This book seems to be infused throughout with a plaintive sadness. Now that may sound like a bad thing, but it’s not really because you have to admire an author who can evoke a sentiment consistently without making the reader feel totally depressed! It’s a novel about love and loss, childhood and old age. Some aspects of the plot towards the end are slightly convoluted and contrived but I forgave the author because of the quality of the characterisation. I loved both narrative voices so much by the end that I didn’t mind that Krauss was seemingly making me leap through hoops of belief in order that they could eventually meet.
There are elements of magic in the book and a preoccupation with death which is almost inevitable when the two main characters are a Jewish man who escaped from the Nazis, leaving his friends behind and a girl whose father has died. These themes lead inevitably to the book being infused with sadness. Nonetheless, it deals with sadness well, and with grief in a manner that balances sentiment with style.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The Plumber
I liked the plumber; he was a chubby, avuncular man, almost like a fully grown baby with those pinchable chubby cheeks. The neat, greying beard kind of limited the baby comparison but he was still a lovely man. He had been to the house a few times before to help us out with minor plumbing questions. The reason we used him was because he had done all the plumbing when the house was built, he was familiar with the layout of the pipes and the idiosyncrasies of the house.
Despite this familiarity with the house and its plumbing and increasingly me and the husband and the two noisy kids, he was consistently polite. He always asked permission to enter the bathrooms or go up the stairs, even if we were cooking dinner or berating the children for their noise and chaos. He always checked that we were ok with him wandering around; he was old school chivalrous that way.
The last time he visited, the husband was at work and the kids at school. The plumber had been checking all the taps in the house because the water pressure had been down. He´d adjusted the water pump and now, with his usual thoroughness, he was checking the water flow upstairs and down, making sure the whole house was ok, conscientious and chivalrous. He was a great workman, so I was really quite sad about what happened.
The upstairs bathroom, primarily used by my children, had its door closed. The plumber, with his usual politeness, asked if he could go in. I said of course, but to watch out for the monsters that were sometimes left in there by the children.
He laughed as he opened the door and then his head was bitten off by the monster inside.
Despite this familiarity with the house and its plumbing and increasingly me and the husband and the two noisy kids, he was consistently polite. He always asked permission to enter the bathrooms or go up the stairs, even if we were cooking dinner or berating the children for their noise and chaos. He always checked that we were ok with him wandering around; he was old school chivalrous that way.
The last time he visited, the husband was at work and the kids at school. The plumber had been checking all the taps in the house because the water pressure had been down. He´d adjusted the water pump and now, with his usual thoroughness, he was checking the water flow upstairs and down, making sure the whole house was ok, conscientious and chivalrous. He was a great workman, so I was really quite sad about what happened.
The upstairs bathroom, primarily used by my children, had its door closed. The plumber, with his usual politeness, asked if he could go in. I said of course, but to watch out for the monsters that were sometimes left in there by the children.
He laughed as he opened the door and then his head was bitten off by the monster inside.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
The Three Kings
On the 6th of January every year, the three kings, or three wise men, arrive in Spain. Evidently, predicting the birth of Jesus and travelling across the world following a star to find him was not enough of a task, they have to spend the next couple of thousand years on another mission.
Their mission is twofold; their primary purpose is to ensure that gifts are delivered to children across Spain. My Spanish teacher assures me (and I don’t think she’s doing the ‘let’s tell the foreigner a complete lie and see if she’s gullible enough to believe it' trick) that the three kings deliver their gifts to the balcony of the house. This, of course, is a perfect explanation why the three kings do not bother visiting Britain, because in the main, people don’t have balconies in Britain. Anyway, In order to know that they need to leave gifts for children on the balconies, the children need to leave their shoes outside...yes, I know, it all seems a bit bizarre to me too, but it’s a tradition and the kids love it! As with Santa, we also have to leave drinks for the three kings. My son decided to leave lemonade, a beer and an amaretto (with a few hints from his happy parents).
The second part of the mission is for the three kings to manifest themselves, in the form of men from the local towns and villages, dressed up in suitable kingly attire, with lots of other adults who should know better, also dressed up as shepherds, stars, kings and sheep. They then need to find some lorries and tractors, dress the floats, find as many boiled sweets and chocolates as they can and participate in a parade.
Most towns and villages in Spain have a three kings’ parade which travels its way through the town, towards the local church. After a church service, the kings will distribute gifts to the children of the village.
