‘Earth Hour’ 2009

This year again I will be taking part in the ‘Earth Hour’, which happens this Saturday between 8.30 and 9.30. However, as I will be working, I have decided to get the restaurant where I work involved and I will be turning of the lights in the room for an hour. I’ve put up a poster to explain the reasons why I participate to this global event and I hope it will be welcome by customers.

There is much debate about the benefits of such an event. Of course, it is daily changes that really make a real difference and the ‘Earth Hour’ shouldn’t be seen as a way of clearing up one’s conscience. However, I believe that the ‘Earth Hour’ is a good way to pass on a message and also to become conscious about the fact that we can make a difference.

Last year, I was happy about what it had done for me. Indeed, I used the hour thinking about the changes I could make in my daily life in order to respect the environment a bit more. A year later, I’m glad to say that I have stuck to these little changes and I try to always do a bit more.

Now, if I participate to the event, it is more in a symbolic way, but also in order to convince other people to make these little changes that can make a difference.

I’m raging!

There’s me walking to the shop with my little bag picking up rubbish on my way (this is my new little bit to make the world a better place). They are still building in the estate and one of the builders was there cleaning up his car. As you might expect he threw his bag of rubbish above the fence on the building site…

I couldn’t keep quiet obviously:

– Did you just throw a bag of rubbish?

– Ah! It will be buried tomorrow…

– That’s not the point and by then the wind will have blown it in the estate

– Go away!

– I LIVE HERE AND I WANT TO KEEP THE PLACE CLEAN!

Is it just a lost battle? I don’t know, but I’ll keep doing my little bits. Hopefully, next time he will be ready to throw a bag of rubbish, he will remember the mental girl and keep it until he gets home to put it in a bin.

The big Irish sky

I’ve always found the Irish sky amazing! Unfortunately, I can’t find the words to describe it, so instead I’ve been going around with my camera to try to capture its beauty. I’m not sure my pictures are faithful enough, but there you go!

And to accompany these photos, what better song than Kate Bush’s ‘The Big Sky’?

 

 

 

 

By the way, this is my first slideshow and I’m very proud!

LOL

I am sick of seeing people use ‘lol’, ‘rofl’, ‘pmsl’, and such other abbreviations expressing the fact that something is funny when they are communicating on the internet. I mean, how many of them actually roll on the floor laughing when reading a post? It has become systematic and doesn’t mean anything. Now, even French people use it, do they actually know what it means? I doubt it. I agree that when chatting to someone on the internet on prefers to use lively language reflecting everyday conversation. However, these letters do not reflect anything at all. How difficult is it to type ‘that’s funny’? or even ‘ahah’? or just to put a smiley, which has more meaning than these few letters? At least a smiley does show an emotion and when I see the letters LOL, the smiley I want to use is :-x .

In fact, I despise abbreviations in general. I think they are a nuisance to communication. Language is already not a perfect tool, but if we use abbreviations the risk of misunderstandings is increased. I DO use abbreviations, but only to myself or in certain conventional ways, as in writing bibliographies. We already make spelling, grammar and typographical mistakes, with the addition of abbreviations the text often becomes unintelligible. Despite the fact that French is my native language, I often don’t understand what many French people say because of their use of the ‘abbreviated French language’ and I waste precious time trying to decipher what they actually mean. The same is true in English, however I’m a little bit more fluent in ‘abbreviated English’, it still drives me mad though. I do tolerate abbreviations in mobile phone texts for cost reasons, although I try to avoid them as much as possible. Yet, when one is typing on a computer keyboard, it is just a sign of laziness, it is disrespectful towards the person you are talking to and also towards the language you are using.

Rant over!

Where do you draw the line?

I have been thinking about this issue for a long time: where do you draw the line between pop fiction and literature? Why is a book considered as pop fiction and another as literature? How do you categorise them?

It is often argued that in our postmodern world there is a blurring between high and low culture. I agree to a certain extent, but I can’t regard the writings of Cecilia Ahern to be as valuable as those of John Banville, for instance.

When I ask the question, most people answer that pop fiction means that it is read by many people, thus it is popular. It is a certain way to look at things, but if we consider my example of John Banville, his novels are popular, they are best-sellers, however I would qualify them as literature.

I would be tempted to say that pop fiction is what is accessible to everybody, to the less educated. I know this is judgemental, but I think it is also true, without being universal of course!

I would also argue that pop fiction is limited to a denotative meaning whereas literature carries more connotative meanings. The narrative of pop fiction appears as flat, as telling only a story with a more or less well-crafted plot. On the other hand, literature is often regarded as carrying messages that are left to the reader to interpret. However, pop fiction could actually be analysed as a commentary on the society we live in.

This brings me to another point: what is pop fiction at a time might become literature at another. For instance, the sensationalist novel in Victorian society was pop fiction, yet it has now become part of the curriculum and is studied in literature courses. One might then wonder if it is not just academics judging of what is worthy or not. Although this is true to a certain extent, I am not entirely convinced by this explanation.

I am not sure I will ever find an answer to my question, but believe me, I will keep thinking about it!

‘Waiting for Godot’

At last, the day arrived! I went to see Beckett’s famous play, ‘Waiting for Godot’, at The Everyman Theatre in Cork. I wasn’t disappointed!

First of all, I think that going to the theatre is a great experience. I love to see the mix of people attending a play, I love the anticipation before entering the room, but above all, I love that feeling of intimacy you get with the actors.

