Perfecly Golden, Wodehouse - Service with a Smile

Welcome to the belated third bulletin in the series "Perfectly Golden, Wodehouse"! As the the bees are buzzing in the bushes going about their summerly business with a gusto, one cannot but be inspired and therefore steps onto the podium like the heralds of yore. The previous compilations of Wodehousean splendor consisted of delectable morsels out of Carry on, Jeeves and Very Good, Jeeves (with an additional little topical collage in 2011) and not even your severest critic would look at you askance for revisiting them. However, one must keep a stern focus on the task at hand, and so, with the determination of MacIntosh the dog or that Duch fellow with the boat, I will plunge into the sunlit expanses of Blandings Castle and the

Third book:

Service with a Smile

First published 1961

(ed. published 2008 by

Arrow Books, London)

"'South Kensington? Where sin stalks naked throught the dark alleys and only might is right. Give this man a miss. He'll lead you astray.'" (p.28)

"Some twenty muinutes had elapsed, and there were still no signs of the bride-to-be, and nothing so surely saps the morale of a bridegroom on this wedding day as the failure of the party of the second part to put in an appearance at the tryst. [...] Lord Ickenham tried to comfort him with the quite erroneous statement that it was early yet." (p.33)

"Going by the form book, he took it for granted that ere many suns had set the old buster would be up to some kind of hell which would ultimately stagger civilization and turn the moon to blood, but what mattered was that he would be up to it a t Lord Emsworth's rural seat and not in London." (p.47)

"'Nervous, Bill?' he said, regarding the Rev Cuthbert sympathetically. He had seemed to nitice during the early stages of the journey a tendency on the other's part to twitch like a galvanized frog and allow a sort of glaze to creep over his eyes." (p.48)

"'I happened to be doing some visiting there for a pal of mine who had sprained an ancle while trying to teach the choir boys to dance the carioca, and I came along just as someone was snatching her bag. So, of course, I biffed the blighter.'
'Where did they bury the unfortunate man?'
'Oh, I didn't biff him much, just enough to make him see how wrong it is to snatch bags'" (p.50)

"'I always strive, when I can, to spread sweetness and light. There have been several complaints about it.'" (p.62)

Lord Emsworth had been subjected to a cruel trick by the Church Lads Brigade, camping out in his grounds under his sister Connie's protection and consults Ickenham on the subject of retaliation: 
"'Ah, that wants thinking over, doesn't it? I'll devote earnest thought to the matter, and if anything occurs to me, I'll let you know. You wouldn't consider mowing them down with a shotgun?'
'Eh? No, I doubt if that would be advisable.'
'Might cause remark, you feel?' said Lord Ickenham. 'Perhaps you're right. Never mind. I'll think of something else.'" (p.67)

The dastardly Duke of Dunstable covets the Empress of Blandings, that magnificent, prize-winning Berkshire pig of Emsworth's:
"'I've asked him a dozen times. 'I'll give you five hundred pounds cash down for that bulbous mass of lard and snuffle,' I said to him. 'Say the word,' I said, 'and I'll have the revolting object shipped off right away to my place in Wiltshire, paying all the expenses of removal.' He refused, and was offensive about it, too. The man's besotted.'" (p.72)

"'[You would buy the Empress] Just to do Clarance good?' she said, amazed. She had not credited her guest with this atruism.
'Certainly not,' said the Duke, offended that he should be supposed capable of such a motive." (p.73)

"Prefacing her remarks with the statement that if girls like Lavender Briggs were skinned alive and dipped in boiling oil, this would be a better and sweeter world, Myra embarked on her narrative." (p.94)

According to Ickenham, breaking off an engagement is the easiest thing in the world:
"'You're strolling with him in the moonlight. He says something about how jolly it's going to be when you and he are settled down in your little nest, and you say, 'Oh, I forgot to tell you about that. It's off.' He says, 'What!' You say, 'You heard,' and he reddens and goes to Africa.'" (p.138)

"In the life of every successful man there is always some little something missing. Lord Tilbury had wealth and power and the comforting knowledge that, catering as he did for readers who had all been mentally arrested at the age of twelve, he would continue to enjoy these indefinitely" (p.140)

"He mistrusted these newspaper fellers. You told them something in the strictest confidence, and the next thing you knew it was spread all over the gossip page with a six-inch headline at the top and probably a photograph of you, looking like somepne the police were anxious to question in connextion with the Dover Street smash-and-grab raid." (p.147)

"Once more, Archie Gilpin ran a hand through his hair. The impression he conveyed was that if the vultures gnawing at his bosom did not shortly change their act, he would begin pulling it out in handfuls." (p.162)

"Seated on the stile, hist deportment was rather like that of a young Hindu fakir lying for the first time on the traditional bed of spikes, Archie Gilpin seemed still to find a difficulty clothing his thoughts in words." (p. 163)

"Archie nodded. He had never blinded himself to the fact that anyone trying to separate cash from the Duke of Dunstable was in much the same position as a man endeavouring to take a bone from a short-tempered wolf-hound." (p. 168)

"'Are you there, Stinker?'
If the Duke had not been a little deaf in the right ear, he might have heard a sound like an inexperienced motorist chaning gears in an old-fashioned car. It was the proprietor of the Mammoth Publishing Company grinding his teeth. Sometimes, when we hear a familiar voice, the heart leaps up like that of the poet Wordsworth when he beheld a rainbow in the sky. Lord Tilbury's was far from doing this." (p.170)

"[Lord Tilbury] proceeded to answer in the negative. This took some time for in addition to saying 'No' he had to tell the Duke what he thought of him, indicating one by one the various points on which his character diverged from that of the ideal man." (p.171)

"'Well, well!' said Mr Schoonmaker.
'Well, well, well!' said Lord Ickenham.
'Well, well, well, well!' said Mr Schoonmaker.
Lord Emsworth interrupted the reunion before it could reach the height of its fever." (p.179)

Mr Schoonmaker has difficulties mustering the courage to propose to Constance Keeble:
"'When I try to propose to her, the words won't come. It's happened a dozen times. The sight of that calm aristocratic profile wipes them from my lips.'
'Try not looking at her sidways'" (p.184)

The Duke of Dunstable on his favourite theme:
"'Hasn't he got any? You told me he came from Brazil. Fellers make money in Brazil.'
'He didn't. A wasting sickness struck the Brazil nuts, and he lost all his capital.'
'Silly ass.'
'Your sympathy does you credit. Yes, his lack of money is the trouble.'" (p.202)

"'You know and I know that Dunstable is a man who sticks at nothing and would walk ten miles in the snow to chisel a starevng orphan out of tuppence'" (p.210)

"'Should I escort you there, sir?'
'No, don't bother. I'll find it. Oh, Beach?'
'Sir?'
'Here,' said Mr Schoonmaker, and thrusting a piece of paper into the butler's hand he curvetted off like, thought Beach, an unusually extrovert lamb in springtime.
Beach looked at the paper, and being alone, with nobody to report him to his guild, permitted himself a sharp gasp. It was a ten-pound note" (p.212)

"Mr Schoonmaker, meanwhile, touching the ground only at odd spots, had arrived at Lavender Briggs' office ...[and was] pacing the floor in a manner popularized by tigers at a zoo" (p. 213-214)

"The Duke, who had been scowling at the typewriter, as if daring it to start something, became more composed. A curious gurgling noise suggested that he had chuckled" (p.219)

David Mitchell and Kurt Vonnegut on Addiction

We all have our addictions, some more persistent than others. Mine is an endless string of "complete works of..."s. Luckily though, authors die leaving me with serious withdrawal symptoms and the methadon of mediocre spin-offs and copycats.

