Start the Week #105
Book review: Film Noir, male bonding, Freedman Towers, music and chortles
Greetings!
These days, everything is all over the place at Freedman Towers, and I’ve been up against deadlines, and over the next four weeks I have to read and review four books for Teach Secondary magazine, read another one for a course I’m on, and prepare the writing course I will be teaching. So that’s why articles are appearing not on their usual days or not at all. I still owe Rebecca Holden a letter, which I should have penned last week. She has said to me why not resume after Christmas, but she didn’t say which Christmas1. So, sorry, mea culpa, a thousand apologies, and all that.
But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.
Male bonding
One of the lowlights of the Christmas period, along with the awful musak blaring out in supermarkets, is the insistence of large shops to inflict the Christmas TV advert on us. These are usually horrible, and the latest John Lewis one is no exception in my opinion. You can watch it if you like, if you really really insist, so you will know what I’m talking about. Go get a bucket for when you are sick.
Look, I don’t mind if men want to hug each other, but I always wonder with this sort of thing how genuine it really is. I have the impression that advertisers see it as their moral duty to persuade viewers about a particular set of values. Anyway, I think if my dad had given me a huge hug I’m not sure which of us would have been the more embarassed. The traditional form of male bonding in Britain — and let’s face it, Christmas is meant to be a time of traditions — is nothing like this touchy-feely variety.
In fact, I experienced a very recent example of male bonding in a farm shop, by which I mean a shop that sells farm produce, not one where you can buy a farm. Elaine was scrutinising artichokes or something while I held onto the supermarket trolley while writing an article in my head. The owner came along.
Owner: You alright, mate?
Me: Oh yes, thanks, I’m just leaving it to the boss.
Owner: Don’t we all?
Both: 😂
Upon which he thumped me on the shoulder. Now that’s British male bonding.
By the way, this publication is a non-profit concern. It wasn’t meant to be, that’s just the way it’s turned out. If you want to support good (I hope) independent (definitely) writing, please upgrade to a paid subscription. I’ve reduced the price to £15 per year for now, which is 70% off the usual price. Click the button below to take advantage of this offer, which is valid until 31 December 2025.
The 60 Minute Writer
That’s the name of the course I will be teaching from January to March. It’s two thirds full already, which is quite satisfying. I’m currently in the position of having more ideas than lessons, which is a nice problem to have. Three writers I definitely know I will be drawing on are David Foster Wallace, Joan Didion and Georges Perec. If you did my course last year, be assured that although this one will take a similar format, the content will be different.
You can read the details of the course here:
Inside Freedman Towers
Elaine has cut out certain foodstuffs.
Me: You’re looking really good on your new eating regime. Do you feel good?
Elaine: I feel like a new woman.
Me: Me too.
Elaine: 😶
We leapt onto a train a few days ago, and sat next to two men. They were talking about education. Every time Elaine and I go anywhere we overhear people talking about teaching and education. I decided to talk to Elaine, partly to block it out, and partly because I was feeling magnanimous.
Me: I drank half a litre of water during the night.
Elaine: Oh yes?
Me: Yes. Because every time I have a pee, I have to top myself up afterwards.
Elaine: Right.
Me: You see, Elaine [by this time I was leaning forwards and using the special mansplaining voice I reserve for such occasions], my body is a finely-honed machine. My homeostatic regulatory mechanism is a precision instrument that ensures that I maintain a state of perfect body fluid homeostasis.
Elaine: I’m trying to read.
Just then, the fellow I was sitting next to me leaned right into me, nearly pushing me off my seat. I looked at him and realised it was R, a friend and colleague from the world of education technology. What a coincidence! He said he had found a new love, having been divorced twice.
Me: Congratulations. But you know what Samuel Johnson said about this sort of thing, don’t you?
R: No?
Me: He was out walking and saw someone he knew who had just got married for the second time. He said, “Look, Boswell: the triumph of hope over experience!”
All: 🤣🤣🤣🤣
Book review: Film Noir
That smouldering, good-looking bloke with the moustache is me, from my matinee idol days as a member of an amateur dramatics society. But enough about me. I wanted to say a few words about this book, which is from Taschen.
As you probably know, Taschen books tend to be glossy, sumptuous and beautifully illustrated. This one is no exception.It is very informative too, and not even very expensive. So if film noir is your thing, or even if you just like reading hardboiled fiction like that of Raymond Chandler, then this is the book for you.
My only beef with it is that the font is small, thin and sans serif. Other than that, and the fact that it has no table of contents, it’s a great book, and one that is very dip-intoable. Very handy is the chronology section at the back, which starts with the execution of two people in 1928 for a real life double indemnity murder.
Speaking of Raymond Chandler, I love this letter he sent to the editor of The Atlantic Monthly:
By the way, would you convey my compliments to the purist who reads your proofs and tell him or her that I write in a sort of broken-down patois which is something like the way a Swiss waiter talks, and that when I split an infinitive, God damn it, I split it so it will stay split.
Over and out.
From Dreyer’s English.
Oh, and on the subject of noir fiction, I’ve had a go once or twice myself. For example, here is my hardboiled version of a simple story:
Xmas pics
I am not Christian myself, but I do love all the lights and stuff. Here are a few pics I took recently.
Elaine playing a piece by Turina
Elaine was very reluctant to allow me to share this. She says it’s a work in progress. The first part is a prelude she wrote based on the Phrygian mode. That’s when you start on the third note of the scale. For example, in C major, that’s E.
And now, a few videos
Naughty weekend
Autumn Leaves
I want to be able to play like Paul Desmond, the saxophonist. One of these days 🙂
Post-it
And lastly, a feel-good short film.
Recommendations:
A brilliant renovation survival guide from RenoQueen. You’ll want to bookmark this.
Great essay from Elizabeth Beggins about how people are sort of morally blackmailed despite having no control over a larger system.
A lovely tribute to Sir Tom Stoppard from Lisa Marks.
Kate Jones announces her short story salon, which sounds brilliant, and has temporarily reduced the price of her newsletter to £10 for the first year.
Well, that’s it from me for now. I hope you enjoyed reading this. If you’d like to take advantage of my temporarily reduced price, click this button:
Me to friend on phone: Hello, there, how are things?
Friend: Oh hello. When you said you would phone me in October I assumed you meant the same year.
Chet Baker rules! As for that smoldering, good-looking bloke, well.... golly!!
Desmond was the composer of the jazz standard "Take Five"- whose royalties he donated in perpetuity to the Red Cross.