Radio Shmadio

Last night I decided to take my minidisc player for a little outing (it has been neglected recently) across London to be used during my journey to Rahul's birthday thingie in London. Unfortunately, having exhausted my minidisc on the journey home, I found myself listening to London LBC Radio, for my old minidisc has an FM function. This LBC is a station of moaning. If you've had a particularly tough day, have read the paper (most likely the Express, or Mail) and despaired for the "way the country is going" a couple of times, then this is the station for you. I base this on 1 brief 15 minute listening on the bus on the way home at gone midnight, but it basically involved people ringing up moaning, and, more annoyingly, the DJ agreeing with everything they say, no matter how ridiculous and unfounded their ramblings. Particularly one fellow's argument , "I can't believe they're not giving out killer's names if they're under 18 to protect them. When I was under 18 I was in the army, and was trained to kill", annoyed me. I'm not entirely sure how he managed to link the two statements anyway, but the point I wish to raise is just what a good example of the "guilty until proven innocent" attitude such as that brought up by A Passage to India or Vernon God Little this is. The names of these "killers" are not given, because it is possible that they are, in fact, not killers, and if they are, we have a law system much better placed to deal with them than some vengeful member of the public who will be benefited by a name. In fact, I am often unsure of why the accused are named at all, regardless of age, unless, of course, they are on the run and may pose a risk to the public. I'm sure there will be someone reading this who will have a better idea of what I'm rambling on about - please leave a comment if you do!

In other news, Rahul's birthday was good fun. The food was pretty tasty (though I couldn't finish my main course - I blame the Tetleys Ally bought me) and the place was nice, if a little cramped and over-hot! A little shout out to Mr Todd, who has revealed his frequenting of this site to me. Keep on reading my man, and if you fancy it, leave me a comment to say hi! I hope you've recovered well from last night's shenanigans.

We are not built to cope with all the sadness in the World

"They both regretted the death, but they were middle-aged men who had invested their emotions elsewhere, and outbursts of grief could not be expected from them over slight acquaintances. It's only one's own dead who matter. If for a moment the sense of communion in sorrow came to them, it passed. How indeed is it possible for one human being to be sorry for all the sadness that meets him on the face of the earth, for the pain that is endured not only by men, but by animals and plants and perhaps by the stones? The soul is tired in a moment, and in fear of losing the little she does understand she retreats to the permanent lines which habit or chance have dictated and suffers there."

EM Forster, A Passage to India, p219.

A Passage To India

Before I start, I should just give a small warning that this post may give away some of the storyline. However, I would suggest that this book should not be read so much for the intrigue of what happens to Aziz, but for the people and politics surrounds that story. It sounds like a bold and pretentious statement, but in fact the main story framework is extremely small - it is its telling that I found most fascinating.

Aziz is an Indian doctor working in Chandrapore. From the beginning of the book he sparks a friendship with Mrs Moore and Miss Quested, two English ladies, and eventually invites them an some other friends on a trip to the Marabar Caves. During this trip, Aziz and Miss Quested become separated from the rest of the group, and the result is that Aziz is accused of assaulting Adela, who appears to run from the caves. From the moment of his arrest the affairs of Aziz are never mentioned - you have no idea of what has been happening to him, except through the biased words of the Anglo-Indians, who never once mention his name - he is always "the prisoner". This is just an example of the guilty-until-proven-innocent attitude of authority in this book. As soon as the trial falls apart, Aziz is mentioned by name again as if nothing has happened, and he re-enters the story. "From the moment of his arrest he was done for… he had despaired, not through cowardice, but because he knew that an English-woman's word would always outweigh his own." p208.

It's a fascinating insight to the years of Colonial India, and exposes the racism inherent in the system. As I read the book I was filled with a constant feeling of respect for Aziz - it's the way it's written. Because you see all that happens - you are aware of Aziz's innocence and intentions all along, all the prejudice around him is shocking. Perhaps also as he speaks perfect English, and, being a book, you do not really have any idea of the colour of his skin it feels even more shocking. I wonder if this book changed any opinions in the 20s?

Books...

This holiday, I have done much reading, which has been something I have been looking forward to doing ever since exams got to within 4 months away. I list...