As I’ve said in a previous post, this is a commemorative tour celebrating the Gate Theatre’s 80th anniversary, but also the 20th anniversary since the play was first produced by the Gate Theatre on Beckett’s request. With the exception of Johnny Murphy who only joined the cast in 1991, this 2008 production is acted by the original cast from 1988, that is Barry McGovern, Stephen Brennan, and Alan Stanford. I was particularly delighted to see Barry McGovern in a Beckett play, he is considered a master of Beckett and he did work with him a lot, so I believe that such a production is close to what Beckett would have done himself. Plus, I love Barry McGovern’s voice!!

I knew what to expect as I have read all of Beckett’s plays and studied ‘Waiting for Godot’ a few years ago, however I noticed that a few seats were empty after the interval. It made me smile and reminded me of the fact that when the play was first produced in France and in England the audience would often be dimayed and leave the room altogether! Indeed, it is difficult to know what to make of ‘Waiting for Godot’, or of any of Beckett’s plays for that matter. However, ‘Waiting for Godot’ is probably one of his most accessible plays since humour still seem to outweight that gloomy vision of human existence Beckett is often tagged with.

‘Waiting for Godot’ is a play about waiting and how to fill the time while waiting. It points at the pointlessness of human existence, when only one thing is certain, that we are all waiting to die.

“What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in this immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come” (Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot)

So, along with Vladimir and Estragon, last night I did wait…. And as Beckett’s plays often highlight it’s always more pleasant to wait with company than on one’s own, even if it does not make the waiting anymore logical.

And to give you a little taste, here are two extracts from the film, with the same actors… Enjoy!

Mick Flannery at The Blackbird

I haven’t done much this summer, but one of the highlights was Mick Flannery’s gig in The Blackbird in Ballycotton. The gig was brilliant, even though Mick Flannery had the flu. It was in Ballycotton’s famous pub, The Blackbird. They have a small room for concert and that’s where the gig happened. There must have been about forty people attending so it was really intimate. My friends and I loved it. He’s an excellent singer, able to make your heart pound.

I let you enjoy one of the videos I made there.

Although it was a small gig, there was a support act by Christine Deady, whom I had never heard of but will definitely be looking out for, she had a lovely voice and a certain talent.

Ladybird

I recently took this picture of a ladybird, and I wanted to share it with you. While trying to find something to say on the ladybird, I discovered that this insect was named bóín Dé in Irish, which means “God’s little cow”. In French, it is called “bête à bon Dieu” (“God’s animal”). I like the way the animal in one language is a little cow in another!

I’ve also come across this nice poem by Victor Hugo:

La Coccinelle

Elle me dit : Quelque chose 
Me tourmente. Et j’aperçus
Son cou de neige, et, dessus,
Un petit insecte rose.

J’aurais dû, -mais, sage ou fou,
À seize ans on est farouche, -
Voir le baiser sur sa bouche
Plus que l’insecte à son cou.

On eût dit un coquillage ;
Dos rose et taché de noir.
Les fauvettes pour nous voir
Se penchaient dans le feuillage.

Sa bouche fraîche était là ;
Je me courbais sur la belle,
Et je pris la coccinelle ;
Mais le baiser s’envola.

- Fils, apprends comme on me nomme,
Dit l’insecte du ciel bleu,
Les bêtes sont au bon Dieu,
Mais la bêtise est à l’homme.

And in English… (my own translation):

The Ladybird

 

And she told me: Something

Is bothering me. And I saw

Her snow-white neck, and, above it,

A little pink insect.

 

I should have, – but wise or mad,

At sixteen one is timid –

Seen the kiss on her mouth

More than the bug on her neck.

 

It looked like a shellfish;

Pink back dotted with black.

To see us, the warblers

Were leaning in the foliage.

 

Her fresh mouth was there;

I curved over the belle,

And I took the ladybird;

But the kiss flew away.

 

- Son, Learn how I am named,

Said the bug from the blue sky,

Animals belong to God,

But foolishness belongs to man.

  

‘A Year in Provence’ by Peter Mayle

Since I finished my exams, I have been reading a lot; mostlylight books to start the summer easily. I’ve come across Peter Mayle’s book, A Year in Provence, and I really enjoyed it. It is not a major book, but a very entertaining one.

As the title states, the book is about the author’s first year in Provence. It is nicely written and one is easily absorbed by it. At first, I was afraid the book would be all about food, describing meals in details. However, this is not the case, it does mention food, but it is nicely balanced with other aspects of rural life in Provence. What I mostly liked about it was how Peter Mayle managed to create an atmosphere, I could even feel the sun shine! It is full of local colour: the markets, the food, the wine, and people from the region. If you fancy a delightful light read, that’s the book for you!

‘If on a winter’s night a traveller’ by Italo Calvino

“You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel, If on a winter’s night a traveller. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, “No, I don’t want to watch TV!” Raise your voice – they won’t hear you otherwise – “I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed!” Maybe they haven’t heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: “I’m beginning to read Italo Calvino’s new novel!” Or if you prefer, don’t say anything; just hope they’ll leave you alone.”

That’s how Calvino’s novel starts, addressing you, the reader. The first chapter describes the preparation before starting the book and describes the reader’s anticipation at reading it. It’s not until the end of the first chapter that you, and ‘you’, actually start reading If on a winter’s night a traveller. However, after a few pages, your reading of the novel is interrupted because of defective printing. You are then back to the original narrative to see ‘you’ going to the bookshop to get a replacement copy. There, ‘you’ meets Ludmilla, another reader to whom the same problem has happened. The whole novel keeps alternating between the original narrative and books-within-the-book, which are interrupted for one reason or another. There are a multitude of plots, but the central one is a love story between the two readers, and between them and books. It is a self-reflexive narrative that considers the process of reading, writing, and translating. It is confusing, but certainly most enjoyable. I loved it and would definitely recommend it!