Saturday, 23 December 2017
Cuddles! (A Cat's Christmas)
Once upon a time -and it was a very strange time- there was a little boy and his cat. The little boy was called Tommy and the cat "Thing".
"Hey, Thing" Tommy would say "don't jump on my bed, don't jump on my -ah, too late!" Because Thing always jumped on Tommy's bed. And why did Thing like to jump on Tommy's bed? Because Thing wanted to be with Tommy. Thing liked to go and breathe hard in Tommy's face ("mrumph! mrumph!"), which always cracked Tommy up. Tommy could never keep a straight face when the cheeky beast went for his nose and mrumphed! mrumphed! in it. Thing loved to do that, especially when Tommy least expected it. Maybe Tommy would be reading a book... or daydreaming... or even sleeping -and the next thing he knew, there was a fearless feline with a long moustache and pointed ears going "mrumph! mrumph!" right in his face. Tommy always burst out laughing when Thing did that.
There was a reason why Thing liked to do that, you see. Not just because it amused her -and it amused her greatly- but also because Thing knew that Tommy would always laugh when she did that, and when people laugh, that means they're happy. Thing loved Tommy and wanted to make him happy.
But Thing was after something else, too. Oh wasn't she clever! Thing knew that Tommy would always give her a cuddle as a result and Thing loooved being cuddled. Thing going "mrumph! mrumph!" in the Little Master's face was her say of saying "Cuddles! I want some cuddles!" -and Tommy would always oblige.
And so the days went by, with Tommy going to school and coming back from school, and Thing waiting for Tommy to reappear. As soon as Tommy would sit somewhere, Thing would raise her delicate head and survey the room. No danger on the right, no danger on the left... Then she would uncoil silently, stretch out, and make for Tommy's chair like the great predator that she was (a predator for cuddles, that is). One second later, the cat would be into the little boy's face going "mrumph! mrumph! I want some cuddles!" And both of them were happy.
Sadly the times were hard. It was a very strange time for sure. Tommy's family didn't have much money and Christmas was on its way. Everybody was wondering what presents to give to each other and Tommy couldn't think of any for Thing. A radio maybe? Who ever heard of a radio for a cat! A wristwatch? Cats don't wear wristwatches! A pair of boots that light up in the dark? That's no present for a cat! Besides, all of these prezzies cost money that Tommy didn't have, now that he had spent his pocket-money on his mummy and daddy. So there he was. ... He couldn't think of anything to buy his feline friend and he was getting worried.
Thing was worried too: the Little Master was acting all strange these days. She could see him folding his face in all sorts of ways and she could hear him sighing for no clear reason; Tommy would scratch his nose and stare in the air, looking at ... nothing she could see (and she tried so very hard to see what he was looking at). What was going on here? She just couldn't understand what the matter was with him: he didn't have a fever (she would sense it if that was the case), he wasn't looking for something in his room -so what on earth was happening in his human head? Humans are so bizarre! And she thought she knew him... The more Thing saw little Tommy in this state, the more she wanted to make him happy. If only she could think of some way...
Then Tommy found the solution.
Then Thing found the solution.
But they didn't tell each other, oh no. They waited for the right moment.
And so the days passed, 19th of December, 20th of December, 21st of December, 22nd of December, 23rd of December, 24th of December... and then it was Christmas. Christmas! The one day in the year when the pressure to be merry and generous is on you: celebrate! be nice to someone! share in the joy of being alive and make happy memories for the future!
Sunlight crept timidly through the curtains and started to dance on the wall, cunningly progressing toward Tommy's pillow. There. Sunlight now bathed Tommy's splayed hair, illuminating his face. Thing had been waiting for this moment, and she wasted no time in running up to the Little Master's bed. Whoomp! Her graceful body flew through the air and landed on the golden blanket. Plomp! Tommy pretended not to notice. He had been waiting for that moment too. Thing paused for a second, looked around the silent room in her usual cautious way, and glided towards the Little Master's innocent face. ... She was now a whisker away.
Then she breathed into Tommy's nose and, just as she thought, he burst out laughing. She had guessed right! No more worries for the little man! Laughter rang round the room as the little boy mock-tried to defend himself against the friendly assault: "Oh stop it now Thing, stop it, ah don't after all!" Thing mrumphed even harder, rubbing her whiskers on Tommy's cheeks, nudging him to move. Thing was loving it, for she had found a way to wipe the frown off Tommy's face.
Tommy was also having the time of his life. "Oh I think I know what's going on here! Cuddles! You want some cuddles is what you want!" he exclaimed delightedly, and he was very happy to give her lots. Boy and cat rolled around, mock-fighting and teasing each other. Their laughter and meows echoed through the house and Tommy's mum and dad came to see what was happening. When they saw Tommy and Thing having such a great time, they decided to leave them alone. These two would come down for breakfast when they were ready.
And so Tommy and Thing enjoyed a wonderful Christmas morning just the two of them, no need for material things or expensive gifts. They had a brilliant Christmas because they had understood that you don't always need money to have a lovely time. Some of the best things in the world don't cost a thing
-and they make all the difference.
"Hey, Thing" Tommy would say "don't jump on my bed, don't jump on my -ah, too late!" Because Thing always jumped on Tommy's bed. And why did Thing like to jump on Tommy's bed? Because Thing wanted to be with Tommy. Thing liked to go and breathe hard in Tommy's face ("mrumph! mrumph!"), which always cracked Tommy up. Tommy could never keep a straight face when the cheeky beast went for his nose and mrumphed! mrumphed! in it. Thing loved to do that, especially when Tommy least expected it. Maybe Tommy would be reading a book... or daydreaming... or even sleeping -and the next thing he knew, there was a fearless feline with a long moustache and pointed ears going "mrumph! mrumph!" right in his face. Tommy always burst out laughing when Thing did that.
There was a reason why Thing liked to do that, you see. Not just because it amused her -and it amused her greatly- but also because Thing knew that Tommy would always laugh when she did that, and when people laugh, that means they're happy. Thing loved Tommy and wanted to make him happy.
But Thing was after something else, too. Oh wasn't she clever! Thing knew that Tommy would always give her a cuddle as a result and Thing loooved being cuddled. Thing going "mrumph! mrumph!" in the Little Master's face was her say of saying "Cuddles! I want some cuddles!" -and Tommy would always oblige.
And so the days went by, with Tommy going to school and coming back from school, and Thing waiting for Tommy to reappear. As soon as Tommy would sit somewhere, Thing would raise her delicate head and survey the room. No danger on the right, no danger on the left... Then she would uncoil silently, stretch out, and make for Tommy's chair like the great predator that she was (a predator for cuddles, that is). One second later, the cat would be into the little boy's face going "mrumph! mrumph! I want some cuddles!" And both of them were happy.
Sadly the times were hard. It was a very strange time for sure. Tommy's family didn't have much money and Christmas was on its way. Everybody was wondering what presents to give to each other and Tommy couldn't think of any for Thing. A radio maybe? Who ever heard of a radio for a cat! A wristwatch? Cats don't wear wristwatches! A pair of boots that light up in the dark? That's no present for a cat! Besides, all of these prezzies cost money that Tommy didn't have, now that he had spent his pocket-money on his mummy and daddy. So there he was. ... He couldn't think of anything to buy his feline friend and he was getting worried.
Thing was worried too: the Little Master was acting all strange these days. She could see him folding his face in all sorts of ways and she could hear him sighing for no clear reason; Tommy would scratch his nose and stare in the air, looking at ... nothing she could see (and she tried so very hard to see what he was looking at). What was going on here? She just couldn't understand what the matter was with him: he didn't have a fever (she would sense it if that was the case), he wasn't looking for something in his room -so what on earth was happening in his human head? Humans are so bizarre! And she thought she knew him... The more Thing saw little Tommy in this state, the more she wanted to make him happy. If only she could think of some way...
Then Tommy found the solution.
Then Thing found the solution.
But they didn't tell each other, oh no. They waited for the right moment.
And so the days passed, 19th of December, 20th of December, 21st of December, 22nd of December, 23rd of December, 24th of December... and then it was Christmas. Christmas! The one day in the year when the pressure to be merry and generous is on you: celebrate! be nice to someone! share in the joy of being alive and make happy memories for the future!
Sunlight crept timidly through the curtains and started to dance on the wall, cunningly progressing toward Tommy's pillow. There. Sunlight now bathed Tommy's splayed hair, illuminating his face. Thing had been waiting for this moment, and she wasted no time in running up to the Little Master's bed. Whoomp! Her graceful body flew through the air and landed on the golden blanket. Plomp! Tommy pretended not to notice. He had been waiting for that moment too. Thing paused for a second, looked around the silent room in her usual cautious way, and glided towards the Little Master's innocent face. ... She was now a whisker away.