One of this addictions is the writings of Kurt Vonnegut. (To be fair, it's really the narration of Kurt Vonnegut: one so compelling you find yourself nodding while reading). Sadly, though, Kurt Vonnegut died. He was planning to use his addiction to tobacco as a "classy way to commit suicide", but fell down his stairs before his addiction could get the better of him. 

Before this though, he had a collection of his essays published in A Man Without a Country. This is one of the few books I've consumed in under a day, in a secluded, vacant room on a slow cruise to which I was considerably less partial than to Vonnegut's laconic tone. In it, he presents an alternative understanding of addiction.

This little text was what caused a exquisite relapse in my literary five step program of recovery. I was suffering in silence, struggling through the nonentity Gentlemen of the Road by Michael Chabon, an author whose prowess had been extolled to me by a patently misguided Canadian girl in a Paris café, when in an effort to end the doldrums I read an article by David Mitchell in the Guardian. 

In it, he commented on revelations that an actress had tried drugs in the 70s, arguing that while this shouldn't really surprise anyone, the fact that she clearly didn't sustain any lasting addiction or harm from it caused some issues for anti-drugs campaigns. Lamenting never having been offered cocaine himself (so that he could vehemently refuse), Mitchell reached the nub of his argument, that most anti-drug campaigns, including those against tobacco and alcohol, focus on the wrong thing. 

This was when Mitchell and Vonnegut's shared trait of narrative persuasiveness and topic made a rereading of A Man Without a Country reappear to this listless reader as a beacon of light, an oasis in the desert or some such thing. 

Hopefully, the intellectual gymnastics in these excerpts will allow you to think about communication, addiction and yourself in a new way. Also, if you, like me, appreciate the wit of these two, you would read both Vonnegut's essay and Mitchell's article in full, or even read through A Man Without a Country and watch the episodes of David Mitchell's Soap Box.

But not until you have enjoyed these excerpts:

"

Kurt Vonnegut,
army portrait

I'm going to tell you some news.

 

No, I am not running for President, although I do know that a sentence, if it is to be complete, must have both a subject and a verb.

 

Nor will I confess that I sleep with children. I will say this, though: My wife is by far the oldest person I ever slept with.

 

Here's the news: I am going to sue the Brown & Williamson Tobacco Company, manufacturers of Pall Mall cigarettes, for a billion bucks! Starting when I was only 12 years old, I have never chain-smoked anything but unfiltered Pall Malls. And for many years now, right on the package, Brown and Williamson have promised to kill me.

 

But I am now 82. Thanks a lot, you dirty rats. The last thing I ever wanted was to be alive when the three most powerful people on the whole planet would be named Bush, Dick and Colon.

 

Our government's got a war on drugs. That's certainly a lot better than no drugs at all. That's what was said about prohibition. Do you realise that from 1919 to 1933 it was absolutely against the law to manufacture, transport, or sell alcoholic beverages, and the Indiana newspaper humourist Ken Hubbard said: "Prohibition is better than no liquor at all."

 

But get this: The two most widely abused and addictive and destructive of all substances are both perfectly legal.

 

One, of course, is ethyl alcohol. And President George W Bush, no less, and by his own admission, was smashed, or tiddley-poo, or four sheets to the wind a good deal of the time from when he was 16 until he was 40. When he was 41, he says, Jesus appeared to him and made him knock off the sauce, stop gargling nose paint.

 

Other drunks have seen pink elephants.

 

About my own history of foreign substance abuse, I've been a coward about heroin and cocaine, LSD and so on, afraid they might put me over the edge. I did smoke a joint of marijuana one time with Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead, just to be sociable. It didn't seem to do anything to me one way or the other, so I never did it again. And by the grace of God, or whatever, I am not an alcoholic, largely a matter of genes. I take a couple of drinks now and then and will do it again tonight. But two is my limit. No problem.

 

I am, of course, notoriously hooked on cigarettes. I keep hoping the things will kill me. A fire at one end and a fool at the other.

 

But I'll tell you one thing: I once had a high that not even crack cocaine could match. That was when I got my first driver's licence ­ look out, world, here comes Kurt Vonnegut!

 

And my car back then, a Studebaker as I recall, was powered, as are almost all means of transportation and other machinery today, and electric power plants and furnaces, by the most abused, addictive, and destructive drugs of all: fossil fuels.

 

When you got here, even when I got here, the industrialised world was already hopelessly hooked on fossil fuels, and very soon now there won't be any left. Cold turkey.

 

Can I tell you the truth? I mean this isn't the TV news is it? Here's what I think the truth is: We are all addicts of fossil fuels in a state of denial. And like so many addicts about to face cold turkey, our leaders are now committing violent crimes to get what little is left of what we're hooked on.

"

David Mitchell

If I tried cocaine, the worst outcome would be that I liked it and the best that I didn't. When not liking something is the most you can hope for from consuming it, that's a good reason to abstain. 

Do you like my logic? I was pleased with it and looked forward to delivering it to the twat I imagined offering me a 'line' (I lack the confidence to type that without inverted commas) at a party. But not once have I been given the chance! Clearly, I come across as too square even to be worth attempting to corrupt. I'm just not cool.

'Cool' is the key to all this. That's why the celebs are happy to make their admissions. They're boasting that they were the kind of people who were cool enough to be approached, to get involved, to try stuff. They were creative and experimental and dangerously unwise and there's no one alive who, at some point, didn't want to seem like that. Except maybe Ann Widdecombe. 

This is also the problem with anti-smoking campaigns. They persist in trying to persuade kids that smoking isn't cool. Come off it. Look at Sean Connery as James Bond or Béatrice Dalle in Betty Blue. We're trying to stop millions of young people from doing something that may kill them and we kick off with a demonstrable lie.

Smoking is cool. Addiction isn't (people huddling outside offices in the rain don't look cool so much as cold) and cancer certainly isn't, but smoking when isolated from these things obviously is. No, there's a harder but ultimately more persuasive message we need to find some way to convey: being cool doesn't really matter. We shouldn't let 'cool' become a direct synonym of 'good'.

The problem is that to the marketing and advertising companies this is heresy. Invoking 'cool' is how you make people do things they otherwise wouldn't: buy electric shavers that jizz moisturiser, endlessly drink mini-yogurts, douse themselves in a smell Kate Moss has reportedly made. Cool is why they're smoking, so it must be why they'll stop.

