Wessex Tales by Thomas Hardy - Book Review

This is a great introduction to those unfamiliar with Hardy's work. Easy to digest and never 'bogged down' with allusive or flowery language, this is Hardy stripped down. Each tale possesses its own element of scandal, with characters embroiled in extra-marital affairs of the heart, illegitimate children and jealousy. What's all the more tantalising is often Hardy refrains from being so explicit. Much is revealed through the gossipy aside from an otherwise irrelevant stock character, with the seed planted for the reader to let their speculation grow.

Hardy loves a good plot twist, so for those who like a bit of suspense in their classic lit, this is the perfect read.

Below are my thoughts on my favourite of the tales

The Imaginative Woman

An unfulfilled housewife, her intellect unchallenged by her blasé husband and her want of passion unmet, becomes infatuated with the absent tenant of a room she is temporarily occupying. With only the thinnest of associations between them, Ella Marchmill becomes increasingly desperate in her attempts to orchestrate a meeting - one she vainly hopes may turn a correspondence into something more real. In this short tale, Hardy paints a passionate vignette of unrequited love laden with irony.

I loved the irony in this tale. Hardy perfectly evokes the maddening desperation of an unrequited 'relationship' - made all the more desperate considering that the 'couple' never physically meet or actually see each other. I'm always drawn to the timelessness of a story's sentiment or message, and in an updated version, this same tale could be told in the modern world of social media and 'Facebook stalking' - though the premise is a lot more eloquently put in 'The Imaginative Woman'! This was surprisingly straight forward to read, and for those not yet familiar with his work, a brilliant first foray into Hardy.

Have you read 'The Wessex Tales' - which are your favourites?

Simon and the Oaks by Marianne Fredricksson - Book Review

Having already watched and posted my thoughts on 'Simon and the Oaks' here, I've been itching to read and review the novel. Originally in Swedish (an English translation is available - I found mine on Waterstones' Marketplace, a treasure trove for anyone looking for rare or out-of-print books), the translation at times lends to a slightly disjointed syntax, with occasionally odd word placements. Nevertheless, I wasn't disappointed.

 

 

Note: I would recommend that you watch the film before reading the book. I felt the novel to be a bit keen in revealing key twists early on. Had I known about these crucial turning points when watching the film, I know I would have felt slightly let down.

The novel is much more a saga than the film, chronicling Simon's life from early boyhood into young adulthood and far beyond where the film takes us. Whereas the film ends in Simon's onset into adulthood, the novel takes us into the unexplored regions of his later life including time served in the army and his later archaeological career.

What struck me most about the novel is the time it devotes to all characters involved, as opposed to the film which places Simon as very much the focus of its story. Whereas we see much from his perspective, the novel commits a mini psychological study to each character, providing a deeper insight into the motivations driving their behaviour. Nobody is without their personal demons, and whereas the film prefers to depict the characterisations rather simply - i.e. Simon's father as a pragmatic and domineering man, the novel is more forgiving. This is especially the case with regards to Simon's mother. The film's characterisation has her imbued with sadness, whereas the novel complements this by emphasising her strength and endurance.

This is a psychologically driven novel, which the film only hinted at by way of the timelessness evoked by music and nature. There is a Jungian undercurrent to Simon's characterisation, which Fredricksson reflects in Simon's dreams. The point is put across all the more explicitly in the following quote -

"Children are of the earth, she thought, with the ancient history of the earth in their cells and the entire wisdom of nature in the circulation of their blood."

With some further reading into Jung, there are various parallels between the psychologist's early life and Simon's. Both struggle with the enormity of obeying God's will and the burden of being so in tune with one's unconscious. This is particularly evident in a shared disillusion both Jung and Simon express with priests. (See Jung's 'Memories, Dreams, Reflections' for further reading). There are even hints of Milgram, in the novel's expression that there may be, "... a sergeant in all of us..." Whether this is a deliberate literary device by Fredriksson or not, it adds to the historical entrenchment and universality of the novel's themes of war and the human condition. 

Womb - Film Review

Starring: Eva Green, Matt Smith, Hannah Murray and Lesley Manville

Synopsis:

 A holiday romance between two youngsters is rekindled in early adulthood when Rebecca (Eva Green) returns to the shoreline home of her late grandfather. Reunited with Tommy (Matt Smith), the couple re-embark on their relationship only for time together to be cut short after Tommy's sudden demise. Grief stricken for a life never fully realised together, Rebecca makes the controversial decision to give birth to and raise Tommy's clone. The decision proves to have destructive ramifications for future relationships, which suffer for their entrenchment with the past.