Then she breathed into Tommy's nose and, just as she thought, he burst out laughing. She had guessed right! No more worries for the little man! Laughter rang round the room as the little boy mock-tried to defend himself against the friendly assault: "Oh stop it now Thing, stop it, ah don't after all!" Thing mrumphed even harder, rubbing her whiskers on Tommy's cheeks, nudging him to move. Thing was loving it, for she had found a way to wipe the frown off Tommy's face.
Tommy was also having the time of his life. "Oh I think I know what's going on here! Cuddles! You want some cuddles is what you want!" he exclaimed delightedly, and he was very happy to give her lots. Boy and cat rolled around, mock-fighting and teasing each other. Their laughter and meows echoed through the house and Tommy's mum and dad came to see what was happening. When they saw Tommy and Thing having such a great time, they decided to leave them alone. These two would come down for breakfast when they were ready.
And so Tommy and Thing enjoyed a wonderful Christmas morning just the two of them, no need for material things or expensive gifts. They had a brilliant Christmas because they had understood that you don't always need money to have a lovely time. Some of the best things in the world don't cost a thing
-and they make all the difference.
Saturday, 16 December 2017
l'amour a la plage
Jean-Jean brancha le poste juste au moment ou Jeuhnny attaquait son dernier hitt: "Queu j'eu t'aimeuh". A vrai dire, Jean-Jean n'avait jamais eu loisir d'apprecier le tube de Jeuhnny a sa juste valeur; l'opportunite de le savourer pleinement lui etait offerte par la providence, qui lui tendait les bras.
Les orgues se dechainerent, puis les guitares s'y mirent. La batterie tapait lourd (a moins que ce ne fut la basse) et quelque chose plana dans l'air, qui rendit l'atmosphere franchement dramatique. Jeuhnny fit une tete, puis declama les vers suivants :
"Queu jeu t'aimeuh, oh queu jeu t'aimeuh / Queu jeu t'aimeuh, queu jeu t'aimeuh".
Le jean's en patte d'eph' de Jeuhnny etait brode de fines etoiles scintillant sous les projecteurs du studio. Son jaune vif Pastis 51 s'accordait avec merveille au debardeur vert pale qui mettait en valeur les bracelets en cuir lui enserrant les poignets, c'etait feerique. Viril comme pas un, Jeuhnny completait enfin sa tenue de tombeur des dancingues par un foulard rouge sang-de-boeuf negligeamment noue autour de ses epaules musclees. La sueur perlait sur son mufle et collait ses meches a son front empourpre par la passion de sa chanson. Soit ca, soit il etait constipe.
"Queu jeu taimeuh" repeta Jeuhnny, petrifie d'intensite et bouleversitude.
La ritournelle entrainante arriva malheureusement a son terme et Guy Lux fit son apparition dans son smeuking creme caramel (costume de Donald Cardwell, decor de Roger Hart). L'animateur cligna des yeux en direction de la camera.
"... Jeuhnny !" lanca-t-il enfin a l'audience invisible apres avoir consulte sa petite fiche. Ladite audience se repandit en applaudissements et Jeuhnny accepta les vivats d'un mouvement modeste. (Il voulait surtout eviter de ruisseler et faire des taches a son beau patalon. Heureusement que la champouineuse l'avait asperge de sent-bon avant son passage a l'antenne.)
Jean-Jean s'en voulut a mort d'avoir rate le debut de l'emission car Jeuhnny s'esquivait deja. "Merci, merci tout l'monde."
Guy Lux se tenait le long d'une piscine verte schwingum Hollywood entoure de deux minettes en costume de bain dont le minimalisme radical ne laissait presager rien de bon quant a leurs chances de rentrer chez elles plus tard avec leur maquillage toujours en place. Qui allait leur passer dessus: le presentateur, la vedette, l'agent du premier ou du second, le chef-machino ? Les paris etaient ouverts. (Probablement pas le chef-machino a la reflection.)
Le sympathique animateur consulta ses petites fiches a la recherche de l'artiste suivant : "Et maintenant qui avons-nous... ?" Jean-Jean ne savait pas, il attendit qu'on lui dise. Les deux heureuses elues des faveurs du presentateur arboraient un sourire presque taquin, flanquees de chaque cote d'icelui. Il faut dire que des aureoles de transpiration se profilaient deja sur le beau costume du maitre de ceremonie, comme quoi se balader en maillot de bain n'etait peut-etre pas si cretin...
Dick Riveurs en personne entra alors dans le champ de la camera, ni une ni deux, soigneusement degingande dans son smeuking blanc ouvert jusqu'au nombril -avec une lourde croix en argent pour preserver la decence de son thorax nonobstant.
"Ah oui, Dick Riveurs !" lanca Guy Lux triomphalement. (Il venait de retrouver sa fiche.) L'audience s'explosa en applaudissement bien nourris.
"Mais dis-moi, Dick... qu'est-ce que j'apprends ? Alors comme ca tu as un nouvel album ?" lut Guy Lux.
"Oui Guy, et il-vient-de-sortir, il sera dans les bacs le 3 de ce mois" repondit Dick Riveurs autour de sa clope plantee dans la bouche. (Quel bad beuy il faisait !)
"Mais c'est formidable ca ! Et comment s'appelle-t-il ?" lut encore la personnalite preferee des Francais d'un ton enjoue.
"Il s'appelle ReucknReull is zeu King" repondit Dick Riveurs et il manqua incinerer la moumoutte de son interlocuteur en echappant sa cigarette plein sur le crane juste au-dessous. Heureusement que Guy Lux ne s'apercut de rien, et il continua a l'interviouwer sur le meme ton badin qui lui valait les honneurs du public depuis si longtemps.
"ReucknReull is Feucking ? Mais c'est magnifique ! Et dis-moi Dick, ou l'as-tu enregistre ? Ou l'as-tu enregistre, hein ?"
Ingenieux, Dick Riveurs avait profite de la replique de Guy Lux pour reprendre sa cigarette et se la replanter dans la bouche. Un bref moment desarconne, il avait vite repris le dessus pour redevenir le rebelle sans compromission qui faisait battre le coeur des filles de ferme dans leurs culottes en coton et bottes en caoutchouc. Ceci etant dit, la cigarette lui posait neanmoins quelques problemes pour articuler sa reponse, notamment au niveau des plosives.
"Eh bien j'eu lai enwegistwe a Nashville-Tennessee, Guy. Au (p)ays du King, Elvis P(w)esley !"
"Elvis Pwesley, mesdames et messieurs !!" repeta Guy Lux ravi, et l'audience pas reveche se fendit d'une autre salve d'applaudissements, c'etait beau comme du Michel Drucker.
Puis -que se passa-t-il donc ?- l'une des deux beunny-girl's en maillot de bain revint avec un plateau de boissons couronne d'un magnifique ananas tronconne en deux.
Elle le tendit -le plateau, pas l'ananas- a Dick Riveurs pour qu'il se servisse. Le mouvement la forca a se pencher en avant et la camera n'eut d'autre choix que de faire un gros plan. La taille de Guy Lux le positionnant a hauteur du buste feminin, le sympathique animateur donna soudain l'impression de se rendre compte de la perspective offerte a ses yeux. Il cligna de l'oeil en direction de la camera qui -par un heureux hasard- le cadrait bien au centre a cote de la paire de nibards, puis remonta vers lui son micro rectangulaire pour surement s'appreter a offrir une de ses reparties dont lui seul avait le secret. Guy Lux s'humecta les levres nerveusement.
"Eh bien les enfants" lanca-t-il a la cantonnee "...le fond de l'air est chaud !"
Les enfants en question manquerent faire sur eux a cette boutade dont personne d'autre que le grand maitre d'oeuvre de la variete francaise n'eut ete capable -Sacre Guy Lux ! C'etait bien simple, on se serait cru chez Patrick Sebastien (le bon gout en plus evidemment).
La jeune fille se releva enfin de sa pose inconfortable, un sourire des plus naturels aux levres. Dick Riveurs trempa les siennes dans le verre qui lui avait ete offert et ne put reprimer une grimace. Puis l'intrepide reuckeur avala d'un trait.
Apparut soudain Ringo. Ringo ! L'idole des foules !?!
Le sourire de Guy Lux lui monta jusqu'aux oreilles. "Ringo ! En voila une bonne surprise !" La foule s'esclaffa a ce nouveau trait d'humour.
"Bonsoir, Guy" repondit Ringo du tac au tac. Il etait comme ca Ringo : simple et sans pretention. Il fit la bise a Guy Lux. Puis le crooneur des discotheques se tourna vers Dick Riveurs.
"Salut Dick, j'apprends que tu sors un nouvel album ?"
"Oui Ringo, j'en-sors-un-nouveau" confirma Dick Riveurs.
"Ca te dirait qu'on fasse un duo ?"