We'll never stop the young from wanting to be cool and it's worth promoting uncarcinogenic ways they can do this. But we might as well spend some time trying to undermine being cool as an aim, rather than pretending we know better than them what constitutes it.

It irritates me when teenagers in bad dramas or adverts say things such as: 'Your mum's cool' to mean: 'I like your mum.' The correct response should be: 'No, my mum is not cool - she doesn't wear sunglasses indoors or weird clothes. She is a middle-aged woman who is nice and good and wise and worrying about what's cool is beneath her.'

Unfortunately the reply to this would inevitably be: 'Cool!'

"

What do you think?

Is David Mitchell right in indicating that anti-smoking campaigns target the wrong problem, smoking and not addiction? Is this the position he is arguing? Does his attention to the word "cool" sit well with you in this context?

Vonnegut's argument can in some way be seen as contrary to that of Mitchell. Where Mitchell claims out understanding of addiction is too vague and covers too much, Vonnegut claims it's too definite and restrictive. Is he right when he points out that fossil fuels are our most threatening addiction? Are there other, more dagerous ones he does not mention?

Comments on The Tale of Sir Bob are always welcome! 

Sources: Text1, Text2, Pic1, Pic2, Pic3

The Pope's Erotic Novel

One of the most popular books of the 15th century was the Historia de duobus amantibus or the Story of two lovers, written by Enea Silvio Piccolomini from Siena in 1444. It was first published in Cologne in 1468 and then in Rome in 1476, whereupon it followed a meteoric increase in publication. One reason for its popularity could be that it is one of the first notable erotic novels, only preceded by Petronius Arbiter's Satyricon and Boccaccio's Decameron, and the first epistolary erotic novel. Another reason could be that Piccolomini went on to become Pope Pius II in 1458.

Piccolomini in his older, more frumpy times

The novel follows the adulterous love of Lucretia, a married woman in Piccolomini's native Siena, and Euryalus, companion of Sigismund, the visiting Duke of Austria. Their relationship progresses from the search for reciprocal affection following a chance meeting, through love letters and secret meetings to a tragic finale. This plot has often been likened to that of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, and the popularity of the novel might have made it available to Shakespeare 153 years later.

Euryalus and Lucretia meeting on the title page of
an edition from 1500 (click the image to zoom)

Interestingly, the novel is in many ways highly transitional. It occured at a time of budding Renaissance, including a topic and imagery which, save for Boccaccio, had been taboo in Medieval times. Whereas modern readers might find that the relative absence of sex and the poetically introspective and psychological approach to love remind them more of romance than of erotica, contemporary ones would relish in the novel's deviance from the religious rigidity of a waning era.

Euryalus delivers a love letter. 
The illustration breaks with standards of Medieval illumination. 
These were kept alive in Venice, but the Florentine printers 
developed this style because they were printing for
a larger, less wealthy public. (click the image to zoom)

No one exemplifies this change more distinctly than the author himself, albeit in unexpected ways. As a young Poet Laureate of Gaspar Schlick, the Chancellor of the Holy Roman Emperor (Sigismund of Austria...), Piccolomini seems to have embraced the ideals of the Renaissance. In the novel, one of Euryalus' last resort for gaining access to Lucretia, her husband's cousin Pandalus, points out that "Why, she is so changed by love, you would not think her the same person. Alas for piety, alas for grief! No one, until this happened, in all the city was chaster than she, no one more modest. It is indeed amazing that nature has given to love so much power over men’s thoughts." (i). Nature, as Fransesco de Sanctis points out, and in particular human nature, is now what is right (ii). Lucretia and Euryalus are clearly meant to be together, while the laws of society, which were the prevailing good in Medieval texts and the authority behind Lucretia's faltering marriage, is now what is wrong. While Dante viewed nature as evil and Medieval literature tended to view love as something granted by external, supernatural powers, Piccolomini places love in human nature. This Renaissance humanism which focuses on man and nature rather than religion and religious concepts saturates the novel and rules of society and honour which causes the tragic end to their relationship confirms this attitude.

The lovers, in a fond embrace, are being warned by a servant that
Lucretia's husband is at the door. The print is probably 
re-used from some other work. (click  the image to zoom)

However, Piccolomini soon became Pope, resulting in a remarkable volte-face. As Pope Pius II, he famously stated "Aeneam rejicite, Pium suscipite!" ("Reject Aeneas, accept Pius!"). He distanced himself from the favourable descriptions of nature, and particularly that of Lucretia, as well as the success of his younger self, albeit unsuccessfully. In this sense, upon ascending to the top of the Holy See, Aeneas returned to pre-Renaissance sentiments, luckily for us, to no avail.

The erstwhile poet had already made his mark, providing posterity with lyrical and heartfelt descriptions of love and the experience of it. The English translation, introduced by the below paragraphs, makes for a delightful read and a story which remains as engaging and vivid today as it did almost six hundred years ago.

"

THE city of Siena, your native town and mine, did great honour to the Emperor Sigismund on his arrival, as is now well known; and a palace was made ready for him by the church of Saint Martha, on the road that leads to the narrow gate of sandstone. As Sigismund came hither, after the ceremonies, he met four married ladies, for birth and beauty, age and ornament, almost equal. All thought them goddesses rather than mortal women, and had they been only three, they might have seemed those whom Paris, we are told, saw in a dream. Now Sigismund, though advanced in years, was quick to passion; he took great pleasure in the company of women, and loved feminine caresses. Indeed he liked nothing better than the presence of great ladies. So when he saw these, he leaped from his horse, and they received him with outstretched hands. Then, turning to his companions, he said: ‘Have you ever seen women like these: For my part, I cannot say whether their faces are human or angelic. Surely they are from heaven.’ 

They cast down their eyes, and their modesty made them lovelier. For, as the blushes spread over their cheeks, their faces took the colour of Indian ivory stained with scarlet, or white lilies mixed with crimson roses. And chief among them all, shone the beauty of Lucretia. A young girl, barely twenty years of age, she came of the house of the Camilli, and was wife to Menelaus, a wealthy man, but quite unworthy that such a treasure should look after his home; deserving rather that his wife should deceive him or, as we say, give him horns. 

This lady was taller than the others. Her hair was long, the colour of beaten gold, and she wore it not hanging down her back, as maidens do, but bound up with gold and precious stones. Her lofty forehead, of good proportions, was without a wrinkle, and her arched eyebrows were dark and slender, with a due space between. Such was the splendour of her eyes that, like the sun, they dazzled all who looked on them; with such eyes she could kill whom she chose and, when she would, restore the dead to life. Her nose was straight in contour, evenly dividing her rosy cheeks, while nothing could be sweeter, nothing more pleasant to see than those cheeks which, when she laughed, broke in a little dimple on either side. And all who saw those dimples longed to kiss them. A small and well-shaped mouth, coral lips made to be bitten, straight little teeth, that shone like crystal, and between them, running to and fro, a tremulous tongue that uttered not speech, but sweetest harmonies. And how can I describe the beauty of her mind, the whiteness of her breast?

"

The remaider of the novel can be found by clicking here.

What do you think?

