Showing posts with label James Joyce.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label James Joyce.. Show all posts

My archaeological dig


Until recently, I used to sit in my parents' attic on a Sunday afternoon, unearthing all my childhood books and magazines and sitting down on a cardboard box to a good random read. Taking the dust sheets off the boxes and blowing the few particles from the covers, it was a joy to transport myself back to childhood. I was brought up to read from a very young age and my school reports always contained comments in relation to my reading ability. 'Gillian's stories are always interesting to read,' stated my P2 report.

And when I moved from the family home, I took ALL my books, magazines and comics with me (yes, I still have copies of The Beano 1983 floating around somewhere!) They were largely discarded in a spare bedroom, which slowly over the years metamorphosed into a library which looked as if it had been ransacked by the National Party Against Reading (see what I've done there - thrown in a little gesture to the elections!)

While trying to sort out the reading pile, I unearthed many treasures including a plethora of books, I'd read, digested and then forgotten about. I never throw books out, and I never sell them on ebay, or drop them into charity shops. That's one thing I'm selfish about.

I have listed some of them here – many you will recognise, many you might not.

Five Go To Smugglers Top – Enid Blyton – This is one of my favourite of the Famous Five, along with Five Get Into Trouble. It follows the five as they stay in an old house and discover secret passageways. Reading critically now, I see how these incidents of mystery and suspense appeal to the younger generation.

The Lion's Way – Lewis Orde – I bought this at a school fair in 1987. I always headed to the book stall, which was filled with discarded reads sent by parents. However, this story was quite enjoyable, following Daniel Kirshbaum, a Jewish singer, overcoming the obstacles of Depression-era New York, and going on to succeed on the nightclub scene. I then ordered The Lion's Progress which I haven't yet read!

The Haunted Showboat (Nancy Drew) – Carolyn Keene. Poor Carolyn - I wrongly believed Nancy herself was the purveyor of these great mysteries, and the woman who inspired me to write my first novel at the age of 11. It was a Nancy Drew story involving secrets written on paper and hidden in trees. My friends thought it was a great book and better than the rest of the Nancy series!! It's in a landfill site.

The Tripods Trilogy – John Christopher - I remember watching this series with my dad in 1984. It was freaky, and I remember having nightmares as a result of it. These massive alien machines control human minds by 'capping' them.

Ulysses – James Joyce - I'd forgotten about this tattered copy, but I fully intend to get though it in one stint this time, instead of my reading spurt being permeated by other books as was the case a few months ago. If you haven't read it, then you should.

Carrie's War – Nina Bawden – this is what I call a great piece of children's literature. I read it in P5 and I found it such an enjoyable book. Set during World War Two, it follows Carrie and her brother as they are evacuated to Wales. It was made into a television series, such was its popularity.

Have you unearthed anything lately? I have a few quid to spend on Amazon, and always enjoy your recommendations.

The privilege of learning about literature


I have a longing to go back to university and start from where I left off. It's been creeping up and gnawing at me for the past year now, and it's made me realise how relaxing it was to sit among friends in the courtyards, enjoying the sunshine and some literary greats. Fun, fun, fun.

Those glorious university days ended in 1997 and I remember the last day sitting around sobbing like a loon, wondering if the future world of work and all manner of things grown-up would ever live up to it (I later learned it didn't even come close!) Now 12 years on, I've decided I want to once again become a student at some stage in the future. Nothing comes close to the enjoyment and personal satisfaction of academic research. And I remember so well being immersed in dissertation heaven. Mine was based on Samuel Beckett, one of the great Irish avant-garde writers of the twentieth century. And in true Gillian fashion (making stuff over-complicated!) I tried to dig myself deeper and deeper into a dissertation hole by linking his work to Freud. (It was successful though!)

He was one literary great I was truly fascinated with. Born in 1906 in Dublin he was raised as part of a Protestant middle-class family. Later in life he claimed to have memories of being in his mother's womb. Beckett studied for his degree at Trinity College, Dublin, and during a stint in Paris, he was introduced to James Joyce, who by this time was widely known as the author of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses. Beckett soon became very much part of Joyce's life, joining his inner circle. For a short time, Beckett taught languages, but the appeal didn't last. His pupils at Campbell College, Belfast, were deemed 'rich and thick.'

One fascinating work of Beckett's is Waiting for Godot, which first appeared at Théâtre de Babylone in Paris in 1953. Act I begins on a country road with Estragon, an old man, trying to remove his boot. Vladimir, another old man, joins him. They begin to chat and while they wait on Godot, they engage in conversation. Two more men, Pozzo and Lucky, arrive, then a boy comes on the scene indicating that Godot will not be there today. (I can tell you're confused!)

When I had the opportunity to see several of Beckett's works dramatised, it was definitely one of the most bizarre theatrical experiences ever. Cue a darkened room filled with about 20 people, and heads appearing in boxes. It was all very accomplished, and for the Beckett devotee, perfectly sane.

If it hadn't been for my time at university, I probably wouldn't have had the opportunity to get to know literary greats like Beckett and Joyce, which has made me appreciate the value of education. Malcolm X said education is our passport to the future. And education in the arts and humanities is no less important than science or technology.

Photo: James Joyce, Dublin.