Dick Riveurs n'eut pas le temps de considerer la proposition que Guy Lux ejacula
"Ca alors ! Un duo de Ringo et Dick ! Qu'en pensez-vous mes enfants ?" (s'adressant aux spectateurs hors-cadre) "Mais c'est formidable !"
Jean-Jean sursauta a la perspective d'un tel evenement et chercha desesperement la telecommande pour regler le son. Puis il se rappela qu'elles n'existaient pas encore dans ce temps-la. Fatalitas ! Il dut se resoudre a se lever et faire les cinq pas pour couper le son manuellement.
Entre-temp, Ringo et Dick Riveurs avaient pris position.
Le symbole-sexe a droite, le grand corbeau a gauche -on reconnaissait bien ici la patte des productions Carpentier, leur sceau de qualite. L'un en blanc, l'autre en noir. Les deux terreurs des hitt-parades entamerent leur duo. Ils y mirent du leur, a grands coups d'expressions peinees et sourcils douloureux, faisant bien attention a ne pas se toucher ni a echanger plus de coups d'oeil que ceux absolument necessaires -Ils n'allaient quand meme pas passer pour une bande de tarlouses.
Ringo et Dick Riveurs firent alors quelques pas de concert vers le palmier en pot et, l'espace d'un instant, Jean-Jean crut qu'ils allaient jouer a se poursuivre autour ("Nique nique, c'est toi la bique / Si je t'attrape, je te frappe"). Il n'en fut rien. Ringo s'appuya en fait mollement contre le tronc caoutchouteux et celui-ci commenca a glisser sur le carrelage. Ringo se redressa aussitot. Les rouflaquettes entourant son visage impavide d'etalon ibere vaguement neurasthenique battaient la mesure au rhythme de ses talonnettes, celles de Dick Riveurs etaient moins reussies.
Jean-Jean remit le son, curieux.
Ringo etait en train de se vider les tripes dans un acces de tourment emotionnel magnifique et Dick Riveurs le lui rendait bien :
"Jeu t'aimeu oh oui jeu t'aimeu
-Jeu t'aimeussi oh oui
Mais non jeu t'aimeu, c'est moi qui
-Jeu t'aimeussi. Oh yeah."
Puis la chanson prit fin. Un silence d'une seconde se produisit qui fut heureusement succede par un tonnerre d'applaudissements. Le voltmetre partit dans le rouge et le chat sursauta.
"Ce n'est rien mon gros doudou" le rassura Jean-Jean, "ce n'est que Ringo et Dick Riveurs les celebres idoles des jeunes". Pepere jeta un regard furieux aux humains qui avaient ose interrompre sa sieste et daigna accepter une ou deux caresses -pas plus- avant de repiquer au truc.
A l'ecran, Guy Lux consultait toujours ses fiches.
Les orgues se dechainerent, puis les guitares s'y mirent. La batterie tapait lourd (a moins que ce ne fut la basse) et quelque chose plana dans l'air, qui rendit l'atmosphere franchement dramatique. Jeuhnny fit une tete, puis declama les vers suivants :
"Queu jeu t'aimeuh, oh queu jeu t'aimeuh / Queu jeu t'aimeuh, queu jeu t'aimeuh".
Le jean's en patte d'eph' de Jeuhnny etait brode de fines etoiles scintillant sous les projecteurs du studio. Son jaune vif Pastis 51 s'accordait avec merveille au debardeur vert pale qui mettait en valeur les bracelets en cuir lui enserrant les poignets, c'etait feerique. Viril comme pas un, Jeuhnny completait enfin sa tenue de tombeur des dancingues par un foulard rouge sang-de-boeuf negligeamment noue autour de ses epaules musclees. La sueur perlait sur son mufle et collait ses meches a son front empourpre par la passion de sa chanson. Soit ca, soit il etait constipe.
"Queu jeu taimeuh" repeta Jeuhnny, petrifie d'intensite et bouleversitude.
La ritournelle entrainante arriva malheureusement a son terme et Guy Lux fit son apparition dans son smeuking creme caramel (costume de Donald Cardwell, decor de Roger Hart). L'animateur cligna des yeux en direction de la camera.
"... Jeuhnny !" lanca-t-il enfin a l'audience invisible apres avoir consulte sa petite fiche. Ladite audience se repandit en applaudissements et Jeuhnny accepta les vivats d'un mouvement modeste. (Il voulait surtout eviter de ruisseler et faire des taches a son beau patalon. Heureusement que la champouineuse l'avait asperge de sent-bon avant son passage a l'antenne.)
Jean-Jean s'en voulut a mort d'avoir rate le debut de l'emission car Jeuhnny s'esquivait deja. "Merci, merci tout l'monde."
Guy Lux se tenait le long d'une piscine verte schwingum Hollywood entoure de deux minettes en costume de bain dont le minimalisme radical ne laissait presager rien de bon quant a leurs chances de rentrer chez elles plus tard avec leur maquillage toujours en place. Qui allait leur passer dessus: le presentateur, la vedette, l'agent du premier ou du second, le chef-machino ? Les paris etaient ouverts. (Probablement pas le chef-machino a la reflection.)
Le sympathique animateur consulta ses petites fiches a la recherche de l'artiste suivant : "Et maintenant qui avons-nous... ?" Jean-Jean ne savait pas, il attendit qu'on lui dise. Les deux heureuses elues des faveurs du presentateur arboraient un sourire presque taquin, flanquees de chaque cote d'icelui. Il faut dire que des aureoles de transpiration se profilaient deja sur le beau costume du maitre de ceremonie, comme quoi se balader en maillot de bain n'etait peut-etre pas si cretin...
Dick Riveurs en personne entra alors dans le champ de la camera, ni une ni deux, soigneusement degingande dans son smeuking blanc ouvert jusqu'au nombril -avec une lourde croix en argent pour preserver la decence de son thorax nonobstant.
"Ah oui, Dick Riveurs !" lanca Guy Lux triomphalement. (Il venait de retrouver sa fiche.) L'audience s'explosa en applaudissement bien nourris.
"Mais dis-moi, Dick... qu'est-ce que j'apprends ? Alors comme ca tu as un nouvel album ?" lut Guy Lux.
"Oui Guy, et il-vient-de-sortir, il sera dans les bacs le 3 de ce mois" repondit Dick Riveurs autour de sa clope plantee dans la bouche. (Quel bad beuy il faisait !)
"Mais c'est formidable ca ! Et comment s'appelle-t-il ?" lut encore la personnalite preferee des Francais d'un ton enjoue.
"Il s'appelle ReucknReull is zeu King" repondit Dick Riveurs et il manqua incinerer la moumoutte de son interlocuteur en echappant sa cigarette plein sur le crane juste au-dessous. Heureusement que Guy Lux ne s'apercut de rien, et il continua a l'interviouwer sur le meme ton badin qui lui valait les honneurs du public depuis si longtemps.
"ReucknReull is Feucking ? Mais c'est magnifique ! Et dis-moi Dick, ou l'as-tu enregistre ? Ou l'as-tu enregistre, hein ?"
Ingenieux, Dick Riveurs avait profite de la replique de Guy Lux pour reprendre sa cigarette et se la replanter dans la bouche. Un bref moment desarconne, il avait vite repris le dessus pour redevenir le rebelle sans compromission qui faisait battre le coeur des filles de ferme dans leurs culottes en coton et bottes en caoutchouc. Ceci etant dit, la cigarette lui posait neanmoins quelques problemes pour articuler sa reponse, notamment au niveau des plosives.
"Eh bien j'eu lai enwegistwe a Nashville-Tennessee, Guy. Au (p)ays du King, Elvis P(w)esley !"
"Elvis Pwesley, mesdames et messieurs !!" repeta Guy Lux ravi, et l'audience pas reveche se fendit d'une autre salve d'applaudissements, c'etait beau comme du Michel Drucker.
Puis -que se passa-t-il donc ?- l'une des deux beunny-girl's en maillot de bain revint avec un plateau de boissons couronne d'un magnifique ananas tronconne en deux.
Elle le tendit -le plateau, pas l'ananas- a Dick Riveurs pour qu'il se servisse. Le mouvement la forca a se pencher en avant et la camera n'eut d'autre choix que de faire un gros plan. La taille de Guy Lux le positionnant a hauteur du buste feminin, le sympathique animateur donna soudain l'impression de se rendre compte de la perspective offerte a ses yeux. Il cligna de l'oeil en direction de la camera qui -par un heureux hasard- le cadrait bien au centre a cote de la paire de nibards, puis remonta vers lui son micro rectangulaire pour surement s'appreter a offrir une de ses reparties dont lui seul avait le secret. Guy Lux s'humecta les levres nerveusement.
"Eh bien les enfants" lanca-t-il a la cantonnee "...le fond de l'air est chaud !"