What is your opinion of the about-face of Pius the poet pope? He could have distanced himself from his earlier work either because of the requirements of office, because of old age and changed values but also for a number of other reasons. What do you think these might be and can you sympathise with his choices?

Also, an erotic novel more or less without sex: is that a contradiction in terms? Is it an erotic novel at all or would you classify it as something else? If so, what and why?

Finally, the personal aspect. Love, romance and sexuality are highly personal themes. Could this be the reason for the novel's popularity back then? What is your personal reaction to the novel? Who deserves your personal sympathy, Aeneas or Pius?

Comments on The Tale of Sir Bob are always welcome! 

Further reading: A quick but good introduction, a thorough analysis, a look at illustrations and a young literate's reactions

Sources: (i), (ii), Pic1, Pic2, Pic3, Pic4

The Quality of Copies

I have a question for you. If availability and price were not an issue, which would you choose:

1. An original painting or a reproduction?
2. A concert with your favourite band or a local cover band?
3. The Twilight/ Lord of the Ring trilogy or the films based on them?
4. An Armani suit/ Louis Vuitton bag or a Chinese copy?
5. Attending Woodstock in August 1969 or hearing your parents talk about it?

My guess is you chose the first alternative more often than not. Also, I wager your argument for doing so was that the first is better, but why is that? What makes an original better than a copy, and is the original really what you think it is?

Original and Copy

When a painting is being made, it represents reality. When your local cover band performs, they play already existing songs. The films adapt the readily available books, the Chinese copies mimic the originals and your parents tries to present reality as it was in 1969. The arts' role in representing reality emphasises the distinction between original and copy and Graham Allen, professor of literal and cultural theory at University College Cork, examines the nature of this relationship in Intertextuality in reference to Walter Benjamin's seminal essay The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction:

In an age before the mass publication of books, possession of an individual text was extremely rare and of enormous value. The prices still paid for original classic paintings also attest a residual attachment on contemporary society to the aura of the original work of art. Technological society, however, is dominated by reproductions of original works. The signed copy of the novel may be preferable to the unsigned copy, an original painting by Van Gogh may seem priceless, attendance at a dance performance may seem preferable to viewing it on video, but in contemporary society our experience of these and all other arts are generally of their technological reproductions. New artistic media of the twentieth century such as film, video and television, are, indeed, based on technological methods of reproduction. The aura which surrounds The Mona Lisa or the eight-century Book of Kells in Trinity College Library, Dublin, is unavailable to, and indeed an irrelevance for, these kinds of art forms (i). 

Allen, of course, neglects to mention that by their very nature the original painting by Van Gogh, the Mona Lisa, the Book of Kells and even the dance performances are themselves reproductions. Each of them mimics either natural entities, persons, stories probably already in existence, a dance script or an earlier performance.

Not original

With licence to copy (©)

Dance, by accompanying and illustrating originals such as music, narration or in hunter gatherer societies the movement of animals, necessarily has to imitate an original through body movement (ii). The hunter gatherer would accompany the rhythm of a primitive drum and dance to give a representation of his genesis myth through body movement. He might also dance to mimic the hare which he caught earlier. In these cases, the hunter gatherer tries to adapt cultural expressions like music into another art form, reproducing music and myth narration as dance, or he is imitating the world, reproducing the movement of its animals.

Still not original

The signed copy of a novel is arguably just that, a copy. The Mona Lisa is a static reproduction of the visage of a real person and the Book of Kells is a reproduction of Christian sacred documents and a summing up of contemporary religious discourse.

The basic argument still stands, though, because in the original-reproduction dichotomic relationship the original is the source from which the reproduction borrows and as such truly original within that relationship. Likewise, by being a part of a cultural context, the original appears as a segment of reality, however many earlier sources it may have imitated. Thus, art is always to some extent a copy of reality and it is this copy which is generally encountered in contemporary society.

Copy of Kells

This, in a simple and applicable form, is exemplified by news media. As soon as we do not experience an event first hand, we miss reality because any other way of becoming aware of the event after its passing has to be through a reproduction. This could be in terms of someone having experienced the original event and then reproducing it by narrating his or her experience. Alternatively, it could be in terms of a newscast reporting a real event, its content and form edited and adapted in order to be presentable through a different medium, film (iii). As representative for an age of multi-media, this latter case is symptomatic for the emergence of the field of adaptation where narratives are adapted into new technological modes of expression.

"Do I have an original thought in my head?"

So if everything is inspired by something and nothing is original, does that mean that everything is of poorer quality than some mythical source?

Well, it depends on how you look at it.

A pessimist would say that you cannot create anything new and original and by borrowing, willingly or unwillingly, you make a patchwork which is less coherent and less consistent and therefore of lower quality. Since you cannot help drawing your inspiration from your experience, you are doomed to reproduction and, at best, repetition. The pessimistic approach is expertly exemplified in the opening monolgue of Adaptation:

The pessimist would say that the film takes what you read in the book, leaves out the bits it finds irrelevant and adds bits it thinks should be there, like music or moving images. The chances of these corresponding with what you would think appropriate are slim to none and the rest of the audience faces similar odds. Because of this gap between priorities and between expectations, any new cultural product would in fact be a poorer one.

An optimist, on the other hand, would argue that the novelty is in the combinations. By combining cultural products, like film music, moving images and a story from a novel, the new film could be so much more than each individual product could. You would understand the book differently, listening to the song would never be the same again and seeing that actor play out his part would modify the way you look at both him and other films in which he has appeared.

The optimist would say that because everything is a copy and because you cannot do anything without copying several other copies, you make something original. There are so many elements which inform your creation process, that the likelihood of all those elements having been put together before is as small as the pessimist's priority odds.

An original copy

Let us revisit the list we started with.

1. The reproduction would be more than a poorer imitation of the painting. It would include all the colours, all the interpretations and experiences of the reproducing painter and all the history of the original painting.
2. The cover band concert would update the original song and give it a local flavour. It would reflect not only each musician, but also the musical tradition of the area in addition to what were there "originally".
3. The trilogies could only communicate through symbols or the occasional static image. The films, on the other hand, can tell you things through the sequence of images, through what's in these images and through sound (which includes music, noises, dialogue, voiceover etc.). These would give you experiences you could never create based on just the text.
4. The Chinese imitations would use different materials, different techniques and would probably be more affordable and available. This combination would greatly expand the impact and implications of all these products.
5. By combining the Woodstock experience with all their history after the event, nostalgia and modern sensibilities, your parents will have created a new Woodstock, one which is different from the one they actually experienced. In time, you might tell your children about Woodstock and your story will, with almost complete certainty be a different one.

Oh no! That cannibal from Sin City, Jonathan Safran Foer, has got the ring!

The copy, therefore, is original because it is a combination which did not exist before. Considering it as a poorer version just because it is based on something else might have more to do with the psychological fear of being wrong, of having backed the wrong thing. Psychologist Elliot Aronson wrote:

Far from being a sign of intellectual inferiority, the capacity to err is crucial to human cognition. Far from being a moral flaw, it is inextricable from some of our most humane and honorable qualities: empathy, optimism, imagination, conviction, and courage. And far from being a mark of indifference or intolerance, wrongness is a vital part of how we learn and change. Thanks to error, we can revise our understanding of ourselves and amend our ideas about the world (iii).