This year, we decided to attend the procession in Campello, our local beach town. We were told that Campello would be a small parade and that the kings would arrive by boat!! So, we dutifully trekked down for 5 pm, after finding out that the kings would be arriving at 5.30. They did arrive , by boat, one at a time. Our kids were quite excited to see three men dressed in bizarre costumes arrive by boat although the appeal was limited for adults, especially as we had to wait ten minutes between each king. Nonetheless, the people of Campello had organised an exciting enough arrival, with great fireworks heralding each king.
There were lots of people and children around and I suppose this is one of the great things about Spain, the whole procession is based around children. Never mind that many Spanish people have now adopted December 25th as a celebratory date, with gifts and food etc. No, what matters is that the children are able to enjoy the 5th of January as a date when the three kings arrive and the 6th January as the date when they will receive more gifts!!
After the arrival of the kings, we walked towards the procession and that’s when things became decidedly Spanish because nothing moved for ages and ages. We kept getting excited because stars and shepherds and donkeys (real ones, not dressed up!) moved a bit, but they were just shuffling forwards.
I suppose this is the time when the three kings get a bit tired, after star searching two thousand years ago and trekking to find Jesus, I suppose it’s a bit tiring to be dressed up on a carnival float and have to travel through towns across Spain.
Eventually, things moved along...but, to the horror of my children, the people on the floats were not throwing their sweets...this was what we had been promised, lots of sweetie throwing and gathering by children. Sure enough, there were well equipped Spanish children all along the route, holding their plastic bags ready to catch and collect and gather the sweets (nobody had told us to bring plastic bags, so we just had pockets!!)
My children were mortified, no sweets!! The Spanish people around us were also puzzled and started to hector the shepherds and variously dressed adults as to why they weren’t throwing sweets. They were told that the sweet throwing occurred further up the road. The Spanish people pointed out that there were children waiting along this part of the route and would it make any difference where the sweets were thrown? Evidently there had been some sort of three kings’ mandate, so no sweets were thrown where we were! We did see some great fire juggling and stilt walkers and fire breathing, but this was not good enough for my daughter...she wanted the sweets! We did the wise thing; we walked along the route to where the sweets would be distributed!
By this time, we had two tired children and a tired grandma in tow too. We walked a couple of hundred yards through much busier crowds and eventually saw some floats ahead who were passing down advent calendars. There was a scramble but we managed to get one for my son. My daughter was lifted up to reach an advent calendar but refused it...she’s quite a stubborn thing and she had been promised sweeties, and that is what she wanted. Thankfully, the shepherds in question had some and gave her a handful!
We were relieved to finally be able to leave, with the promised sweets. We had to wait for the remainder of the procession to pass before crossing the road. The last tractor pulled float travelled towards us. It seemed that the procession had finally overcome the stop start stuttering progress of earlier and now the floats were in full flow. It was dark and getting a bit colder and some fireworks were set off again on Campello beach, within easy view. And that’s when our magical three kings’ moment happened. The last float had the three kings on it. They didn’t care where they threw sweets, they knew their mandate...please the children.
My 7 year old and 4 year old looked up in awe at three strange men dressed in kingly costumes with bad false beards...their faces lit up as they realised that the three kings were throwing sweets...at them. There was an excited scramble around the pavement and the road, amidst plenty of laughter and jostling children and some scuttling adults too. And then, wonder of wonders, more sweets, up in the air, glinting with concealed magic as they caught the lights of the fireworks on the way to the ground. More scrambling and clutching for treasure, more laughter. My daughter was beaten to a final sweet by an older boy who was then chastised back by his mother to give the sweetie to my daughter! She took it! By this time the children were rosy cheeked with excitement with hands and pockets brimming full with sweeties.
And then the float had gone, leaving us with pockets full of sweets, two delighted children and three adults who had just seen some magic happen.
They were just some sweets after all; many are boiled sweets still in their complimentary bank wrappers... now they look kind of ordinary, in a little bowl in our kitchen, being slowly distributed day by day. They still have a little magic in them though and we will certainly be venturing out to the procession next year...we know where we need to stand now to get the sweets. And next year we’ll take plastic bags.
Their mission is twofold; their primary purpose is to ensure that gifts are delivered to children across Spain. My Spanish teacher assures me (and I don’t think she’s doing the ‘let’s tell the foreigner a complete lie and see if she’s gullible enough to believe it' trick) that the three kings deliver their gifts to the balcony of the house. This, of course, is a perfect explanation why the three kings do not bother visiting Britain, because in the main, people don’t have balconies in Britain. Anyway, In order to know that they need to leave gifts for children on the balconies, the children need to leave their shoes outside...yes, I know, it all seems a bit bizarre to me too, but it’s a tradition and the kids love it! As with Santa, we also have to leave drinks for the three kings. My son decided to leave lemonade, a beer and an amaretto (with a few hints from his happy parents).