Les enfants en question manquerent faire sur eux a cette boutade dont personne d'autre que le grand maitre d'oeuvre de la variete francaise n'eut ete capable -Sacre Guy Lux ! C'etait bien simple, on se serait cru chez Patrick Sebastien (le bon gout en plus evidemment).
La jeune fille se releva enfin de sa pose inconfortable, un sourire des plus naturels aux levres. Dick Riveurs trempa les siennes dans le verre qui lui avait ete offert et ne put reprimer une grimace. Puis l'intrepide reuckeur avala d'un trait.
Apparut soudain Ringo. Ringo ! L'idole des foules !?!
Le sourire de Guy Lux lui monta jusqu'aux oreilles. "Ringo ! En voila une bonne surprise !" La foule s'esclaffa a ce nouveau trait d'humour.
"Bonsoir, Guy" repondit Ringo du tac au tac. Il etait comme ca Ringo : simple et sans pretention. Il fit la bise a Guy Lux. Puis le crooneur des discotheques se tourna vers Dick Riveurs.
"Salut Dick, j'apprends que tu sors un nouvel album ?"
"Oui Ringo, j'en-sors-un-nouveau" confirma Dick Riveurs.
"Ca te dirait qu'on fasse un duo ?"
Dick Riveurs n'eut pas le temps de considerer la proposition que Guy Lux ejacula
"Ca alors ! Un duo de Ringo et Dick ! Qu'en pensez-vous mes enfants ?" (s'adressant aux spectateurs hors-cadre) "Mais c'est formidable !"
Jean-Jean sursauta a la perspective d'un tel evenement et chercha desesperement la telecommande pour regler le son. Puis il se rappela qu'elles n'existaient pas encore dans ce temps-la. Fatalitas ! Il dut se resoudre a se lever et faire les cinq pas pour couper le son manuellement.
Entre-temp, Ringo et Dick Riveurs avaient pris position.
Le symbole-sexe a droite, le grand corbeau a gauche -on reconnaissait bien ici la patte des productions Carpentier, leur sceau de qualite. L'un en blanc, l'autre en noir. Les deux terreurs des hitt-parades entamerent leur duo. Ils y mirent du leur, a grands coups d'expressions peinees et sourcils douloureux, faisant bien attention a ne pas se toucher ni a echanger plus de coups d'oeil que ceux absolument necessaires -Ils n'allaient quand meme pas passer pour une bande de tarlouses.
Ringo et Dick Riveurs firent alors quelques pas de concert vers le palmier en pot et, l'espace d'un instant, Jean-Jean crut qu'ils allaient jouer a se poursuivre autour ("Nique nique, c'est toi la bique / Si je t'attrape, je te frappe"). Il n'en fut rien. Ringo s'appuya en fait mollement contre le tronc caoutchouteux et celui-ci commenca a glisser sur le carrelage. Ringo se redressa aussitot. Les rouflaquettes entourant son visage impavide d'etalon ibere vaguement neurasthenique battaient la mesure au rhythme de ses talonnettes, celles de Dick Riveurs etaient moins reussies.
Jean-Jean remit le son, curieux.
Ringo etait en train de se vider les tripes dans un acces de tourment emotionnel magnifique et Dick Riveurs le lui rendait bien :
"Jeu t'aimeu oh oui jeu t'aimeu
-Jeu t'aimeussi oh oui
Mais non jeu t'aimeu, c'est moi qui
-Jeu t'aimeussi. Oh yeah."
Puis la chanson prit fin. Un silence d'une seconde se produisit qui fut heureusement succede par un tonnerre d'applaudissements. Le voltmetre partit dans le rouge et le chat sursauta.
"Ce n'est rien mon gros doudou" le rassura Jean-Jean, "ce n'est que Ringo et Dick Riveurs les celebres idoles des jeunes". Pepere jeta un regard furieux aux humains qui avaient ose interrompre sa sieste et daigna accepter une ou deux caresses -pas plus- avant de repiquer au truc.
A l'ecran, Guy Lux consultait toujours ses fiches.
Thursday, 14 December 2017
a totally personal -and anything but exhaustive- selection
Doncha know it's Christmas time; here are a few books I recommend top off me head.
Obvious ones first.
Pretty much anything by The Greatest Living American Writer : Don DeLillo. Start with "Point Omega", say (it's not his most difficult one -which would probably be "The Names"). Don DeLillo has understood everything about the modern world. Everything. The man expresses whole theories and conveys whole scenes in one simple sentence, and can rightfully be elevated to the rank of Faulkner, no less.
Close second in the "greatest" stakes : Cormac mcCarthy - take on his "Blood Meridian", it will take your breath away.
No need to harp on about "Tristram Shandy", "Tom Jones", "American Psycho", "Catch 22", "The Picture of Dorian Gray", "Infinite Jest", "The Corrections"... I am a huge fan of Dick (no sniggering at the back, thank you) but can't think of one definitive novel of his. "Ubik", I suppose.
Louis de Bernieres "Notwithstanding" : utterly enchanting. The story of a little village with his "characters", budding / clandestine / unrequited love stories, mini-dramas and so on. It's just marvellous, echoes of "l'honneur perdu de Pedonzigues" "stray sod country" (see below), or "under milkwood".
Raymond Chandler "The Big Sleep". Quite simply one of the most talented writers I have ever come across - boy could this guy write!!! ...so much so that the actual plot hardly matters. A reader once collared him to moan about the fact that the murderer of one of the side-characters is never revealed; Chandler admitted he didn't know ((or care, for that matter)) either!
Patrick McCabe, let's say... "Call me the Breeze" maybe. Focken brilliant writer, so he is. Keeping the genius Irish tradition of "poetic realism" best embodied by the one-and-only Flann o'Brien (start with "The Third Policeman" rather than "At Swim Two Bird" because you will be lost) alive. McCabe pretty much writes the same old story in all of these books (basically ** **** **** *** **** and that's about it) but I don't mind one bit. Your man deeply cares for his characters, especially when he submits them to the worst possible tragedies.
John Steinbeck "Cannery Row". It is difficult to understate the sheer rightfulness of this man. A giant he was. "Cannery Row" (and his sequel "Sweet Thursday" -hurrah!!) is a comedy - meaning it is not a chore to read like "The Grapes of Wrath" or "Of Mice and Men" (-English teacher's voice: you what?????). Let's say it is not a hundred miles away from the world of Prevert or Queneau : it wears its heart on its sleeve and will make you laugh just as much as it will make you cry. I remember thinking at the time "oh God, I can't face the prospect of it coming to an end soon..."
Another of my heroes: Kurt Vonnegut. Let's say... "God bless you, mr. Goldwater" but I just as easily offer "Galapagos" as a taster. A wonderful wonderful wonderful man. Vonnegut throws everything but the kitchen sink at the page. And then lays on another layer - just because there are no rules. A bona fide humanist and a great example of the power of imagination. (cf. JG Ballard in the UK. ... Sort of.)
I do hope that you have heard of "A Prayer For Owen Meany" by John Irving. You haven't? Boy oh boy, are you in for a treat. Then move on to "Garp" and brace yourself for "The Cider House Rules" which has to be his "best" (if we have to offer such perfunctory criteria). Warning : handkerchief at the ready! Irving -a self-proclaimed fan of Dickens- doesn't do things by half.
Douglas Coupland "Hey, Nostradamus!" : the answer to Gus van Sant's "Elephant". Or the recent "Worst. Person. Ever" which is very different : a comedy. Yet another of these writers I am actively engaged in reading everything he has produced.
Alice Sebold "The Lovely Bones" - Fantastically gifted writer, somewhat reminiscent of DeLillo's powers of evocation, there can be no higher praise. Please please please produce some more!
Honourable mentions :
Will Self "The Book of Dave" - Toni Morrison "Beloved" - Irvine Welsh any of his, really ! a veritable Molotov cocktail of words is our Irvine, let's choose "Porno" for the craic of it - Paul Auster once again, hard to single one out, maybe one from his early trilogy or "In The Country of Lost Things"? - Russell Banks "The Rule of Bones" - Thomas Coraghessan Boyle "Drop City" (file under: read every novel he has written, he has never disappointed me) - etc. etc. etc.
Fill yer boots!
Obvious ones first.
Pretty much anything by The Greatest Living American Writer : Don DeLillo. Start with "Point Omega", say (it's not his most difficult one -which would probably be "The Names"). Don DeLillo has understood everything about the modern world. Everything. The man expresses whole theories and conveys whole scenes in one simple sentence, and can rightfully be elevated to the rank of Faulkner, no less.
Close second in the "greatest" stakes : Cormac mcCarthy - take on his "Blood Meridian", it will take your breath away.
No need to harp on about "Tristram Shandy", "Tom Jones", "American Psycho", "Catch 22", "The Picture of Dorian Gray", "Infinite Jest", "The Corrections"... I am a huge fan of Dick (no sniggering at the back, thank you) but can't think of one definitive novel of his. "Ubik", I suppose.