So next time you catch yourself thinking that someone has destroyed your favourite book or piece of music, keep Aronson's words in mind and then ask yourself what you have lost, why it was precious and what you have gained.

What do you think? 

How do you react to copies like a film adaptation of your favourite book? Is a copy always poorer than the original? Does the knowledge that you probably are not creating anything new as such take the fun out of creative work? If so, why? Is the alternative that we stop producing cultural expressions or should we open the floodgates and create for the lowest common denominator? Make your contribution to the discussion!

Comments on The Tale of Sir Bob are always welcome!

Sources: (i): Graham Allen: Intertextuality, 2nd edn (Oxford and New York: Routledge, 2011): 176
(ii): Ann C. Albright and Ann Dils (eds.): Moving History/ Dancing Cultures: A Dance History Reader (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2001): 119-120
(iii): Elliot Aronson: The Social Animal (New York: Worth, 2012)
Pic1, Pic2, Pic3, Pic4

My New Book: Marie Phillips' "Gods Behaving Badly"

I recently finished reading Christopher Brookmyre's All Fun and Games Until Somebody Loses an Eye and as the book had been my constant companion since I bought it from a Copenhagen antiquarian bookseller who had not realised it was signed. Feeling slightly bereaved like I tend to do after good reads, I despreately browsed my bookshelf for something as sardonic as Brookmyre, preferably with the same level of clinical violence as AFaG.

I randomly picked Marie Phillips' Gods Behaving Badly, a book I had picked up after finishing Neil Gaiman's American Gods hoping for more of the same but never quite getting started on. As it turns out, it is currently being adapted into film starring Christopher Walken as Zeus, according to the author. What sold it to me, however, was not as much the prospect of being ahead of the film for once but the first chapter. Here it is, courtesy of the publisher, for your enjoyment and if you like it, buy the book.

Cover

 

Chapter One

ONE MORNING, WHEN Artemis was out walking the dogs, she saw a tree where no tree should be.

The tree was standing alone in a sheltered part of the slope. To the untrained eye, the casual passerby, it probably just looked like a normal tree. But Artemis's eye was far from untrained, and she ran through this part of Hampstead Heath every day. This tree was a newcomer; it had not been there yesterday. And with just one glance Artemis recognized that it was an entirely new species, a type of eucalyptus that had also not existed yesterday. It was a tree that should not exist at all.

Dragging the mutts behind her, Artemis made her way over to the tree. She touched its bark and felt it breathing. She pressed her ear against the trunk of the tree and listened to its heartbeat. Then she looked around. Good; it was early, and there was nobody within earshot. She reminded herself not to get angry with the tree, that it wasn't the tree's fault. Then she spoke.

"Hello," she said.
There was a long silence.

"Hello," said Artemis again.

"Are you talking to me?" said the tree. It had a faint Australian accent.

"Yes," said Artemis. "I am Artemis." If the tree experienced any recognition, it didn't show it. "I'm the goddess of hunting and chastity," said Artemis.

Another silence. Then the tree said, "I'm Kate. I work in mergers and acquisitions for Goldman Sachs."
"Do you know what happened to you, Kate?" said Artemis.

The longest silence of all. Artemis was just about to repeat the question when the tree replied.

"I think I've turned into a tree," it said.

"Yes," said Artemis. "You have."
"Thank God for that," said the tree. "I thought I was going mad." Then the tree seemed to reconsider this. "Actually," it said, "I think I would rather be mad." Then, with hope in its voice: "Are you sure I haven't gone mad?"
"I'm sure," said Artemis. "You're a tree. A eucalyptus. Subgenus of mallee. Variegated leaves."
"Oh," said the tree.
"Sorry," said Artemis.
"But with variegated leaves?"
"Yes," said Artemis. "Green and yellow."
The tree seemed pleased. "Oh well, there's that to be grateful for," it said.
"That's the spirit," Artemis reassured it.
"So," said the tree in a more conversational tone. "You're the goddess of hunting and chastity then?"
"Yes," said Artemis. "And of the moon, and several other things. Artemis." She put a little emphasis on her name. It still hurt when mortals didn't know it.
"I didn't know there was a goddess of hunting and chastity and the moon," confessed the tree. "I thought there was just the one God. Of everything. Or actually, to be honest, I thought there was no God at all. No offense."
"None taken," said Artemis. Unbelievers were always preferable to heretics.
"I have to say you don't look much like a goddess, though," added the tree.
"And what does a goddess look like, exactly?" said Artemis, a sharpness entering her voice.
"I don't know," said the tree, a little nervously. "Shouldn't you be wearing a toga or something? Or a laurel wreath?"
"You mean, not a tracksuit," said Artemis.
"Pretty much," admitted the tree.
"Times change," said Artemis. "Right now, you don't look like somebody who works in mergers and acquisitions for Goldman Sachs." Her voice indicated that the clothing conversation was closed.
"I still can't get over the fact that you're a goddess," said the tree after a pause. "Wow. Yesterday I wouldn't have believed it. Today ..." The tree gave an almost imperceptible shrug, rustling its leaves. Then it seemed to think for a bit. "So does that mean, if you're a goddess," it said, "that you can turn me back into a person?"
Artemis had been expecting this question.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but I can't."
"Why not?" said the tree.
The tree sounded so despondent that she couldn't bring herself to reply, as planned, Because I don't want to. "A god can't undo what another god has done," she found herself saying instead, much to her own surprise. She hated admitting any kind of weakness, especially to a mortal.
"You mean that guy was a god too? The one who ... did this. Well, I suppose it's obvious now. I kind of hoped he might be a hypnotist."
"No, he was a god," said Artemis.
"Um," said the tree. "Could you do something about that red setter? I don't really like the way it's sniffing around me." Artemis pulled the idiot dog away.
"Sorry," she said. "So what happened exactly?"
"I was just taking a walk yesterday and this guy came up to talk to me-"
"Tall?" said Artemis. "Blond? Almost impossibly handsome?"
"That's the one," said the tree.
"What did he say?" said Artemis.
The bark on the tree seemed to shift slightly, as if the tree were making a face.
"I, um ..."
"What did he say?" Artemis asked again, allowing a hint of command to enter her voice.
"He said, 'Hello. Do you want to give me a blow job?' "
A blow job. Why did people do these things to each other? Artemis felt faintly sick.
"I said no," continued the tree, "and then he said, 'Are you sure, because you look like you'd be good at it and I think you'd really enjoy it.'"
"I'm very sorry," said Artemis, "about my brother. If it were up to me he would not be allowed outside unsupervised."
"He's your brother?"
"My twin. It's ... unfortunate."
"Well, anyway, I just walked off, and he followed me, and I got a bit scared and I started running, and then the next thing I knew ... here I am."
Artemis shook her head. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened," she said. "Rest assured, we will be having words about it."
"And then he'll turn me back?"
"Absolutely," lied Artemis.
"No need to tell my family back home what happened, then," said the tree. "Good. Maybe I should call in sick at work though. I can't really go in like this. I had my phone with me; it should be around here somewhere. Could you dial my boss's number and hold the phone to my trunk?"
"Mortals aren't going to be able to understand you, I'm afraid," said Artemis. "Just gods. And other vegetation. I wouldn't bother talking to the grass, though. It isn't very bright."
"Oh," said the tree. "Okay." Artemis gave the tree time to absorb this information. "Why aren't I more upset about this?" it said eventually. "If you'd told me yesterday that I was going to be turned into a tree, I'm sure I'd have been really, really upset."
"You're a tree now, not a human mortal," explained Artemis. "You don't really have emotions anymore. I think you'll be much happier this way. And you'll live longer, unless it gets very windy."
"Except your brother's going to turn me back."
"Of course he is," said Artemis. "Right, then. I'd best be getting on. I've got to get these dogs back to ... my friends." "It was nice meeting you," said the tree.
"Likewise," said Artemis. "Bye, then. See you soon. Maybe."

