The Kindle Appreciation Society?

Along with more than a million other people in the UK I got a Kindle for Christmas. As someone who’s supposed to love books, accepting it was a major step for me – on a par, I thought, with lobotomizing myself and single-handedly destroying (what’s left of) the publishing industry, thus betraying my past, present and future. The Kindle is a tool of the devil, I thought; The Man in electronic form. What is a world without those beautiful artifacts that, erm, rip easily, weigh a ton and cost a fortune?

How to be fit (hint: not by buying Stella McCartney workout gear)

This post is otherwise entitled ‘Expensive sports gear will not give you a bum like Jessica Ennis’.

In case you were wondering, Jessica Ennis looks amazing like this because she is actually fit

In Britain, host country for this year’s Olympics, 2012 is being touted as the year of sport and fitness. Well, the papers need to tout it as the year of something or other. The clearer the focus, the easier the product placement and advertising by proxy.

So, new(ish) year, new(ish) you and all that. Sport and fitness is as good as any other label for selling an entire year, isn’t it? Better than many, in fact. Beats the year of the gadget, the video game or some of the other rubbish we’ve been offered in the past. I’d certainly prefer to see the world fitter and healthier and I do like the idea that activity is being promoted over consumption.

Women in Sport (except in the media…)

There’s been a furor recently over the absence of women on the BBC Sports Personality of the Year ten-man (sic) shortlist. The nominations are made by the sports editors of 27 UK newspapers and magazines. None of the reports I’ve read say if there are any women among these editors but my guess would be a big fat No.

There have been 11 and a half female winners of the main SPOTY award (there are 8 categories) in its 57 year history. The half was ice skater Jayne Torvill, who shared the award with Christopher Dean. Two of the others were, um, Princess Anne and her daughter, Zara Phillips. Please don’t ask me what this says about this strange country and our attitudes towards royals who actually do something/anything. I’m quite sporty but even I can’t muster the energy to think about that one. 

What a girl can learn from a boys’ book club…

My last post dealt with grown up, serious, brow furrowing, chin scratching political issues. This one is about men, books and going to the pub…

Aren’t networks wonderful? Recently a men’s book club in Leeds asked the incredible Culture Vulturess to help them crowd source their next book for discussion.When I say ‘men’s book club’, women have been known to cringe or say ‘Ew’ or words to that effect. Let me clarify. They don’t read ‘men’s’ books – not smut, not stereotypically ‘male’ action hero, guns ‘n’ grenades books. They’re all men, that’s all. Middle aged, mostly middle class men (their description, not mine) who wanted to do something constructive and intellectually stimulating some of the time.

I’m all for the fashion poppy…

Blimey, what a lot of  fuss there’s been this week about a little paper flower!

It’s been suggested that the poppy is a fashion statement, a frivolity, a meaningless appendage. At the same time, it’s viewed as symbol of support for war or a means for corporations to feign  sensitivity (everyone at the BBC has to wear one therefore it’s a bad thing etc). In short, it’s fashionable to argue that people wear poppies not because they want to but because they’re ‘supposed’ to, whether because it’s cool or there’s a workplace edict. By extension, the suggestion is that the millions of people who wear them are foolish and misguided.

I disagree profoundly. My parents ran a Royal British Legion Club when I was growing up (I know, the glamour!) and we kids spent an unusual amount of time chatting to old soldiers. I never heard any of them say war was a wonderful thing, that they enjoyed it, that it was a brilliant idea and they wished we could do it all over again. On the contrary, they often talked of how damaging it was, how awful, how they hoped it would never happen again. But on Remembrance Sunday, they all pinned poppies next to their medals as they stood solemnly for the two minutes’ silence and remembered the places they’d been and the people they’d lost.

The poppies they wore were, of course, made by wounded ex-servicemen and women. The workforce is still drawn from these ranks, as it were. I don’t suppose they think the poppy is a bad idea either, more like something that helps them to earn a living as they adapt to civilian life again.

Lest we forget, society changes but war hasn’t gone away yet. We can fight to make that happen but, even if we succeed, every single person, soldier or civilian, who has died deserves two minutes of our thoughts. A poppy is, for me, simply symbolic of that reflection.

As for the fashion accessory thing, to be honest, I don’t care if there are some (and I’m sure their numbers are few) who treat it that way. Jeez, surely something that shows you’re thinking has to be a better fashion statement than a handbag that costs ten grand or a pair of shoes you need to take out a mortgage for, doesn’t it?

The image is from the UK Handknitting Association who do knitting projects for charity. Check it out – maybe we can all knit way cool, fashion forward poppies for next year

Links to two of the prominent anti-poppy articles published this week -  from Robert Fisk in the Independent and Laurie Penny in the New Statesman.

Snide And Prejudice

Recently I worked with several other Leeds authors, an editor, a producer and a literature festival to co-produce a romance novel. Broken Shackles is a (woo hoo!) racy romp set in our fair city, with characters who have lives like yours and mine, facing the kind of dilemmas in love that we all encounter from time to time. How much should a person compromise their career for love, the book asks. How significant are differences in income and status? Can we change for love or does someone who loves us just have to accept the way we are? All important questions, right? All relevant to our own lives, yes? Whatever your current relationship status, I’ll bet my best ripped-up bodice that you’ve struggled with some of the same issues.