Louis de Bernieres "Notwithstanding" : utterly enchanting. The story of a little village with his "characters", budding / clandestine / unrequited love stories, mini-dramas and so on. It's just marvellous, echoes of "l'honneur perdu de Pedonzigues" "stray sod country" (see below), or "under milkwood".
Raymond Chandler "The Big Sleep". Quite simply one of the most talented writers I have ever come across - boy could this guy write!!! ...so much so that the actual plot hardly matters. A reader once collared him to moan about the fact that the murderer of one of the side-characters is never revealed; Chandler admitted he didn't know ((or care, for that matter)) either!
Patrick McCabe, let's say... "Call me the Breeze" maybe. Focken brilliant writer, so he is. Keeping the genius Irish tradition of "poetic realism" best embodied by the one-and-only Flann o'Brien (start with "The Third Policeman" rather than "At Swim Two Bird" because you will be lost) alive. McCabe pretty much writes the same old story in all of these books (basically ** **** **** *** **** and that's about it) but I don't mind one bit. Your man deeply cares for his characters, especially when he submits them to the worst possible tragedies.
John Steinbeck "Cannery Row". It is difficult to understate the sheer rightfulness of this man. A giant he was. "Cannery Row" (and his sequel "Sweet Thursday" -hurrah!!) is a comedy - meaning it is not a chore to read like "The Grapes of Wrath" or "Of Mice and Men" (-English teacher's voice: you what?????). Let's say it is not a hundred miles away from the world of Prevert or Queneau : it wears its heart on its sleeve and will make you laugh just as much as it will make you cry. I remember thinking at the time "oh God, I can't face the prospect of it coming to an end soon..."
Another of my heroes: Kurt Vonnegut. Let's say... "God bless you, mr. Goldwater" but I just as easily offer "Galapagos" as a taster. A wonderful wonderful wonderful man. Vonnegut throws everything but the kitchen sink at the page. And then lays on another layer - just because there are no rules. A bona fide humanist and a great example of the power of imagination. (cf. JG Ballard in the UK. ... Sort of.)
I do hope that you have heard of "A Prayer For Owen Meany" by John Irving. You haven't? Boy oh boy, are you in for a treat. Then move on to "Garp" and brace yourself for "The Cider House Rules" which has to be his "best" (if we have to offer such perfunctory criteria). Warning : handkerchief at the ready! Irving -a self-proclaimed fan of Dickens- doesn't do things by half.
Douglas Coupland "Hey, Nostradamus!" : the answer to Gus van Sant's "Elephant". Or the recent "Worst. Person. Ever" which is very different : a comedy. Yet another of these writers I am actively engaged in reading everything he has produced.
Alice Sebold "The Lovely Bones" - Fantastically gifted writer, somewhat reminiscent of DeLillo's powers of evocation, there can be no higher praise. Please please please produce some more!
Honourable mentions :
Will Self "The Book of Dave" - Toni Morrison "Beloved" - Irvine Welsh any of his, really ! a veritable Molotov cocktail of words is our Irvine, let's choose "Porno" for the craic of it - Paul Auster once again, hard to single one out, maybe one from his early trilogy or "In The Country of Lost Things"? - Russell Banks "The Rule of Bones" - Thomas Coraghessan Boyle "Drop City" (file under: read every novel he has written, he has never disappointed me) - etc. etc. etc.
Fill yer boots!
Friday, 10 November 2017
the seven basic plots
"The Seven Basic Plots" by Christopher Brooker (2004)
Illuminating study of the basic archetypes between every story ever told. What Brooker says here is that there is no more than a handful of stories at our disposal; these seven stories are constantly rehashed, and these are:
-overcoming the monster (easy enough to understand): "Dracula"
-rags to riches the protagonist wins it all, loses it, and then regains it "Jane Eyre"
-the quest "The Lord of the Rings"
-voyage and return the hero comes back a changed man/woman "Alice in Wonderland" "Candide" "Wizard of Oz"
-comedy warning, this includes romances! What matters in this genre (pronounced "gen-RAH") is that it ends well "Cinderella" "Bridget Jones's Diary" -and they lived happily ever after
You can easly guess what comes next, in the other direction...
-tragedy it ends badly for a -often originally good- protagonist with a fatal flaw or who has made a great mistake "Macbeth" "the Portrait of Dorian Gray" "the Great Gatsby"
-rebirth the protagonist becomes a better person through great trials "a Christmas Carol" "Sex Lies and Videotape" "You Know Yourself 2.0"
Remarks
Problem: as you will have probably thought for yourself, some stories draw on several basic plots! It is not uncommon for authors to mix genres, and you will often funny side-kicks in crime stories.
Consider "Twin Peaks 1989". It starts off as a overcoming the monster tale to turn into a rebirth for a number of its characters (Andy n Lucy, Bobby, Audrey), but also a tragedy for some others (Agent Cooper, Laura Palmer). A happy ending comedy can also be a rags to riches with the heroine hitting the jackpot at the end: "The Princess Diary" (aaaaaaahhhhhhh...)
Voyage and return is not a hundred miles away from rebirth; a comedy can also lead to rebirth (the protagonists see the errors of their way).
But Brooker doesn't stop there.
In his second part, he goes on to account for these seven basic constructions, and argues that they correspond to deep psychological human needs. I don't remember them precisely (it's been some time since I read it) but they are, as you would expect, to do with
seeking help, support, affection;
being guided along the way through our lives;
moral warnings for everyone to behave;
instilling respect for the law;
fostering self-belief -these sorts of things.
Sadly -in my eyes- he then blots his copy big time.
The third part of his ambitious book consists of linking these seven plots to periods in world history. I'm afraid it's complete bollix, a clear case of "a bridge too far". For shame, he was doing so well until then...
Brooking doesn't so much assign definite eras to these plots but considers that they follow logically. In other words, he falls into the Fukuyama nonsense of "The End of History". If you accept Brooker's third part, history has come to some sort of resolution, and this resolution can be portrayed by a basic plot (rebirth, I think it was).
Still, a brilliant thought-engaging work which I thoroughly recommend.
Addendum (of my own making): the question of Free Will.
Unsurprisingly, a number of stories deal with the question of what makes us human. A conclusion often arrived at is that being human means being susceptible of making mistakes -and even committing evil. We are not machines. Meaning we are neither perfect nor logical. Errare humanum est, remember?Hence "Paradise Lost" (Satan will not accept to follow God's orders even if it means spending eternity in hell), Milton's "Aeropagitica" (in order to choose good, we must be exposed to evil), "Clockwork Orange" (you can't turn human beings into robots), "Wings of Desire" (an angel chooses to become human), "Westworld the TV series" (doesn't Maeve accept to take risks rather than follow her mission?), "1984" (Winston questions the system)...
Allez, bon week-end mina san et allez l'OL !
Friday, 1 September 2017
proclamation (official founding date: 31/07/2017)
Fédération
Bravache de BallFoot (FBBF), anciennement Fédération Mondiale de
Football A l'Envers (FF-ALE)
Président-Fondateur
: Loig Thivend
Assistante Personnelle du Président-Fondateur : miss Somying Yaya
Commis d'Office : Paul Delaye
Assistante Personnelle du Président-Fondateur : miss Somying Yaya
Commis d'Office : Paul Delaye
Logo
historique - devise “FALE le faire!”
Avis
! La Fédération Bravache de BallFoot (FBBF) se donne pour mission
d'établir les règles du sport de BallFoot ou Football A L'Envers
(FALE) et de populariser sa pratique.
Les
réglements du BallFoot / FALE suivent en grande partie ceux de
l'”association football” tel que celui-ci est pratiqué par des
clubs comme l'Olympique Lyonnais, Manchester United, Ajax Amsterdam
ou bien encore l'AS Roma.
La
différence primordiale tient en ce que l'action se déroule non pas
vers l'avant mais vers l'arrière. Les joueurs ne peuvent pas courir
vers l'avant. Les déplacements latéraux sont acceptés.
Pour
ce fait et pour tenir compte de la difficulté attenante, les matches
ne durent que deux périodes de 20 minutes avec une pause de 5
minutes au milieu; les équipes ont droit de faire appel à six
remplaçants durant le match; et le terrain de jeu est raccourci de
24 mètres en longueur et 18 mètres en largeur. On utilisera un
ballon à signal auditif comme celui utilisé pour le football des
aveugles.
Tout
match de BallFoot ou Football A L'Envers (FALE) devra être validé par la
Fédération Bravache de BallFoot (FBBF), ainsi que le port du
bien-aimé logo historique de la Fédération Bravache de BallFoot
(FBBF) -voir ci-dessous- en témoignera.
