Sunday, December 22, 2013

the universal

The universal grey clouds up above. You stop at the traffic lights where the road swerves erratically back to the gated community and the cloistered dullness of the small lives. Beyond, the open 'ring road' which branches off on to the motorway and pure wilderness. This great accumulation of traffic lights, this cathedral of lights-the red of religion, the green of a boiled sweet, the turquoise of a south pacific sea-is like a pilgrim's penultimate resting place. They are he last great universal signs we have. Somewhere, right now, in Buenos Aries, a woman is staring vacantly at the traffic lights, waiting for the change, the sudden change in gear that will move her out of this impasse...

Listening to the music in the car, with one eye on the back seat passengers, insulated against the cold by this little domestic scene in a capsule, you wonder to yourself: why does the music seem to reflect every turn, every emotion in the petty dramas of your life? And how could this be? 

Education: you bump into a fantastically clever (and humble) colleague at breakfast time. He's your age and already with four young kids. "Where do they go to school?" you ask. All go to religious schools, it transpires. Maybe the'll catch up later. You don't care, of course, but it does say something, you think, when the brightest people of your generation think that a "true" education is a religious one. I'm not even against that in principle (somewhere deep down I harbour a longing for a different type of knowledge). It's just that the level of education is likely to be so poor that it will just be a form of brainwashing. 

On Friday we went with little r to her Christmas school party. A bonfire, Santa's grotto, and so on. Also, a very fetching woman wearing bright red shoes, leather trousers, and lace gloves up to her elbows, leaving her upper arms exposed. Yes, well..er..ahem.

An old friend had asked me to sponsor his walk (or participate myself) to raise funds for the "Islamic education" of kids. Now, I'm not averse to the idea of sponsored walks, but: for an "Islamic education"? Firstly: why not for something useful like access to clean water? Secondly, why an "Islamic" education and not education in general? Thirdly, what is Islamic about an "Islamic education" anyway?  

~~~

I'm not sure if I can read the whole of Carol Shields's LP. A bit gimmicky, staged. That there should be a whole chapter on Larry's penis is a bit off-putting.She just doesn't get a handle on it. In any case, as with Updike, you feel there's a difference between a writer and a novelist. Both work within conventions, of course, but the former will always keep the voice true, real, so that it speaks with a grainy realism. The latter, on the hand, is too self-conscious, too aware of "plot", frameworks, "style", all the things they've learnt from other books or school. The former wants to breathe life into her creation and doesn't care too much about consequences or "the universal". The novelist is enamoured by his own cleverness, and has one eye on sales or posterity. 

~~~

Perhaps a fingernail from your hand
lives on in my hand...
One of your heartbeats has strayed into my heart
and I can distinguish it from all others,
know how to keep it.

---Jules Supervielle

No comments: