imagination? When I was a child my parents would  take me to watch Guernsey's famous sunsets,  and afterwards I really believed that the sun had fallen into the sea.

As I grew up, the power of  make-believe  made me want to write, and thankfully nothing has changed. Children are born with an innate sense of make-believe but some are in danger of losing this ability in an increasingly computerised  world.

The lines between fact and fiction are becoming  blurred as two and three-year-olds sit in front of the screen, entertainment taking the place of  early education.

I've just discovered a wonderful children's book 'The Chimneys of Green Knowe' written in 1958 by Lucy M Boston and reprinted in 2010 by Oldknow Books. This simple story, of a young teenager sent to live with his grandmother during World War Two, was transformed for the screen by Downton Abbey writer Julian Fellowes.  'From Time to Time' starring Maggie Smith,  and featuring Hugh Bonneville, Timothy Spall,  Dominic West and Pauline Collins is one of the most moving adult films I have ever seen.

'Don't tell fairy stories,' my mother used to say when I was  sparing with the truth.

I'm glad I didn't listen.

 



Thanks, Robin...


 

To tea or not to tea...

'A woman is like a tea bag
You never know how strong she is until you put her in hot water...'

So said Eleanor Roosevelt who came to tea today.  Ok - that was just to get your attention - here's what really happened. This morning I received a present from an American lady who clearly has  a very kind heart. The  lady, who'll we'll call Francie, sent me a heart-shaped teaspooon  which was featured on her blog recently. When I admired them both - the blog and the teaspoon -she promptly  asked for my address.

Francie's cup of love...

 The beautifully-wrapped  spoon was accompanied by a teabag holder, along with the wonderfully witty quote above, plus a book full of fascinating quotes called Afternoon Tea. Inside was a card inscribed with the words 'Thankyou for your sweet comments. Would be so nice to share a cup of tea.'

Now I'm not sure if I will ever share a cup of tea with you, Francie, but I do want to say that you really have made my day.


 

Why must we always bring up the bodies?'

'Most of us bounce along in the fatter section of the bell curve...'

This cryptic comment,  by prolific author A L Kennedy, comes from an article on  writers that I discovered recently on the Guardian website. Written over six months ago,  it's a reference to writers in general, but in the light of Hilary Mantel's now infamous comments about the Duchess of Cambridge, I think it has rather a prophetic ring.

Having read the full transcript of Ms Mantel's talk, I do concede that some of her thoughts appear to have been taken out of context. Nevertheless the fact remains; as a nation we are obsessed by size, sometimes to the exclusion of all else.

Is it just a coincidence that the  author of Bring up the Bodies looks as if she is hiding her own body behind a voluminous pair of curtains?  Should we 'blame' Kate's mother for her 'thin' genes, or the future queen's  fear of the 'paparazzi'  hiding round every corner? And why are we so fascinated by the royal 'baby bump?'  Can't the poor rich girl just be pregnant in peace?

What saddens me most is that  this Booker Prize winner should use her undoubted talent to grab headlines. Surely she must have known that her comments would be taken 'out of context?'  This woman who says she would never stoop so low as to read Mills and Boon, clearly knows how to incite the tabloids.

Back to A L Kennedy, herself winner of the 2007 Costa Book of the Year with her novel Day.   '.... some writers' I know,' she says, 'thrive on  emotional cataclysms and can barely wait for their next divorce, plummet into infatuation, flirtation with ridiculously violent  criminals or encounters with rabid shrews. Most of us bounce along in the fatter section of the bell curve.'

Food for thought, maybe?

The Pathway to Peace?

 

Winifred Chapman

Today the words of Gary Walker, former chief executive of the United Lincolnshire Hospitals Trust, have  put fear into the hearts of many of  us with elderly relatives.  After the terrible treatment  of patients at hospitals in Stafford,  which led to more than 1,000 deaths, we now hear  allegations of an NHS cover-up in Lincoln.

 My mother-in-law (pictured above) died in Louth County Hospital, Lincolnshire in 2009 at the age of 86. She was a happy, positive lady, who always looked on the bright side of life and, when asked how she was feeling,  replied without hesitation  'not too bad at all.'

When the nurse took us aside to say that her kidneys had failed, we worried about her suffering too much pain. That's when they explained about The Liverpool Pathway - a careplan for people in their dying days. 'Don't worry - we will look  after her,' they hospital  told us. And they did.

For more than a week we visited every day,  taking it in turns with the rest of her family, laughing about the past, chatting about children and grandchildren, and all the time, as she lay there, she continued to praise the nurses.

'They're ever so friendly, and can't do enough for me,' she said one day, tucking in to her favourite haddock  chips and peas. 'They say I make them laugh.'

Nothing was too much trouble for those nurses (not that my mother-in-law asked for much) and they assured us many times that she was a pleasure to look after.

Finally, when  the time was drawing near, they explained what was going to happen and left us in dignified peace.

 Nurses all over the country do an exceptional job and, amidst all  the bad publicity, we mustn't forget about them. Of course bad news makes headlines - I should know -  it used to be part of my job. Today I wanted to tell the other side of the story.

 

Want to do a Survey? Don't ask silly questions!

I think it might be time to conduct a survey on, well, er,  surveys.    An up-to-date survey in the popular press   tells us what  we've known known all along: that men see things differently from women. Ooh, sorry, that was yesterday...

Today it's reported, from Rochester University in the United States, that both sexes actually share 'a vast range of identical traits.' Mmmm.... really? Like the desire to win the lottery? The need to spend two weeks in the Bahamas? I can think of lots of things I share with my other half, but that doesn't make us alike. The truth is that  very often surveys are  conducted on behalf of  people who have something to sell, an axe to grind, or dare I say it,  journalists who need a story on a non-news day.

 If you happen to be famous, of course, it's even easier. Take Pippa Middleton. She presumably conducted lots of surveys before writing her book on entertaining and revealing that most English people prefer to eat turkey at Christmas... (sorry, Pippa, only joking)

When I was a child my mother, who was a stay-at-home housewife, took a part-time job doing surveys for Gallup Poll.*  She would go into people's houses and ask them their favourite foods, holidays, social habits etc, all commissioned by  companies  with something to sell. The questions were often structured to elicit the 'correct' answers  -  the participants were then given a reward, the 'interviewers' paid and  and  everyone ended up happy.

A few years ago when shopping in a major department store,  I admired the wicker baskets in all shapes and sizes used for displays. 'Where can I find these?' I asked the assistant. 'Oh' she replied chirpily 'everyone asks that, but we don't sell them I'm afraid.' A true version of the old joke, 'You're the umpteenth person who's asked today, but there's no call for them.'

So the next time you read  that 'People who like books use libraries' or 'Rich children have too much money,' spare a thought for the person who did the survey. I'm not suggesting  there aren't genuine surveys out there, but when it comes to how many crisps we all eat, personally I'd take it with a pinch of salt


* With fond memories of George Horace Gallup - the man who started it all.