Thoughts:

I couldn't help but draw comparisons between 'Womb' and Mark Romanek's 'Never Let Me Go.' Both tackle the theme of mortality and the sanctity of life. Though where 'Never Let Me Go' prompts us to grapple with the idea of cloning for the greater good (i.e. developing cures for diseases), 'Womb' presents us with an altogether more selfish reason - to simply bring back the dearly departed. Here, there are no potential health benefits for the future, nor are there any ostensible societal improvements.
Indeed 'Womb' paints an uncomfortable vignette, with the clones addressed disdainfully as 'copies'. Attached with an almost racially derivative stigma, it's clear the process isn't wholly accepted. 'Womb' most aptly puts this across through the excited curiosity of a young boy, who debates as to whether a recently encountered  'copy' smelt like window cleaner. Irony would have it that said boy with his benign prejudice is in fact Tommy 2.0.

The futility of death is made clear in 'Womb' - Tommy's death is an ultimately unnecessary one. A keen environmental activist on the cusp of his most ambitious endeavour renders his life cut short unfair. So to bring him back and to start his life from the beginning is all the more controversial when rationalised as such.  Where is the greater good?

 Unfortunately, the myriad of questions raised at this point aren't addressed. Is a clone a blank slate or do they have some semblance of their former selves? What restrictions are there on cloning (if any at all)? Rebecca is not a blood relative and despite disapproval, it doesn't seem that parental consent is a requirement for the process. The apparent ease of protocol for such an immense endeavour is thus all the more disturbing.

Hayley Atwell - Black Mirror

Rebecca makes her decision in haste. There's no grieving period. As in Charlie Brooker's Black Mirror (Be Right Back), the one left behind can't fathom life without their departed. Rather they channel grief into a more tangible denial - a carbon copy resurrection. The underlying thread in both 'Womb' and 'Black Mirror's Be Right Back' is that you can't beat the real thing. In each instance the copy proves to be hollow. They look identical, sound identical and with some prodding can tap into an earlier semblance of themselves. Yet where Black Mirror pushes through the hopelessness of resurrecting the dead and depicts its clone relatively harmless in its earnestness to please its owner, Womb has an altogether more sinister undertone. Here it's played out with incestuous undercurrents and sporadic outbursts of frustrated anger.

Green's acting is both restrained and desperate. I've always admired her ability to encapsulate the darker characters. Whether for being slightly unhinged or out of sync with their milieu, she always manages to play her part with the right amount of ambiguity. (Watch Franklyn and Cracks) I wasn't altogether too convinced with Smith's portrayal. Although as playful and wide-eyed as his younger counterpart, I never felt too enthralled with the more 'angst-ridden' scenes.

I enjoyed the scenery of 'Womb' - setting the narrative to a sleepy village near the sea was perfect for creating a sense of isolation and remoteness. Secrets don't remain as such for long in this contained context, whilst hostility and resentment are palpable between those who 'copy' and those who don't.


Noted...


Domhnall Gleeson in Never Let Me Go and Black Mirror

• Both Black Mirror's Be Right Back and Never Let Me Go star Domhnall Gleeson in the role of a clone
• The male protagonists of both Womb and Never Let Me Go are named Tommy

• Both Never Let Me Go and Womb feature an abandoned, derelict boat beached on the shore. Whereas in NLMG, the boat may represent themes of mortality and freedom, in Womb it could be a motif for the isolation of the 'copies' and those who birthed them. In Womb I had the impression that it formed a brief sanctuary for Rebecca.

Empty Space - Air Traffic

"You've done enough, he's still alive and he's breathing on his own"

Have you seen Womb? Are there any more parallels you found between Womb and themes of cloning in other literature and/or film?

Simon and the Oaks (Simon och erkana) Film Review

Note: In Swedish with English subtitles

 Simon Larsson is a cerebral child, the son of a boat maker and his wife, whose deep penchant for history, books and art is out of keeping with his working-class roots. The disharmony between Simon's upbringing and his yearning for the more intellectual threads of life is most palpable in an early scene between the youngster and his father. Mr. Larsson warns Simon to remember where he comes from, after reluctantly enrolling his son in a grammar school frequented by the wealthy.