La Fédération Bravache de BallFoot (FBBF) s'engage à porter la bonne parole universelle de la pratique du Football A L'Envers ou BallFoot sous la direction avisée de son Président-Fondateur. L'Assistante Personnelle du Président-Fondateur répondra à toutes les demandes du Président-Fondateur. Le Commis d'Office fera tout le boulot.
On pourra envisager d'engager des porte-parole.
La Fédération Bravache de BallFoot (FBBF) s'engage à porter la bonne parole universelle de la pratique du Football A L'Envers ou BallFoot sous la direction avisée de son Président-Fondateur. L'Assistante Personnelle du Président-Fondateur répondra à toutes les demandes du Président-Fondateur. Le Commis d'Office fera tout le boulot.
On pourra envisager d'engager des porte-parole.
...
Hear, hear! Announcing
the creation of the Reverse Football World Federation (FBBF).
The rules of reverse football (ballfoot, or FALE) closely follow those of association football except that players can only run backwards. For more rules, please refer to the details listed above.
The BFFB will undertake to popularise the practice of ballfoot (or FALE) in the traditional spirit of fair-play and participative athleticism that best describe its executive council. The aforementioned council will endeavour to further the interests of ballfoot throughout the known world under the benevolent guidance of its founder Loig Thivend.
It is hoped that fun will be generally had by all.
To this end, the number of substitutes is increased to six per ballfoot team.
The rules of reverse football (ballfoot, or FALE) closely follow those of association football except that players can only run backwards. For more rules, please refer to the details listed above.
The BFFB will undertake to popularise the practice of ballfoot (or FALE) in the traditional spirit of fair-play and participative athleticism that best describe its executive council. The aforementioned council will endeavour to further the interests of ballfoot throughout the known world under the benevolent guidance of its founder Loig Thivend.
It is hoped that fun will be generally had by all.
To this end, the number of substitutes is increased to six per ballfoot team.
With
this judicious revision to the (archaic?) rules of association
football (or “soccer”), the Reverse Football World Federation
(FBBF) makes a brave stand against the devastating rise of obesity.
It (the FBBF) asserts its right to offer a healthy alternative to the
anything but creeping degeneracy of sports lovers.
It (the FBBF) sends a clear message and a strong signal that
spells out t.h.e. n.e.e.d. t.o. r.e.d.i.s.c.o.v.e.r. f.u.n.
p.h.y.s.i.c.a.l. e.x.e.r.c.i.s.e..
Let the children play! ...And also the adults.
The
staging of any ballfoot (FALE) game is subject to the trademark rules
of BFFB and must not infringe the copyright asserted by the mandatory
use of its official logo as featured above.
For
more details (creation of clubs, organisation of tournaments), please
contact the FBBF at @loig7san1.
Tuesday, 29 August 2017
Monday, 28 August 2017
Miss Tiffany Universe 2017 - my own choice
number one:
Needless to say, the judges came up with a different winner! But... seriously... come on...
Needless to say, the judges came up with a different winner! But... seriously... come on...
"How (insert N.E. name here) Changed TV Forever" or Baaad Journalism
Baaad journalism: pitfalls in our click-bait age. Here are a couple of handy points for sub-editors to keep in mind should they wish to stem the current dumbing-down slide.
-The use of "we".
How dare journalists state that "Why We All (love this or do that)"! Speak for yourself, mate... The use of this inclusive pronoun is never warranted. It is a sign of arrogance and bias. When they smack readers with this pronoun, journalists are only trying to impose their agenda upon the rest of the world. I doubt very much that the rest of the world has given them permission.
I probably took note of this detestable imposition a dozen years back when a columnist discussing the state of rock proudly crowned off her self-proclaimed rantings with "anyway, we'll all listen to nothing but Girls Aloud next year". Like fcuk I will.
-Superlatives.
I have no moral objection to anyone writing "one the most (this or that)". On the other hand, my rational self is instantly rubbed the wrong way when I see "the best this / the greatest that".
-PC neologisms.
Please call a spade a spade and don't encourage snobbish self-virtuous would-be intellectuals. One of the reasons for standing up to the idiocy of jargon is that it effectively endorses / condones the self-definition or euphemism / misnomer created to distort a horrible truth. Cases in point include "h*n*ur killing", "ethnic cl*ansing", "collateral damages, or "alt-right". (I already wrote on this subject elsewhere.)
-Crowbarring in ideological obsessions, or pushing an agenda (where it does not belong).
Recent example: the recap of "Twin Peaks 2017" episodes by The Guardian. First episode and the journalist can't help himself: mentions Donald Trump.
The underlying idea here is a plea for relevance. We desperately need deontological rationality: journalists should strive to stick to their subject as closely as possible.
Yes yes, I know that the validity of truth has been discussed for millennia (ie is there such thing as objectivity at all?) but, really, asking someone not to go off on an unrelated rant should not be too much to ask.
We need cold hard facts restraint more than ever in the age of Trump so please, dear journalists, stick to facts. If you're supposed to describe a football match, report on what happened during these 90 minutes, and don't make conjectures about possible transfers.
-References to supposedly related, similar occurences.
(Cf. above: stick to the subject!) Whenever a proper event happens, papers will unfailingly try to relate it to past occurrences. The problem is that every happening is by definition unique. I understand the wish to come up with a narrative or offer grounding / reasons for what happened but, unless there is a clear case for linking the present event to others ...comparisons are worthless. Let me repeat: comparisons are worthless per se.
I understand wanting to give a sense of perspective but listing other events in the hope that they will be comparable hence relevant hence instructive is just wishful thinking. It is page-filling.
What am I talking about, some may wonder.
Well, here are a few examples: murders, epidemics, cataclysmic events... What does it matter if another earthquake happened in another part of the world some other time? What does matter is how the response to another earthquake may facilitate the response to the one currently described. Or, returning to our football theme, how exactly do past matches (ie with two different line-ups) matter? You often hear "Team A hasn't beaten Team B in 5 years" -so what? What counts is the present match, "you can only beat what you have in front of you". Unlike you mean to invoke supernatural factors such as fate, auto-suggestion or curses, the mention of past results seems to me devoid of any import.
To be contined, no doubt.
Sunday, 27 August 2017
Beloved
Is everything we do imbued with significance I would certainly not presume to claim, but when you get down to write a book, you certainly set about expressing something. Whether it's a message, an aesthetic impression, or simply proclaim your own existence to the face of the indifferent world.
Here are some topics / sub-texts of Toni Morrison's "Beloved" :
acts of charity, including the most terrible one - of the difficulty of turning a new page; new chances in life and the end of slavery - return of the past - do the characters submit to their condition or will they take charge?
Here are some topics / sub-texts of Toni Morrison's "Beloved" :
acts of charity, including the most terrible one - of the difficulty of turning a new page; new chances in life and the end of slavery - return of the past - do the characters submit to their condition or will they take charge?
Friday, 25 August 2017
destiny in Harry Potter
Inevitability in "Harry Potter"
Preliminary clarification: I am choosing to study "Harry Potter and the Philosopher Stone" on its own. I will not take into consideration the fact that there are instalments to follow ...which obviously indicates that the heroes will survive this book's adventures.
What struck me early on during the reading of this book was the strange sense of chronology (for want of a better word). Harry is talked about before he actually makes his appearance. Not only that, but he is already held in (very high) esteem by the Hogwarths establishment and, a few pages later, every member of the magician world.
Infant Harry has a past, and this past is that he was the only survivor of Voldemort's crimes. He is the son of the highly popular and gifted Potter couple, and he is already considered to be special, endowed with unique skills.
In other words, he has a destiny to fulfil. He is primed to accomplish amazing things, and he is already admired for victories / miracles to come. The magician world see this self-unaware little boy for what hero he is expected to become.
This theme of assured victory runs throughout the book.
For example, we are told that first years are not supposed to own flying brooms -guess what? Harry receives one and instantly exceeds at flying. Quidditch is described as a complex sport requiring practice and dexterity - guess what? Harry becomes a star in his very first attempt. The villainous house of Whatever-It's-Called wins every year - guess what? The House of Harry knocks it off its perch.
I talked elsewhere of a distinct lack of genuine danger -that confirms this point. You never expect Harry and his little friends to fail. Faced with a challenge, they can rely on a wide panel of assets: knowledge (from Hermione), solidarity (from Wesley), strength (Hagrid), benevolence (Dumblebore) -and resourcefulness (that will be Harry).
This is all highly reassuring, and very comforting for the young readers.
In terms of structure and dynamics, I like to see plans set in motion. Judging from the brief appearances and cryptic messages of Dumblebore, you get the feeling that the authority on all things magic has seen the future and / or, at the very least, is convinced of Harry's legendary destiny to come: the boy is special, he is not going to disappoint.
The author clearly had her ending in mind when she got to commit the story down to paper. It's ever so slightly easier to set a scene when you know how it will conclude.