The pleasant look on her face vaporized before her back was even fully turned. The dogs saw her expression and whimpered as one. But they had nothing to fear from Artemis. It was time to go home and find Apollo.

Sources: Text, Pic 

"You may rrree-moof your gloves!" - Roald Dahl's "The Witches"

On a recent visit to Cambridge, I found a marvel in a local antiquarian booksellers'. I have always been very fond of Roald Dahl's books and almost had a seizure when I found the American first edition of Roald Dahl's The Witches. With shaky hands I opened the front cover and had to go for a breath of fresh air. This was what greeted me:


Signed by Roald Dahl (author)
and Quentin Blake (illustrator)

The tale revolves around a seven year old boy who, when visiting a seaside hotel which happens to host a witches convention at the same time, discovers a sinister plot to get rid of all children. Wiches look like ordinary women but they wear wigs and gloves to cover their bald heads and claws, hence the quote in the title, and they have no toes. Most importantly, they hate children. Filled with Dahls customary gruesome thrills, the novel is a marvel and it even has the ominous number 86 thrown in everywhere for superstitious nuts.

Whether I am one of them, I could not say. Suffice to tell, I dearly wanted that book, gloriously sporting the signatures of both author and illustrator as it was. However, the price tag was a bit on the steep side and the lady behind the her messy desk would not budge. In fact, budging did not seem to be very high up on the list of popular pastimes for this portly proprietor. As she wanted a whooping £300 for the book, I had to go for another stoll.

Detail from the front cover

They say walking is good for you. Good exercise and beneficial to the heart just about sums it up. Under the circs, I was inclined to applaud the notion as my heart was about to make a formidable leap. I checked the ilab web pages where I discovered a British first edition, signed by Dahl but not by Blake to the exhilarating sum of £1250!

I am not much of a mathematician, but I fear my strained, squeaky voice gave my conclusions away as I feebly tried to negotiate the price. It was, of course, to no avail. However, the woman's sedentary business style had surprisingly ceased to trouble me and it was with a song on my lips I parted with the stated.

Dahl drawn by Blake

Having been on display at my abode for a month now, I will have to turn my attention to redecorating the old den to accomodate its entry into my shelves. I might even take Roald Dahl's advice, sung by the Oompa-Loompas in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory upon the fate of Mike Teavee...

"

So please, oh please, we beg, we pray

go throw your TV set away,

and in its place you can install

a lovely bookcase on the wall

 "

Sources: Dahl, Roald: The Witches, New York 1983, Dahl, Roald: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl by Blake

Peter Pan - From Literature to Screen

This article is a brief analysis of the intertextual relationship between Paul J. Hogan’s 2003 film Peter Pan and its hypotext, James Matthew Barrie’s 1904 play Peter Pan; or, The Boy Who Would Not Grow Up (i). (For my review of the film, click here). The terminology used is taken from Julie Sanders’ Adaptation and Appropriation (ii).

Hogan’s Peter Pan shares a number of intertextual relationships with its hypotext. Perhaps most tangibly, it is a generical transposition of J.M. Barrie’s original play. Also, and partially related to this, it incorporates a number of elements of approximation from the original which can not entirely be understood as products of a generical transposition. Finally, the hypertext forms a bricolage of analogies to other, though arguably less prominently treated, hypotexts. This bricolage can, for obvious reasons, not be seen as a replication of a similar bricolage in Barrie’s original as will be shown below.


J.M. Barrie

Hogan’s film is an obvious transposition in terms of genre. Although Peter Pan appeared as both novel and a variety of plays in Barrie’s lifetime, the original Peter Pan is a dramatic one. Thus, the transposition from one dramatic genre to another should be a comparatively easy one. This, of course, is belied by the several editorial choices Hogan would have to make. Which dramatic elements in the hypotext are so central that they should be received in the new genre and which can be excluded? As the next paragraphs will show, the simultaneous process of approximation would necessarily interfere in this process of transposition.

Both Barrie’s continually revised versions of the play and the arguably most defining dramatic representation of these, the 1953 Disney version, are indicative of the constant need of approximating elements in the hypotext. So too with Hogan’s film. Characters, visual representation, plotlines and social relationships are updated with the aim of courting not only a modern audience but also a teenage one.


The Wendy character becomes more central as more time is allotted for her characterisation before Peter’s appearance and this process of making her more active and decisive is an approximation of gender roles. The Peter Pan character in appearance and personality represents a return to those of the hypotext after the moderation of the Disney version (iii). He appears older than in the hypotext; while he frequently describes himself as very young in the play and “has all his baby teeth”, he is played by a 14-year-old with a breaking voice in the film (iv). This is probably a move to make the character more relevant to a teenage audience. The Hook character appears more sinister, which partially is a similar return to the hypotext after Disney’s moderation, though Hogan’s Hook surpasses the original in cruelty. This may be due to changing tolerance for violence in the audience. Finally, the Aunt Millicent character is interpolated by Hogan to take on the disagreeable aspects of the parents, especially the father’s authoritative qualities. This process of making the parents more appealing might be in order to further emphasise the conflict between child- and adulthood so prevalent in the target audience.



Hook and Wendy

Similarly, a light hue following Peter and the changing light reflecting Peter’s state of mind might be a more extensive approximation of the stage lights which would have been used in a staging of the original play (v). This and the increased use of digital animation caters for an audience accustomed to modern standards. It also helps reflect social relationships. The very vague romantic connection between Peter and Wendy in the play becomes a prominent feature in the film. Accompanied by romantic images and light their relationship receives a dimension which caters for teenage sexual tension (vi). Furthermore, the interpolated plotline of the kiss becomes a tool of approximation used to achieve this end.