There Simon meets Isak, the Jewish son of a wealthy bookstore owner. Simon is introduced to and enamoured with the world of the upper classes and soon finds himself on a path which sets him further apart from the values of his upbringing.

Isak and his father however come from a volatile background of their own and the backdrop of WW2 serves to heighten the turbulence of what becomes an inextricable link between the two families. Both harbour secrets which hang menacingly throughout the narrative and prompt Simon on a journey of painful self-discovery.

Isak escapes from the persecution of the Jews and his own personal demons in the solace of Simon's home life, building a surrogate relationship with Mr. Larrson. The two relish in their shared love for practical labour, to the detriment and expense of the already strained relationship between Simon and his father. Likewise, Simon finds a kindred spirit in Isak's father who indulges his love for music and history, all the while impressing on Simon that ultimately his life choices are his own.

The discord of Simon's familial relationships and the angry overtones of war denote the enduring gulf between Simon and those around him. He finds solace in and draws comfort from the unyielding, stalwart oak tree of the film's title. Daydreaming amongst the imagined whispers of history as they ride on the wind and through its branches, the Oak tree symbolises a sense of constancy and placement that Simon so desires.

 Jonatan S. Wächter delivers a stand-out performance, eclipsing those of his older counterparts with an ephemeral quality which fits perfectly with Simon's transient nature. His manner evokes that of an old soul, haunted with the anxieties of the past and bereft of somebody who can truly understand him. Bill Skarsgård maintains the childlike quality of his younger counterpart's performance as he takes the torch from Wächter and carries it into Simon's teenage years. A wide eyed young man, Skarsgård's Simon drifts further from within himself in a journey of wider self-discovery, family secrets and romantic relations.

 Simon and the Oaks' cinematography features beautiful shots of nature at its most peaceful - untouched by the violence of war and the turmoil of the narrative. With the overwhelming changes to Simon's world, both personally and with regards to the wider political context, both he and the audience derive a sense of calm from the ageless and rural pastoral. The soundtrack is equally as stirring, evoking the same sense of yearning possessed by Simon in aching violin notes with beautiful, melodious undertones. In both nature and music, Simon finds his peace and place in the world - fitting, for both are timeless and belong to no time or context.

"It was as if I knew it. As if... I'd been there before. Inside the music."

"Jewish" - Annette Focks

A beautifully shot coming of age tale, this film prompted me to seek out its novel counterpart, which I will endeavour to post about soon!

The Longest Journey - E.M Forster (Book Review)

Rickie Elliot, a Cambridge graduate, grapples with his existential ideals and literary aspirations with the unpleasant practicalities of life. 

I have to admit upon buying this book I committed the age old sin of judging by its cover. If there's one thing I love about TK Maxx, it's scouring through their book section. Amidst the cook books and travel guides, you're guaranteed to find a random literary gem. A quick scan of the blurb and an impulse purchase was made - little did I realise how poignant it was that I came to choose The Longest Journey at the time.

Completing my final year exams, I felt disillusioned with life in general. It felt odd not to have the comfort of knowing I'd be returning to education in September to alleviate any guilt from a somewhat idle summer. Neither did it help that the overwhelming task of properly starting a 'working life' had become more apparent than ever before. I immediately missed the library and the silent camaraderie of that environment. I really appreciated that this revision period would be the last of my life, and I would never really engage in learning in quite the same way again.

The Longest Journey has been the perfect read for such an ambivalent time. Centred on Rickie Elliot, the protagonist of the novel and a recent graduate of Cambridge, the story follows his endeavours to appreciate and understand the philosophical ideals of truth and beauty, his search for a higher purpose and his ill-advised marriage to the object of his infatuation, Agnes Pembroke. The novel is split into three parts, tracing Rickie's journey from university, his engagement to Agnes and relationship with the morally dubious Aunt Emily, to his reluctant career as a public school teacher.

Rickie is an idealist and indulges in the solace he derives from the common purpose he and his friends share at Cambridge - the quest for higher knowledge. Grappling with existentialism, Rickie deplores that he has yet to possess the same grade of thinking as his peers. Yet what he might lack in philosophical acumen, Rickie makes up for in a more personable appreciation of the human condition - specifically, the fragility of relationships.

"But he was not cynical - or cynical in a very tender way. He was thinking of the irony of friendship - so strong it is, and so fragile. We fly together, like straws in an eddy, to part in the open stream. Nature has no use for us: she has cut her stuff differently. Dutiful sons, loving husbands, responsible fathers - these are what she wants, and if we are friends it must be in our spare time.