Which brings us back to our opening remark: no wonder then that "the Philosopher's Stone" is but a first episode in a series of adventures to come.
Preliminary clarification: I am choosing to study "Harry Potter and the Philosopher Stone" on its own. I will not take into consideration the fact that there are instalments to follow ...which obviously indicates that the heroes will survive this book's adventures.
What struck me early on during the reading of this book was the strange sense of chronology (for want of a better word). Harry is talked about before he actually makes his appearance. Not only that, but he is already held in (very high) esteem by the Hogwarths establishment and, a few pages later, every member of the magician world.
Infant Harry has a past, and this past is that he was the only survivor of Voldemort's crimes. He is the son of the highly popular and gifted Potter couple, and he is already considered to be special, endowed with unique skills.
In other words, he has a destiny to fulfil. He is primed to accomplish amazing things, and he is already admired for victories / miracles to come. The magician world see this self-unaware little boy for what hero he is expected to become.
This theme of assured victory runs throughout the book.
For example, we are told that first years are not supposed to own flying brooms -guess what? Harry receives one and instantly exceeds at flying. Quidditch is described as a complex sport requiring practice and dexterity - guess what? Harry becomes a star in his very first attempt. The villainous house of Whatever-It's-Called wins every year - guess what? The House of Harry knocks it off its perch.
I talked elsewhere of a distinct lack of genuine danger -that confirms this point. You never expect Harry and his little friends to fail. Faced with a challenge, they can rely on a wide panel of assets: knowledge (from Hermione), solidarity (from Wesley), strength (Hagrid), benevolence (Dumblebore) -and resourcefulness (that will be Harry).
This is all highly reassuring, and very comforting for the young readers.
In terms of structure and dynamics, I like to see plans set in motion. Judging from the brief appearances and cryptic messages of Dumblebore, you get the feeling that the authority on all things magic has seen the future and / or, at the very least, is convinced of Harry's legendary destiny to come: the boy is special, he is not going to disappoint.
The author clearly had her ending in mind when she got to commit the story down to paper. It's ever so slightly easier to set a scene when you know how it will conclude.
Which brings us back to our opening remark: no wonder then that "the Philosopher's Stone" is but a first episode in a series of adventures to come.
Thursday, 24 August 2017
Harry Potter : the appeal and the central enigma
Finished "Harry Potter 1". Yep, exactly as I felt after a dozen pages: it's about being loved and popular ...You can understand the appeal.
I thought that the characters were realistic, clearly based on kids we have all met when we woz at skewl. All highly likeable save for the mandatory nasty one. I imagine that readers will tend to recognise themselves in the different types (nice guy dependable Weasley, show-off top student Hermione, the prankster twins, etc.).
As for Harry himself, what is clever is that he is mainly defined in relation to others. He is a cypher, a catalyst, a projection of other people's admiration / jealousy. The author spends more time presenting / introducing / describing other characters than him. Think about it: apart from his Bowiesque thunderbolt on the forehead and rebellious hair, what exactly do we get told about him? Huh?
He comes across as a nice kid; he is revealed to be resourceful and nimble; he is not bitter -and that's about it. Harry Potter naturally takes centre-stage without being properly defined. He is like our personal identity: it's there, it's what the rest of the world gravitates around ...and we can't see it.
Harry is the repose of the story, the heart of the action, and the object of other characters' attention ...and yet, he does not impose himself upon others; he is not described at lengths; and he pretty much always reacts to situations rather than take the initiative. Case in point: Harry Potter, as Dumblebore (spell?) explains at the end, is the one person in the world with whom the Philosopher Stone is safe: he has no particular use for it.
That's paradoxical, that's intriguing -and that makes you want to read more about him.
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"Harry Potter" and innocence.
Another thing that struck me was how sweet the book is. Although tragic deaths are mentioned (Harry's parents), monsters appear and evil lurks around (you-know-who whose name argllllll), violence or pain is never really conveyed; this is very much fairy tale territory. Should a kid break his arm, he gets it instantly fixed.
You never get the feeling that Harry and his friends are in danger: the trials he undertakes are games or challenges for whom solutions exist. He is also provided for, financially (his parents) and materially (who oh who sent him the invisibility cloak?).
Mainly, Harry is pure at heart. He is not fuelled by vengeance, he is just being nice to his friends. There is also a lot of benevolence going his way: well-wishers and supporters like Hagrid and Dumblebore.
The characters are at a safe age, with no intimation of sexuality ever rearing its head. As I understand, the characters will age as the series progresses and the question of boyfriend / girlfriend will occur but as for now... nothing.
(etc., will now move on to Morrison's "Beloved". Somehow I don't expect it to operate along the same principles.)
musing on "Pride and Prejudice": the big narrative choice
There are two levels / layers for the production (production, not reception) of a work of art such a book:
the story told (or content, if you will),
and the author's delivery (or medium, if you want).
In "Pride and Prejudice" -"Emma" is another good example- Austen sets out to expose her main character's misguided propensity to pass judgement on others: Elisabeth will be found to have been wrong after being explained the reasons behind Mr. Darcy's behaviour. Now how Austen tells this story is the point: there is parallel deception at work here.
Elisabeth can only react to what she gets told by the other characters; we can only react to what we get told by the author. ...We are both taken in as the author plays the same trick on both of us.
Austen achieves her end by feeding her heroine and her readers incomplete information. By hiding crucial information that exonerates Darcy and reveals Elisabeth's error, the author mischievously / dishonestly (you decide) omnipotently leads both her protagonist and audience onto the wrong path. She misleads her and us on both levels (plot and narration).
Harsh, some might say ...but isn't it what life is like? Do we ever have complete, impartial knowledge of what is going on? Do we ever actually know anybody else in the world (let alone ourselves)? Are we ever in possession of all the facts?
And yet -yet- we continually decide on a course of action; we continually pass judgement on others. Because we have to.
So what Austen does here is illustrate this existential struggle. Elisabeth (or Emma) means well ...but ultimately she's wrong. She will be found to have been deluded by the narrative tricks of deus ex machina, dramatic twists, confessions, conflicting points of view and so on.
All that the well meaning deluded protagonist did was strive for the best (given the information she was fed and impressions she was consequently able to form).
Concept of suspense and dramatic irony.
Hitchcock talked about the two differing approaches to story-telling (and their attendant effects): you could have a birthday cake suddenly exploding in the middle of a restaurant (shock effect: 1 second) or you could show a terrorist planting a bomb in a birthday cake, wheeling it into the room, watching as the revellers tuck into their mean unaware of the tragedy about to happy (tension length: as long as you want to make it last).
Austen could choose to show us from the start how misguided Elisabeth is, and this would make for a totally different novel. It's a tactical choice alright.
There are dozens of filums out there that deliberately choose to privilege the second option and / or play around with the consequences of narrative revelations: the Japanese "Chaos", the South Korean "Two Sisters", the French "he loves me, he loves me not", and "Irreversible", "Memento"...
Wednesday, 23 August 2017
Peter Pan
It's five o'clock, it's time for a review of... "Peter Pan", this time.
"Peter Pan" feels like an experiment in creating a possible series of stories: at some point the author simply lists a handful of adventures which he could choose to relate before settling on one. That's pretty novel! I also couldn't help noting how less than definite the fate of the baddie (Captain Cook) was ...Pray, any chance of a sequel should this book be a success?
Anyway, the whole thing is engaging, endearing, whimsical... Great crack* like! It kicks off straight-up / nonsense on and carries on in the same quirky vein till it can no longer ignore the other side of the coin (namely, ahem... how exactly must the parents robbed of their children feel?).
Comparisons could be made with "Alice", "Tristam Shandy" or "Tom Jones": at some stage, Barrie casually breaks the fourth wall and addresses the reader to comment on his own story, cheeky as you like.
Comparisons could be made with "Alice", "Tristam Shandy" or "Tom Jones": at some stage, Barrie casually breaks the fourth wall and addresses the reader to comment on his own story, cheeky as you like.
And now for the unavoidable seckshual politics: one can't help but raise a (finely manicured, thank you very much) eyebrow about the author's portrayal of women, esp. Wendy who jumps at the chance of cooking / doing the laundry / doing the washing-up / serving as nurse / and generally looking after all the boys -How lucky lucky lucky eh...
There are so many original details in "Peter Pan" that (see opening remark) they could do with being developed at a later stage: what of these "lost boys"? how fast does time pass in NeverLand? what do the children actually live on? Tinkerbell's romantic back-story? possible tragic dimensions? etc.
Verdict: a treacle coated 3 and a quarter out of five.
The The -"Jealous of Youth" (1991)
*yes, I know
Tuesday, 22 August 2017
Wuthering Heights take-down
Finally got round to tackle “Wuthering Heights” and I'm pleasantly surprised so far. Nothing precious about it but frankly Gothic and even funny: just about every character is a study in grotesque!