Seeing as almost a century passed between the publication of the play and the release of the film it was inevitable that other cultural products would influence the film. The term bricolage, as defined by Julie Sanders, means a compilation of different hypotexts or allusions in a hypertext (vii). In Hogan’s film, the representation of pirates seem to allude to that of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, perpetuated visually through scores of pirate-themed films throughout the 20th century. This echoes a motif which is also present in the Barrie’s play. Additionally, of course, the film clearly echoes the Disney version at several junctures, but also Hook (1991) which was produced by Dodi Al-Fayed (to whom Hogan’s film is dedicated) and which features a “proto-Hook” to Hogan’s. Finally, although the lost boys have similarities to those in the Disney version, they also owe a lot to the characters of William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. This novel was published after both Barrie’s play and the Disney film and must have affected the non-animated representation in Hogan’s film.

Paul J. Hogan’s Peter Pan’s adaptive relationship to Barrie’s play is a complex one which has yet to be adequately discussed. The above paragraphs have shown how the editorial choices associated with the change of genre was determined by several processes of approximation. Hogan’s film appears more adapted to an pre-teen/ teenage audience with more romantic, sinister and violent features than the hypotext. Furthermore, technological advances has allowed Hogan to overcome some of the limitations of the stage, which must have influenced Barrie, but also retain and improve some of the features from the hypotext. Finally, the hypertext does draw on other sources than just the hypotext. As with Barrie’s protagonist, the representation of characters alludes to defining cultural products within particular areas, such as Stevenson’s Treasure Island.

Endnotes
(i) Hogan, P.J.; Peter Pan, 2003 (DVD). James Matthew Barrie;Peter Pan; or, The Boy Who Would Not Grow Up in James Matthew Barrie; Peter Pan and Other Plays, Oxford 2008.
(ii) Julie Sanders; Adaptation and Appropriation, London 2006
(iii) See Deborah Cartmell’s essay in Deborah Cartmell and Imelda Whelahan (eds.); The Cambridge Companion to Literature on Screen, Cambridge 2007: 167-180 for more on this.
(iv) Barrie 2008: 123, 145. In fact, in the novel Peter and Wendy Barrie also frequently draws attention to Pan’s “first teeth”.
(v) Hogan 2003: 1.23.00-1.33.00
(vi) Ibid: 53.00-56.00
(vii) Sanders 2006: 4
Pictures: 1, 2

Bibliography
Literature:
Barrie, James Matthew; Peter Pan; or, The Boy Who Would Not Grow Up in James Matthew Barrie; Peter Pan and Other Plays, Oxford 2008
Cartmell, Deborah and Whelahan, Imelda (eds.); The Cambridge Companion to Literature on Screen, Cambridge 2007
Sanders, Julie: Adaptation and Appropriation, London, 2006
Film:
Hogan, P.J.; Peter Pan 2003 (DVD)

50 Books Every Child Should Read

According to The Independent, Education Secretary Michael Gove has presented a goal that every 11-year-old should read at least 50 books per year. In the spirit of this optimistic suggestion, they had three children's books writers and two critics compile one list each of ten of the books they thought should figure on this list. Read through it and see how many you know!

Philip Pullman

* Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll. Indispensable. The great classic beginning of English children's literature.
* Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi. What effortless invention looks like.
* Emil and the Detectives by Erich Kastner. A great political story: democracy in action.
* Swallows and Amazons by Arthur Ransome. As clear and pure as Mozart.
* Black Hearts in Battersea by Joan Aiken. If Ransome was Mozart, Aiken was Rossini. Unforced effervescence.
* The Owl Service by Alan Garner. Showed how children's literature could sound dark and troubling chords.
* The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster. Superb wit and vigorous invention.
* Moominsummer Madness by Tove Jansson. Any of the Moomin books would supply the same strange light Nordic magic.
* A Hundred Million Francs by Paul Berna. A particular favourite of mine, as much for Richard Kennedy's delicate illustrations (in the English edition) as for the story.
* The Castafiore Emerald by Hergé. Three generations of this family have loved Tintin. Perfect timing, perfect narrative tact and command, blissfully funny.

Michael Morpurgo

* The Star of Kazan by Eva Ibbotson. The heroine is blessed with such wonderful friends who help her through the twists and turns of this incredible journey.
* A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. The first few pages were so engaging, Marley's ghostly face on the knocker of Scrooge's door still gives me the shivers.
* Just William books by Richmal Crompton. These are a must for every child.
* The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde. This was the first story, I think, that ever made me cry and it still has the power to make me cry.
* The Elephant's Child From The Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling. The story my mother used to read me most often, because I asked for it again and again. I loved the sheer fun of it, the music and the rhythm of the words. It was subversive too. Still my favourite story.
* Treasure Island by R.L. Stevenson This was the first real book I read for myself. I lived this book as I read it.
* The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway. A classic tale of man versus nature. I wish I'd written this.
* The Man Who Planted Trees by Jean Giono. A book for children from 8 to 80. I love the humanity of this story and how one man's efforts can change the future for so many.
* The Singing Tree by Kate Seredy The story of two children who go to find their father who has been listed missing in the trenches of the First World War.
* The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson-Burnett. I love this story of a girl's life being changed by nature.

Michael Morpurgo, John Walsh and Michael Rosen

Katy Guest, literary editor for The Independent on Sunday

* Refugee Boy by Benjamin Zephaniah. Story of a young Ethiopian boy, whose parents abandon him in London to save his life.
* Finn Family Moomintroll (and the other Moomin books) by Tove Jansson. A fantasy series for small children that introduces bigger ones to ideas of adventure, dealing with fear, understanding character and tolerating difference.
* Diary of a Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney. It's rude, it's funny and it will chime with every 11-year-old who's ever started a new school.
* I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith. Written for a teenage audience but fun at any age.
* The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkein. Be warned, these tales of hobbits, elves and Middle Earth are dangerously addictive.
* The Tygrine Cat (and The Tygrine Cat on the Run) by Inbali Iserles. If your parents keep going on at you to read Tarka the Otter, The Sheep-Pig and other animal fantasies, do – they're great books – also try Iserles' stories about a cat seeking his destiny.
* Carry On, Jeeves by PG Wodehouse. A grown-up book – but not that grown-up.
* When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit by Judith Kerr. Judith Kerr's semi-autobiographical story of a family fleeing the Nazis in 1933.
* Moving Pictures by Terry Pratchett. Elaborate mythological imagery and a background based in real science. If you like this, the Discworld series offers plenty more.
* The Story of Tracy Beaker by Jacqueline Wilson. The pinnacle of the wonderful Jacqueline Wilson's brilliant and enormous output.

John Walsh, author and Independent columnist

* The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Irresistible puzzle-solving tales of the chilly Victorian master-sleuth and his dim medical sidekick.
* The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon. Age-transcending tale, both funny and sad.
* Mistress Masham's Repose by TH White. Magical story of 10-year-old Maria, living in a derelict stately home, shy, lonely and under threat from both her governess and her rascally guardian.
* Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. Inexplicably evergreen, trend and taste-defying 1868 classic.
* How to be Topp by Geoffrey Willams and Ronald Searle. Side-splitting satire on skool, oiks, teechers, fules, bulies, swots.
* Stormbreaker by Anthony Horowitz. First of the action-packed adventures with 14-year-old Alex Rider.
* Private Peaceful by Michael Morpurgo. "Dulce et Decorum Est" for pre-teens.
* Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer. Lively, amoral, wildly imaginative debut (six more followed) about the money-grabbing master-criminal Artemis, 12. The author called it "Die Hard with fairies".
* The Silver Sword by Ian Serraillier. Inspiring wartime story of the Balicki family in Warsaw.
* Animal Farm by George Orwell. Smart 11-year-olds won't need any pre-knowledge of Marx, Lenin, Trotsky and 1917 to appreciate this brilliantly-told fable.