'I wish we were labelled.' said Rickie. He wishes that all the confidence and mutual knowledge that is born in such a place as Cambridge could be organised. People went down in the world saying 'We know and like each other; we shan't forget. But they did forget, for man is so made that he cannot remember long without a symbol; he wishes there was a society, a kind of friendship office, where the marriage of true minds could be registered."



It's passages like these I found comforting. If you're in the same ambiguous transition, you find an affinity with Rickie. For all his grandiose notions of seeking the ultimate good in people - an endeavour for which he is chastised for by his practical-minded friends -

'You think it so splendid to hate no one. I tell you it is a crime. You want to love everyone equally and that's worse than impossible. It's wrong.'

- he ironically hits upon the effect of such practicalities on our lives. We lose friends to make way for social convention and propriety, and this is what Rickie finds so lamentable - despite engaging in these conventions himself. This is evident in his engagement to Agnes and his later career as a school teacher - one that carries him further away from his real enthusiasm in becoming a writer.

The novel moves swiftly from one third to the next, though at times the narrative dwells just a little too long on scenic or architectural descriptions. This is quite at odds with Rickie's point of view, which is almost always concerned with moral propriety and higher ideals. To me it was always a way of reminding the audience of the contrast between Rickie's inner dialogue and that of his surrounding milieu.

Otherwise, Forster isn't too concerned with the intricate complexities of how relationships develop. He identifies the most significant moments and important transitions  and uses these to drive the story and Rickie's journey forward.

Trance - Film Review

**This Post May Contain Spoilers**

Simon (James McAvoy), an art auctioneer, is embroiled in a heist gone wrong, the botched attempt leaving him without recollection of what happened that day - much to the anger of his criminal associates (led by Vincent Cassell). In a desperate attempt to prompt his memory and locate the missing art piece, he turns to hypnotherapist Elizabeth Lamb (Rosario Dawson), who believes she can unlock Simon's memory. Uncertain of who to trust, Simon endures the protracted process of trying to remember what is real amidst false and suppressed memories - all the while growing dangerously close to Elizabeth.

  

If there is an actor I trust above all others to put on a solid performance, it's James McAvoy. When picking films, more often than not, I'm guilty of basing my decisions on the casting (much to the chagrin of my nearest and dearest!) It's not that I blithely bias myself to solely watch films for the lone reason that I 'like' an actor. It's certainly a consideration but there are a select few in my eyes who I trust with their choice of roles. There are inevitably exceptions to this rule - this logic once led me to watch an obscure biopic on a Hawaiian princess... but it's a habit of mine, and one I don't think I'm alone in indulging in!

 Back to my main point - Any film with McAvoy will be a firm favourite with me. And I've been doubly excited that he has two films (the other being Welcome to the Punch) currently out in cinemas.

  Trance was in a word - amazing. (Note: it took a lot of self-control to not make a hypnotism pun here!) I was hooked. I don't want to laden this post with spoilers and an in-depth analysis of the plot. I will say it was very intricate and did require you to constantly rewind and keep track of the story, which gave it a very compelling edge. (This sounds a bit obvious and non-committal - but it really was a plot which kept you replaying previous events over and over again, whilst you took in what was happening there and then on screen).

I'm finding it hard not to talk in cinematic clichés because this film genuinely ticked a lot of the right boxes - see, one already! There was a great deal of tension, action-oriented sequences, twists within a twist - it was just unlike any film I'd seen before. What struck me most was how signatory it was of a Boyle film. Obviously in most cases, the director is not the writer - but this had such a distinct style that I wasn't too surprised to learn that Boyle also had screenwriting credit. There was the signature gore and the brilliant trance-like sequences which all came to fit together neatly in what became another twist of events - a ploy used expertly without becoming fatigued. He really knows how to stamp his mark.

 What I loved all the more was that whenever a trance-sequence was in play, unless explicitly stated, it was never expected. There were moments where very much like McAvoy's character, you'd be shaken out of whatever state you had lulled yourself into and realise what you were seeing weren't the bare facts. When a character would jump out of a reverie-like state, there was always the worry that it could be a cop-out; the horrible 'waking from a dream' trick - but fortunately with Trance this doesn't happen.

