Beyond Tsundoku

Listening to one of @backlisted podcasts (about Pierre Bayard’s book – How to talk about books you haven’t read)

This was quoted and I thought it was much more helpful than the catch-all ‘tsundoku‘. There are:

Books You Haven’t Read
Books You Needn’t Read
Books Made for Purposes Other Than Reading
Books Read Even Before You Open Them Since They Belong to the Category of Books Read Before Being Written
Books That If You Had More Than One Life You Would Certainly Also Read But Unfortunately Your Days Are Numbered
Books You Mean to Read But There Are Others You Must Read First
Books Too Expensive Now and You’ll Wait ‘Til They’re Remaindered
Books ditto When They Come Out in Paperback
Books You Can Borrow from Somebody
Books That Everybody’s Read So It’s As If You Had Read Them, Too
Books You’ve Been Planning to Read for Ages
Books You’ve Been Hunting for Years Without Success
Books Dealing with Something You’re Working on at the Moment
Books You Want to Own So They’ll Be Handy Just in Case
Books You Could Put Aside Maybe to Read This Summer
Books You Need to Go with Other Books on Your Shelves
Books That Fill You with Sudden, Inexplicable Curiosity, Not Easily Justified
Books Read Long Ago Which It’s Now Time to Re-read
Books You’ve Always Pretended to Have Read and Now It’s Time to Sit Down and Really Read Them” 
Italo Calvino, If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler

By the way, I can’t recommend Backlisted too highly – real, joyous, informed conversations about books. I haven’t listened to one that hasn’t had me scribbling down a title or shouting out noisy agreement.

Beyond Tsundoku

Frock Consciousness

Rosemary Hill entertains and informs in her lecture about women and clothes, Frock Consciousness. The phrase is Virginia Wolf’s who wrote:

‘My love of clothes interests me profoundly, only it is not love; and what it is I must discover.’

Hill reflects that this diary entry was written in the year that:

Woolf published Mrs Dalloway, which brought her to literary prominence; the previous year she had sat for her photograph in Vogue. For that she chose to wear a dress of her mother’s, which was too big for her and long out of fashion. To plant it in the most famous fashion magazine in Europe was to make a statement, however ambiguous. And the experience of the sitting prompted a further thought: ‘My present reflection is that people have any number of states of consciousness: & I should like to investigate the party consciousness, the frock consciousness etc. These states are very difficult … I’m always coming back to it … Still I cannot get at what I mean

hill01_4007_01

Hill adds,

I don’t suppose that I shall get at it either, but I will revolve the question again and apply the advantage of nearly a century of hindsight to the idea of frock consciousness, an idea that I think was not born but at least much heightened in that period between the world wars just as Woolf was trying to put her finger on it.

It’s fascinating. It answered questions a brother always puzzled about when he saw his sisters getting dressed (why on earth should girls’ buttons be on the opposite side?) and makes a case for the revolutionary importance of the pullover.

Worth reading in full here. The linked page contains a recording of the lecture, if you prefer to listen rather than read.

Frock Consciousness

Coincidence?

Browsing in the best bookshop in Britain* (IMHO) on Thursday, I was nosing around Geoff Dyer’s book, The Ongoing Moment – a Book About Photography and found, in its opening paragraph, this quotation:

A few minutes later C came over to show me a book of poetry she was thinking about buying, called Loop of Jade by Sarah Howe. It’s epigraph was this:

Small coincidences are surprisingly satisfying aren’t they? I’d never seen the quote before, or been charmed by the idea of a Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge (surely something sorely needed in a world full of ill intentioned information), but I felt at once as though I was in tune with the universe.

Reader I bought the Geoff Dyer.

It’s only when I set the two quotations down in this post, that I realised the they are not identical.

*Topping and Company in Ely.

Coincidence?

Wowski

In our morning’s drive poor little Wowski (Mr Wynn’s little dog, bought at Wansford Bridge) was run over by the phaeton, and his leg much hurt.

That was in 1788, but it still is news. John Byng notes the incident in passing in the journal he kept of his tour around Sussex* We have never met Wowski before and we never discover if this little dog – a terrier surely – recovers to yap and leap and bother passing carriages again.

Dogs are so often our unacknowledged companions, a call on our heart, but rarely considered important enough to figure in published histories – until poor Wowski leaps into view. He may have been dead for well over 200 years, but I winced when I read about his accident and can’t help hoping  he did eventually recover.

*Published in John Byng’s Rides Around Britain

Wowski

A High Wind in Jamaica

I’ve been reading High Wind to Jamaica by Richard Hughes. It’s a children’s classic – but so far it had passed me by. Perhaps, when I was the right age, the ‘classic’ tag put me off, or the dull binding on the shelves of the school library.

Hearing it discussed recently on ‘ A Good Read’ piqued my interest and I decided to give it a try. I’m glad I did. We see the world chiefly through the children’s eyes, interpreted by a sympathetic narrator. This odd perspective transforms Jamaica and, later, the pirate ship, into random places governed by strange riles and events that are only half understood or explained. It isn’t an amoral universe, but judgments are skewed limited by the children’s understanding.

They are kidnapped – but accept their new life as readily as they accepted the prospect of being sent overseas by their parents to go to school in England. The one event makes as much sense – to the child – as the other.

The adult world intrudes on theirs quite randomly and with little comment. One of them falls to their death, another – the eldest girl – disappears into realm of the pirates and though we see her fear, we have no insight (in the book at least) into what might be happening to her. The world it draws for us isn’t kind or safe or nice and you have the sense – as any slightly feral child must have – precariousness where falling into pleasure or utter disaster are equally likely and equally outside of your control or understanding.

I think this gives a sense of the author’s view of the children he describes:

The inside of Laura was different indeed: something vast, complicated, and nebulous that can hardly be put into language. To take a metaphor from tadpoles, though legs were growing her gills had not yet dropped off. Being nearly four years old, she was certainly a child: and children are human (if one allows the term ‘human’ a wide sense): but she had not altogether ceased to be a baby: and babies of course are not human – they are animals, and have a very ancient and ramified culture, as cats have, and fishes, and even snakes: the same in kind as these, but much more complicated and vivid, since babies are, after all, one of the most developed species of the lower vertebrates. In short, babies have minds which work in terms and categories of their own which cannot be translated into the terms and categories of the human mind. It is true they look human – but not so human, to be quite fair, as many monkeys. Subconsciously, too, every one recognises they are animals – why else do people always laugh when a baby does some action resembling the human, as they would at a praying mantis? If the baby was only a less-developed man, there would be nothing funny in it, surely. Possibly a case might be made out that children are not human either: but I should not accept it. Agreed that their minds are not just more ignorant and stupider than ours, but differ in kind of thinking (are mad, in fact): but one can, by an effort of will and imagination, think like a child, at least in a partial degree – and even if one’s success is infinitesimal it invalidates the case: while one can no more think like a baby, in the smallest respect, than one can think like a bee.

Hughes, Richard. A High Wind In Jamaica (Vintage Classics) (p. 98). Random House. Kindle Edition.

A High Wind in Jamaica