Some of the books

Michael Rosen

* Skellig by David Almond. Brings magical realism to working-class North-east England.
* Red Cherry Red by Jackie Kay. A book of poems that reaches deep into our hidden thoughts but also talks in a joyous voice exploring the everyday.
* Talkin Turkeys by Benjamin Zephaniah. A book of poems that demands to be read aloud, performed and thought about.
* Greek myths by Geraldine McCaughrean. Superheroes battle with demons, gods intervene in our pleasures and fears – a bit like the spectres in our minds going through daily life, really – beautifully retold here.
* People Might Hear You by Robin Klein. A profound, suspenseful story about sects, freedom and the rights of all young people – especially girls.
* Noughts and Crosses by Malorie Blackman. A book that dared to go where no one thought you could with young audiences because it raises tough stuff to do with race.
* Einstein's Underpants and How They Saved the World by Anthony McGowan. A crazy adventure set amongst the kids you don't want to know but who this book makes you really, really care about.
* After the First Death by Robert Cormier. Cormier is never afraid of handling how the personal meets the political all within the framework of a thriller.
* The London Eye Mystery by Siobhan Dowd. A book that allows difference to be part of the plot and not a point in itself.
* Beano Annual. A cornucopia of nutty, bad, silly ideas, tricks, situations and plots.

I got 22.
 
Source: The Independent Web Pages

Paul Hogan's Peter Pan

“All children grow up except one”. Paul Hogan’s 2003 film Peter Pan re-envisages J.M. Barrie’s classic play about a boy who do not want to grow up and retrieves the story from the Disney universe. In the first film in several years retelling the story Hogan updates its visual representation not only using all the tools modern animation can provide, but also maintaining a darker atmosphere than that presented in the previous, Disney version. This combines to make Peter Pan one of the most enjoyable and refreshing films in a year dominated by Disney films like Finding Nemo and Pirates of the Caribbean.

Peter Pan Poster

As in the original play the Darling children, Michael, John and most significantly Wendy flies with Peter Pan from their nursery window to Neverland, leaving their parents, the dog Nana and their Aunt Millicent behind to despair. Neverland, an island populated by Indians, pirates, fairies, mermaids and crocodiles, turns out to be every child’s dream. On the island, the Darling children are constantly amazed by all its wonders and have many adventures most of which arise in dealing with Peter Pan’s nemesis, Captain Hook. 

The film has all the original characters, and then some. Peter Pan, played by Jeremy Sumpter and the pirate captain Hook, excellently portrayed by Jason Isaacs are still at odds just like Peter’s fairy companion Tinker Bell, played by Ludivine Sagnier and just referred to as Tink, is consumed by jealousy towards the debuting Rachel Hurd-Wood’s Wendy. The crocodile, which was somewhat scary in the original play and a source of comedy in the Disney film, has become a 25 metre animated monster, a nightmarish dinosaur always looming below the surface. The feared Hook’s fear of this grim force of nature would render the audience almost sympathetic to him, had it not been for Smee’ contribution of disarming comic relief. In addition, whereas the original Mr. and Mrs. Darling were somewhat ludicrous in their fussy maturity this has been transferred to the newly introduced Aunt Millicent whose wish for Wendy to become a woman must be the primary motivation for her and her siblings to join Peter on his trip back to Neverland.

A subtle difference

The introduction of Aunt Millicent and the magnification of the crocodile is, however, not the only aspects of the characters Hogan has changed. Whereas the sinister side of Hook was toned down by the Disney version, it has been reinstated with a vengeance here. A cruelly malevolent, though suave, nature, a sickly complexion, an array of vicious looking hooks and a callous attitude towards murder makes Hogan’s Hook a far cry from the comical Disney version as he kills off crew members left and right in his hunt for Peter Pan. The brilliance of Jason Isaacs’ portrayal is, of course further bolstered by his portrayal of the harmless and whimsical Mr. Darling who traditionally has been played or voiced by the same actor.

Jason Isaacs as Mr. Darling and Captain Hook

In addition, Hogan introduces a sexual tension between Peter and Wendy. Previous versions have shown no more than a faint suggestion of romance, whereas Hogan makes this a central element to the plot. Sumpter, dressed in a revealing attire appropriate for a character named Pan, and Hurd-Wood as 14- and 13-year-olds brilliantly portray the conflicting and yet enthralling feelings of young teen. After all, who would have thought that a kiss could be that important?

The sexual tension and the cruelty of Hook works together with a stylistic modernising of the story to make it available to an older and more modern audience. The animation of flying, of crocodiles and islands, of fairies and weather maintains makes the film visually appealing while still maintaining the aura of fantasy. The appeal of the Peter Pan story has always been the opportunity to lose oneself in role play and make-believe and this, in combination with more grown-up elements such as the above mentioned sex and violence, should cater for the interests of an audience between child- and adulthood.

The score, made by James Newton Howard, is also updated and very much in a fitting genre. Its upbeat tracks resemble the music from young adult films of the 90’s. In addition, the influence of the score of the two years older Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone is apparent. The music serves to enter the film into a new generation of fantasy, adventure and animated films, which is further emphasised in the tracks borrowed from other films to accompany the trailer. While meant to resemble the film’s future score, the tracks from Muppet Treasure Island (1996) and Chicken Run(2000) further underlines Hogan’s intention to appeal to a specific audience.

There is, however, two elements that somewhat lessens my enjoyment of this film. First of all, the twelve minute intro, consisting of some familiar but several new plot elements, establishes Wendy’s significance but delays Peter Pan’s entrance. Impatient cinema goers like myself would find this tedious and unnecessary. Hogan’s target audience is not watching the film for drawn out descriptions of Mr. Darling’s social awkwardness or Aunt Millicent’s folly. They want to see flying, swordplay, crocodiles and romance. Similarly, the Tink character is given too many comical aspects. In a film where several characters are given added traits and consequence, Tink is just not central enough to merit the role she is given in the film. Originally intended to be fully digitally animated, she here becomes a mere nuisance and a diversion from more compelling characters.

The success of Hogan’s Peter Pan resides much in its vivid characters and modern use of camera and animation. The type casting of Jason Isaacs (from the Harry Potter movies) and  the always comical Richard Briers as Smee helps modernise and enter the story into a new generation of films. Although the film did not achieve the credit it was due on release, following blockbusters like Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King and Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, the story of the playful child in opposition to boring, foolish or evil adults has been given new and compelling garbs which make it a film well worth watching. 

Update: The entire film can be found here (choose the following parts to the right).
Another update: This is my article on the relationship between the film and the original play.

Sources: 1, 2, 3 or as given