McAvoy as ever was on perfect form. He ran a gamut of characterisations in one persona, and brilliantly so. From the initial, glass-cut accented art-auctioneer, to the weakest link in a criminal gang with dormant but explosive personality flaws, this was a role fit for a man who's versatility is champion. The character is fractured and disorientated and I always had the feeling that there was more to him - a side that would be revealed later on. This happened to a fierce extent, and McAvoy played it with such panache that it seemed so plausible. He had a mastery of luring you into this character who appears a pawn in a mixed up game, so all the while we never really stop to question his integrity.

 You emotionally invest in him and prioritise him to come out on top. But why? Trance deliberately gives us very little inside information to the character other than his occupation. What we have to go on is his behaviour in the here and now - and yet we trust McAvoy from the start because he serves as a distraction from himself.

  Rosario Dawson was perfectly cast. Her calm and sometimes eerie manner fit expertly with her character. Despite being the protagonist's only hope, she never appeared trustworthy nor completely deceitful. I've never described a character as an enigma before, but she is undoubtedly the first. Vincent Cassel led the supporting cast but I didn't think he embodied his character in quite the same way as his co-stars. He fit the exterior well - the slick art thief and head of a criminal gang, but there just didn't seem enough focus on his character for us to make a solid judgement. I personally would have liked a bit more into his psyche and what made him tick but Trance doesn't commit too much time to this. Additionally, a burgeoning romance between his character and Dawson's isn't really given enough screen time to become believable once it's significant to the story's outcome.

I would highly, highly recommend Trance. The story keeps your mind ticking for a long while after you leave the cinema and for good reason. McAvoy and Dawson put on stellar performances, and Boyle again cements his status as a director tour de force.

Playlist

Radiohead: Talk Show Host

The Cure: Secrets

Aqualung: Strange & Beautiful (I'll Put A Spell On You)

Arctic Monkeys: If You Were There, Beware

Bill Ryder-Jones: By the Church of Appolonia

Arctic Monkeys: Dance Little Liar

The Coral: The Box

The Last Shadow Puppets: Gas Dance

Ludovico Einaudi: Nightbook

This particular track seemed very apt when I thought of the film. A sinister package which warns the protagonist not to open under any circumstances, but which soon drives him mad with curiosity reminded me of the of the dangers associated with unlocking Simon's memories.
 

The Illustrated Man - Ray Bradbury (Post Pt. 1)

I hadn't read a collection of short stories in a very long time and I was a little sceptical that this wouldn't meet my expectations. I wouldn't say I was an aficionado of science fiction in any big way (other than being completely enamoured with the David Tennant era of Doctor Who) so upon realising Bradbury is a leading light in the science fiction literary realm, my hopes were slightly dashed.

 

But they needn't have been. Whatsoever. I loved it. I loved the idea of the Illustrated Man; a mysterious being with the most intricate and elaborate tattoos, each a vignette of what could be.

Bradbury's style is stark. There's a great dearth in detail and each story is stripped to the bare minimum - ironically in contrast to how vivid and complex the sight of the Illustrated Man is supposed to be.

This doesn't detract from the reader's enjoyment at all. The greatness lies in Bradbury's ability to haunt you long after the story ends. Some really chilled me, others made me think of the potential inevitability in his words. What happens if technology advances to the point where it can think for itself? What if we become so disconnected as a society that we can't see what it is right in front of us? What if we become so blinded by striving for the greater good, that we fail to realise the greater good is actually something rather sinister?

In particular, I loved "The Veldt" - a sinister tale of a children's playroom or 'nursery' with a mind of its own - and "The Last Night of the World"- a short retelling of a day in the life of a couple who learn that it is their last.

The dystopian, futuristic and outer space themes in the book really reminded me of 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust' and Bowie's excessive glam rock era. The idea of a fallen idol, who lived too fast and came to warn Earth of its impending doom really fit in with Bradbury's work.

 

As each story is so different and unrelated from one another, wouldn't it be interesting for The Illustrated Man to be re-made, each its own mini-film or short, directed and produced by a different person? Each completely different in terms of interpretation and style. A different cast. Different score.

I'm thinking a lot of the Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus - I know there's only the one director in that case (I think Terry Gillam would be very apt!), but the idea of changing the actors for a single character is an interesting take; so a series of mini-casts would be endearing. I heard there are plans to re-make The Illustrated Man but this was circa 2007...

 

One of my next posts will be on a few connections I thought of between the stories in 'The Illustrated Man' to other literary works and film.