So, imagine my surprise to encounter the strangest of prejudices: some people claim to hate (strong word but often used) romantic fiction. ‘Have you ever read any?’ we writers would ask. ‘Well, no, but it’s all rubbish, isn’t it?’ Actually, no – the book that we wrote is well-structured, with rounded, believable characters, a compelling storyline and some entertaining hanky-panky. What’s not to love?

There seem to be two issues here. One is that romance is genre fiction and two is that it’s perceived as women’s fiction. This gives a handy platform for both literary snobbishness and misogyny – a potent blend.

The snobbishness is strange, as it seems to fundamentally misunderstand what genre fiction is. It follows convention, of course, as does almost all comprehensible fiction. There’s a crisis, a pursuit and a resolution. It’s the structure that crime, sci-fi, thrillers, fantasies and every other form of genre fiction – and most non-genre fiction too – follows. Indeed, best-selling British crime writer, Ian Rankin, pleasingly affirmed this when he spoke recently at Morley Literature Festival. Crime fiction, he said, is based on a crime, an investigation and a resolution. That’s it. We know what’s going to happen in the end. What we don’t know is how on earth the author is going to get us there.

There’s good and bad crime fiction but it rarely strays from the expected structure. Why would it? It’s what makes genre fiction so readable. You’re not going find ten pages that talk about cake crumbs; you’re going to be turning the pages frantically, unable to turn your bedside lamp off until you find out what happens next. All good genre fiction invokes that excitement and good romantic fiction does it just as well as other genres.

The misogyny is more tricky. For a long time, romantic fiction seemed to rub against the grain of feminist thinking, promoting happy homemakers instead of independent, self-sufficient women. This type of critique has gone out of fashion, not least because the saucy minxes in contemporary romances have friends, fun, careers and – gasp – sex. As I said before, their lives are like yours and mine…

New criticism emerged recently, which suggested that women could become addicted to romantic fiction, that it could ‘dangerously unbalance’ readers and that it could be blamed for sexual health problems. There wasn’t wasn’t a word on how readers are intelligent enough to tell the difference between fact and fantasy and therefore it was roundly and rightly dismissed by readers and writers alike.

Obviously, I totally agree with Carter and Steiner that ‘Romance fiction does nothing to undermine the structural (re)production of the patriarchal control in the public sphere of work and political decision making’. Well, of course it doesn’t and nor should it be expected to. Crime fiction doesn’t reduce murder rates and sci-fi doesn’t mean we won’t get invaded by aliens.

Romantic fiction is just that -fiction. Yes, it sits within a broader context of gender and power relations but these days it challenges rather than conforms to the status quo. And it emphatically does not idealize relationships – on the contrary, it shows how bloody difficult it is to make a relationship work in the first place! It does idealize love. To my mind, there’s nothing wrong with that.

I need a hero…

I spend a lot of time thinking about heroes these days. I’m currently writing romance – occasionally tinged with straight up, down and dirty filth – and much of my musing focuses on what makes a believable hero. Obviously, a mucky muser like me jumped at the chance to attend the premiere of the new movie adaptation of Jane Eyre (thanks to The Culture Vulture) and find out if this Mr. Rochester has what a great romantic hero should have.

Is he the kind of man who sends a frisson of delight, confusion, longing and desire at first sight? Does he make a girl – or boy, for that matter – distracted, obsessed and unable to tame their physical responses (fluttering heart, flushed throat, inability to look someone in the eye coupled with a complete inability not to!)?

These ideas have become so familiar over time that we almost assume they’re constructs, mere literary devices to describe love and passion. They’re not. This is our visceral response when someone strikes our fancy, tickles our instincts (oo-er) or however we’d like to phrase the lightening-strike moment when we spot The One.

I am not suggesting that we can only ever have one The One – contemporary social norms and a bit of good luck mean that The One that gets away or turns out to be loser/idiot/crook can be fairly easily replaced. But even in these complicated modern times when multiple relationships are an option, we still search for The One because we love the rush that goes with it. We thrive on the tension, desire, uncertainty and, yes, the mind-warping fantasy that these feelings can lead to only one thing: the very best sex you’ve ever had. Of course, they can also lead to misery, heartbreak, penury and so on but all that comes later. The great thing is that we keep on looking for the lightening despite any negative experiences we may have had following past strikes.

So, is Michael Fassbender, the new Mr. Rochester, a lightening-strike hero? Judging by the ‘Cor, phwoar, get a load of that’ response from the audience, I think we can safely conclude that he is. The fact that the (at pains to point out that he is straight) director described Fassbender as ‘irresistible’ might be a good indicator too.

In the Q&A after the screening, I asked the director why he’d chosen to emphasize Rochester’s sensitive side. He said that he didn’t, that Rochester is arrogant, cruel and mean in the film. I didn’t see that in Fassbender’s performance at all. Every question he asks of Jane, most of it taken directly from the book – ‘Do you think me handsome?’ – registers as much insecurity, awkwardness and longing (cloaked in arrogance, yes) as her response.