Themes uncovered so far:
isolation (stated wish of narrator / house) – family relationships (the fractured Earshaws past and present, the undefined and problematic nature of Heathcliff, and the ideal (?) nuclear model of the Lintons) – reported narrations (it's boxes within boxes here: the narrator – the old maid – Catherine's diary) – inside/outside (the wilderness of the moors, the refuge of the house, the cot-like bed, children messing about on their own) – repressed violence (physical threats, dogs not really attacking, curses a plenty, warnings of doom) - illness - dirt and cleanliness - predicted perdition, fate, and assorted maledictions (the mad religious servant)...
An initial 101 Pop Psychology analysis would probably suggest that the author was a passionate young woman of delicate health suffering from loneliness away from society, hungering for love freed of the yoke of religion, with mixed-up notions of close relationships.
The author sets up a series of problems that preclude any happy ending: if the heroine wishes to progress in society as she asserts, she cannot possibly continue to roam the wilderness with the proudly dirty gypsy boy; if Cathy "is" Heathcliff, how can she leave him?; if the predominent feelings are all-round hatred and anger, how can the story not end in tragedy?
Finally, what about the (not so) “blank page” outsider narrator who gets to grips with the tormented protagonists...”The Great Gatsby” anyone?
More notes about "Wuthering Heights".
What a shamble this book is! If you haven't actually read it, you may only be aware of the first main plot (Cathy n Heathcliff) as this is the one usually favoured by filum adaptations ...but this story only takes less than half of the book!
What a shamble this book is! If you haven't actually read it, you may only be aware of the first main plot (Cathy n Heathcliff) as this is the one usually favoured by filum adaptations ...but this story only takes less than half of the book!
Jumping a generation ahead, the book then moves on to the sons and daughters of the protagonists and this is where it goes rather confusing: most of them share the same traits (ie always at death's door) and same names (whose son is it again?).
(By the way, I had a weird back-to-front feeling as it reminded me of a recent movie: "The Place Beyond The Pines", which explores the relationship between the sons of two past adversaries.)
The novel also gets unintentionally funny: both sides of the family spend their time traveling to and fro between the two houses, only to get forbidden to do so by the two fathers -and then they carry on nonetheless so that they can get married and damn each other to hell. It's sheer panto time!
As noted above, the new protagonists spend the bulk of the second part pretty much all dying, marrying each other, and exchanging curses in rotation. All of them except the formidable devilish figure of Heathcliff who is NOT a nice guy / tormented romantic hero.
Then -to cut a long story short- Bronte suddenly springs a ghost motive upon us in the last ten pages (yes yes, I know: there had been -very fleeting- mentions at the start) and kills off the main character in about three pages straight. The narrator then goes for a stroll to look at the graves and that's that. The end. Unexplored deus ex machina device + no logical arc + no proper conclusion.
Phew. This sure is an overwrought, weird piece of work and no mistake... My main feeling throughout was that it deserves a proper Gothic adaptation far away from the usual lovey-dovey simplification. I mean, even Cathy is no angel; there is a whole subtext of ambiguities worth developing here... (To name but two: Didn't she try to have her cake and eat it after all? And at the end of the day, why does Heathcliff feel so hard done-by?)
Sub-texts / true subjects
Filigram.
-Wells's "Time Traveller" is not about time travelling but about socialism (as in: organising work between the various classes).
-Stevenson's "Dr Jekyll and Mister Hyde" is about alcoholism (giving in to drink or not).
-"Fight Club" is about testicular cancer.
-I always thought that "Baywatch" was about ... broken families.
-"Dexter" is about loneliness.
-"Friends" is a shampoo commercial, etc.
-"I Know What You Did Last Summer" is a celebration of Jennifer Love Hewitt's breasts. Not that they are ever revealed though.
-Wells's "Time Traveller" is not about time travelling but about socialism (as in: organising work between the various classes).
-Stevenson's "Dr Jekyll and Mister Hyde" is about alcoholism (giving in to drink or not).
-"Fight Club" is about testicular cancer.
-I always thought that "Baywatch" was about ... broken families.
-"Dexter" is about loneliness.
-"Friends" is a shampoo commercial, etc.
-"I Know What You Did Last Summer" is a celebration of Jennifer Love Hewitt's breasts. Not that they are ever revealed though.
Jane Eyre review ...loig7san style
"Jane Eyre" by one of the Bronte sisters (they were sisters, and their name was Bronte -this explains that) mainly deals with 1) self-denial and 2) wishing one were pretty. This ought to give you an idea of how fun the life of the eponymous Jane is.
Throughout the novel, the author will keep remarking how less-than-pretty her two protagonists are, especially when compared with lesser admirable characters. ...Is she trying to tell us something here, I wonder.
The other constant theme characters bang on about every five pages is Christian suffering: homilies about self-restraint, humility and blah blah blah.
Other fun topics include: retribution / comeuppance - forgiveness - consequences - social standing - passages from a stage to another one. Poor wee Jane is regularly compared to a lamb, presumably in contrast to a big bad wolf (that's how subtle your woman is when she tries a simile).
Bronte is also fond of (pretty modern) sudden switches to the present tense.
What is startling about the story is how fundamentally wrong the main -male, note: male- character arguably is. Bronte is at pains to present him as a wronged victim but... er... Rochester is pretty much an Adidas buying Bernard Tapie of his time: sorry mate but you entered into a contract, you respect it! "For better or for worse", remember? And this, from a female writer: ?!?
Super culchured people will know that Jean Rhys wrote a stunning spin-off / reply novel presenting Rochester's "situation" from another angle (brilliant stuff altogether).
Super culchured people will know that Jean Rhys wrote a stunning spin-off / reply novel presenting Rochester's "situation" from another angle (brilliant stuff altogether).
Finally, "Jane Eyre" suffers from the same sudden / rushed conclusion as "Wuthering Heights": so we had dozens of page fillers about them wee little birds and clouds and flowers and trees and stormy skies and carpets and furniture and what-have-you and then, in the space of 3 / 5 pages, bang! The author springs on us a massive twist regarding the formidable main male character and brings the story to an end faster than you could say "Hermione! Why on earth won't you go out with me???" ... Right-so.
Oh, and Jane is not pretty (in case you didn't know).
Oh, and Jane is not pretty (in case you didn't know).
Sunday, 20 August 2017
Absalom! Absalom!
In "Absalom! Absalom!", Faulkner sets out to destroy the idea that a good book / filum is, first and foremost, a good story: the entire plot itself is pretty much told in two chapters at the start!
What matters is the style: how the story is conveyed, over hundreds of pages. What makes up the book is how different narrators recount Sutclen's fate. Well, guess what? they recount it... differently. The multiplicity of points of view and agendas weaves a rich tapestry closer to real life, where everyone has a stake and a bias.
Just as importantly, Faulkner is not so much interested in events as in reasons. Why. Why did this character act this way or that way is the mystery. As the book progresses, the author drops disparate fragments of information that lead you to revise your opinion of the characters, mainly the protagonist: was he really a monster ...or was he a tragic figure after all?
The thing is... we'll never really know. By offering various interpretations of the characters' actions, Faulkner alludes to the ultimate fallacy of presuming to be able to understand and judge a person's action.
What matters is the style: how the story is conveyed, over hundreds of pages. What makes up the book is how different narrators recount Sutclen's fate. Well, guess what? they recount it... differently. The multiplicity of points of view and agendas weaves a rich tapestry closer to real life, where everyone has a stake and a bias.
Just as importantly, Faulkner is not so much interested in events as in reasons. Why. Why did this character act this way or that way is the mystery. As the book progresses, the author drops disparate fragments of information that lead you to revise your opinion of the characters, mainly the protagonist: was he really a monster ...or was he a tragic figure after all?
The thing is... we'll never really know. By offering various interpretations of the characters' actions, Faulkner alludes to the ultimate fallacy of presuming to be able to understand and judge a person's action.
Tuesday, 15 August 2017
Rhetorical skills matter.
Here are a few diversionary tactics used by the mad man when summoned by the media to account for his (lack of) reaction to the Charlottesville attack, in no particular order:
resorting to the vocabulary of a 12 year old in order to simplify the issue - adopting the nazis' pretext as a genuine, valuable excuse - building up a strawman - interpreting the media's natural concern as an attack against him and his presidency - pretending access to classified information (that would validate his position against the rest of the world) - trying to turn the table - obfuscation and general diversion via stress on mere details - "(I won't answer this) but what about that..." - most egregiously, making up false equivalence between nazis and the Left - calling on not checkable "facts" and personal knowledge - oh, and plain lying.
Seriouslytho, there are times when he's straight out of a Chris Morris sketch, like when he claimed that the threat of a missile attack by North Korea would be good for tourism in Guam. ... I shit you not.
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