• Vernon God Little by DBC Pierre. A pretty good read. Set in southern texas you follow the expoits of an incredibly unlucky and persecuted individual, Vernon Little. He has been witness to a mass murder at a local school, and as the only friend of the dead killer, he becomes a scape goat for the local police intent on "cause and effect". 3/5
  
• The Player of Games by Ian Banks. One of his culture novels, the first I've read. It took some getting into; his writing style is horrible - very punchy sentences, with poorly worded, forced dialogues. However, the story was quite a good idea, and if you can get past the writing and the fact that the characters names are clearly produced by Mr Banks luring his cat across his keyboard (Chiark-Gevantsa Jernau Morat Gurgeh dam Hassease indeed!), it's quite good. Basically, Jernau is a game player, he plays all, and he usually wins all in impressive style. He is taken away to the empire of Azad, where their game, Azad, is so complex that your positioning in a tournament determines your status in Azad society. 3.5/5
• Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, and Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling. You all know what these are, and I love them. They're so well written - very few other books have presented the same interweaving and gripping story lines that the entire HP series have. Perhaps it's because there's around 3000 pages of character history, but the character developments are fantastic. An easy read, but well worth it. Not wanting to give anything away, the ending is great. I may have shed a tear or two... 5/5
• The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. The story slowly ducks and weaves, but it's the writing that really pulls you along in this book. It's written from 4 perspectives - three 1st person and one 3rd person. Leo Gursky writes with stacattoed, regularly punctuated sentences, and writes about his days trying to make himself noticed at the end of his life. He'll go into starbucks and order coffee loudly, and then proceed to deliberately spill it. He's written a book, but it was never published - it was given to a friend to look after when world war II began, and he hasn't seen it since. His only love, Alma emigrated from Poland during the war, while pregnant with Leo's only son. Another Alma writes exceptionally for a 15 year old - always questioning, always reasoning, and her brother "Bird" writes his own confused thoughts in his diary, which I suppose is his own was of expressing love. Their mother is translating The History of Love, a book by the main character in the 3rd person piece, Zvi... as the story unravels the stories begin to link together in breathtaking style. I really enjoyed this book, and will no doubt read it again and again. 5/5

Cornwall - Train Japes.

And so Tom travelled to deepest Cornwall. The train journey was a long one (the longest I've ever made), and took me from Paddington to Truro (via Plymouth). I was surrounded by prepubescent school children who, between the sugar rushes that followed mad dashes to the buffet car, were trying to convince each other that as we rushed across the coastal rail, the large expanse of cool blue water outside the window was not the sea.
"It's not the sea you know, it's just a lake," one would say.
"It so is the sea," a small confused voice would reply.
"It's not! It's a lake"
"It's not! It's the sea"
"No, lake!"
"Mr BARKER!!" the little voice would exclaim. "Is that the sea?"
"Of course it is the sea," the much maligned Mr Barker would reply. Ah, if only we all had an authority figure like Mr Barker to make everything right.

I seemed to have been followed around by the smell of cheap bacon. I foolishly went to burger king at Paddington, and the kid opposite me bought a bacon bap... man it smelt bad. Plus, on the train from Paddington I was sat next to an old lady who also smelt like bacon. As I expected, when I saw Alex in Truro she put these "olfactory hallucinations" down to the only possible cause - brain tumour. Humm.. hopefully not! Thankfully the smell left later that afternoon! Phew!

Truro was lovely, we stopped for a quick cream tea in a little tea shop with incredibly high ceilings with hanging baskets with honed, pointed bases precariously dangling from it. Eep!

I'm sorry it's been so long. As the time since my last post stretched out, so did the amount of stuff I'd done, and so the inclination to write got less and less! Since I last posted, well, loads of stuff has happened. I've graduated (I now have a BA!) with a 2.1, which I am delighted about, and have left Cambridge for another long summer holiday.
Then, family holiday to Centre Parcs which involved much golf (some very poor rounds, and also some half decent rounds) along with swimming, badminton, squash, barbecues, snooker, kayaking, pedaloing and lots of cycling. Was really good fun. Then, home for a few days, during which I tried to organise my last two weeks of farm experience (and failed), and then I toddled off to Cornwall, which is where I'll start catching up the posts. My apologies.

eeek.. it's been a month. Update coming soon, I promise.