Fassbender is an attractive guy but looks alone don’t make a hero. A looker might pique your curiosity but it takes something more to retain your interest. What works with Fassbender as Rochester is that from the first moment he sees plain, small Jane Eyre, it’s obvious that he’s had the lightening strike – because there’s only one thing a great hero needs and that’s to feel it too…

I’m not as lazy as it might seem…

From recent lack of chatter on this site, it looks like I have been on holiday or perhaps have taken a long nap, Sleeping Beauty style (albeit with snuffling snores and possibly a hint of drool). In fact, I’ve been busy doing some guest blogging for The Culture Vulture.

We went to Pontefract Races so I posted on how to lose your shirt – or not, if you follow my handy tips in A Day At The Races. I lost my shirt so you don’t have to lose yours. Yes, the sacrifices in this game are enormous…

I also posted on how Leeds could quickly and easily become just like New York, Paris and Mexico City. Really. Holbeck Viaduct or ‘Whatever Happened to Our Skywalk’ got some people very enthused and at least one person’s dander very much up.

In addition, I’ve been planning my writing workshop for Morley Literature Festival. If you’re interested in love, passion, romance, gasps and swoons (and let’s face it, who isn’t?), you can sign up here. You can also get to hear spine-tingling tunes from saucy crooner Frank Lee Marvelous and some extra-special readings at the Celebration of Mills & Boon event, which is taking place in a 1950s diner. Seriously, peeps, what’s not to love?

I’m also working on a top secret project and a new novel, which adds up to a lot of stuff going on. Hurrah, I think this means that I’m not a lackadaisical slacker (though in some ways I wish I was – say it out loud; it really gets your tongue working).

The picture of cracked paint came from the viaduct but, in truth, is not really anything to do with anything. I just like cracked paint and this one was even sparkly, making it doubly cool in my book.

Normal slightly lazy blogger service will be resumed asap.

A little learning…

I once had a university colleague who was in the garage waiting for her car to be repaired. A mechanic working a lathe got some shards of metal in his eye. ‘Let me help,’ she said. ‘I’m a doctor.’ So she bathed his eye, covered it and had someone drive him to the hospital. When she told us this on her return to work, we stood agog. ‘But you’re a Cold War historian,’ we squawked, ‘not a medical doctor!’

She thought what she’d done was perfectly reasonable. To her it was logical – she was a bright woman, why wouldn’t she know how to stop someone going blind? If you know a one-eyed mechanic, it’s probably something to do with her.

Point is, that we’re all rather adept at assuming we’re experts these days. We know how society should be run; what politicians should do; what policing strategies should be; how social workers should do their jobs; precisely what the weaknesses in the criminal justice system are; what’s wrong with teachers and educational strategies; what should be done to/with/for rioters, looters and their parents – and so on, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.

We don’t, of course. Not one of us can come up with a simple answer to complex problems. Having studied International Relations, I can’t handle pub-talk politics, in which people make simplistic assumptions based on little to no evidence. I agree that we need to discuss these issues – we all have a stake in understanding what led up to the recent riots and finding ways to prevent this happening again. What seems problematic is the quick jump to judgement – & there’s masses of this online – that claim to identify exactly what should be done. Maybe some people do know everything there is to know but somehow I doubt it.

It might be useful to spend some time listening to the experts before condemning the people working hard to keep society on track and/or who have experience with those who’ve gone off the rails. Has anyone ever noticed that the ones who have the most power in these discussions, the politicians, are the only ones not trained to do their job? Some of them work very hard, of course, but nobody went to university for years to learn how to become Prime Minister. We might do better to take advice from people who actually know what they’re talking about. Ask any one-eyed mechanic…

[Thanks & apologies to clever photoshopper for image - at least, I assume it was photoshopped! Don't know who made it but if you do, let me know & I'll give credit as due.]

‘Oi, ginger!’ – On Lingering -isms

Talking the other night about the crisis in the News Corp empire, we noted that the one irritating thing about it all is the obsession with Rebekah Brooks’ hair. I do think she has particularly horrible hair but it’s the gingery-ness of it that commentators use as an insult that seems strange and inappropriate to me.

Yes, we know that women in the news get described in ways men never do – age, body shape (or lack thereof), wrinkles, cellulite, what the eff is she wearing etc. – but I thought ginger-ism had gone out with laughing at buck teeth and glasses. Apparently not. I mean, feel free to keep laughing at RB (though she’ll be too busy counting the pay off she no doubt negotiated with Rupert Murdoch earlier this week to notice). I just don’t think it’s very *nice* to make it about her hair. She can’t help it – cos if she could, she’d surely do something about it…

There are, of course, other -isms to discuss. Chavism, for one, though @OwenJones84 is probably best placed to deconstruct that whole kettle of class warfare.

Fattism is another but, as I am still seeing my therapist about my apparently incurable problem with people who eat too much and move around too little, I shall leave that for another post. In the meantime, maybe check out @BangsandaBun, who dealt admirably with the fallout from raising this tricky topic!

If you have any other -isms (easy ones only), do drop me a line…