The second part of the mission is for the three kings to manifest themselves, in the form of men from the local towns and villages, dressed up in suitable kingly attire, with lots of other adults who should know better, also dressed up as shepherds, stars, kings and sheep. They then need to find some lorries and tractors, dress the floats, find as many boiled sweets and chocolates as they can and participate in a parade.
Most towns and villages in Spain have a three kings’ parade which travels its way through the town, towards the local church. After a church service, the kings will distribute gifts to the children of the village.
This year, we decided to attend the procession in Campello, our local beach town. We were told that Campello would be a small parade and that the kings would arrive by boat!! So, we dutifully trekked down for 5 pm, after finding out that the kings would be arriving at 5.30. They did arrive , by boat, one at a time. Our kids were quite excited to see three men dressed in bizarre costumes arrive by boat although the appeal was limited for adults, especially as we had to wait ten minutes between each king. Nonetheless, the people of Campello had organised an exciting enough arrival, with great fireworks heralding each king.
There were lots of people and children around and I suppose this is one of the great things about Spain, the whole procession is based around children. Never mind that many Spanish people have now adopted December 25th as a celebratory date, with gifts and food etc. No, what matters is that the children are able to enjoy the 5th of January as a date when the three kings arrive and the 6th January as the date when they will receive more gifts!!
After the arrival of the kings, we walked towards the procession and that’s when things became decidedly Spanish because nothing moved for ages and ages. We kept getting excited because stars and shepherds and donkeys (real ones, not dressed up!) moved a bit, but they were just shuffling forwards.
I suppose this is the time when the three kings get a bit tired, after star searching two thousand years ago and trekking to find Jesus, I suppose it’s a bit tiring to be dressed up on a carnival float and have to travel through towns across Spain.
Eventually, things moved along...but, to the horror of my children, the people on the floats were not throwing their sweets...this was what we had been promised, lots of sweetie throwing and gathering by children. Sure enough, there were well equipped Spanish children all along the route, holding their plastic bags ready to catch and collect and gather the sweets (nobody had told us to bring plastic bags, so we just had pockets!!)
My children were mortified, no sweets!! The Spanish people around us were also puzzled and started to hector the shepherds and variously dressed adults as to why they weren’t throwing sweets. They were told that the sweet throwing occurred further up the road. The Spanish people pointed out that there were children waiting along this part of the route and would it make any difference where the sweets were thrown? Evidently there had been some sort of three kings’ mandate, so no sweets were thrown where we were! We did see some great fire juggling and stilt walkers and fire breathing, but this was not good enough for my daughter...she wanted the sweets! We did the wise thing; we walked along the route to where the sweets would be distributed!
By this time, we had two tired children and a tired grandma in tow too. We walked a couple of hundred yards through much busier crowds and eventually saw some floats ahead who were passing down advent calendars. There was a scramble but we managed to get one for my son. My daughter was lifted up to reach an advent calendar but refused it...she’s quite a stubborn thing and she had been promised sweeties, and that is what she wanted. Thankfully, the shepherds in question had some and gave her a handful!
We were relieved to finally be able to leave, with the promised sweets. We had to wait for the remainder of the procession to pass before crossing the road. The last tractor pulled float travelled towards us. It seemed that the procession had finally overcome the stop start stuttering progress of earlier and now the floats were in full flow. It was dark and getting a bit colder and some fireworks were set off again on Campello beach, within easy view. And that’s when our magical three kings’ moment happened. The last float had the three kings on it. They didn’t care where they threw sweets, they knew their mandate...please the children.
My 7 year old and 4 year old looked up in awe at three strange men dressed in kingly costumes with bad false beards...their faces lit up as they realised that the three kings were throwing sweets...at them. There was an excited scramble around the pavement and the road, amidst plenty of laughter and jostling children and some scuttling adults too. And then, wonder of wonders, more sweets, up in the air, glinting with concealed magic as they caught the lights of the fireworks on the way to the ground. More scrambling and clutching for treasure, more laughter. My daughter was beaten to a final sweet by an older boy who was then chastised back by his mother to give the sweetie to my daughter! She took it! By this time the children were rosy cheeked with excitement with hands and pockets brimming full with sweeties.
And then the float had gone, leaving us with pockets full of sweets, two delighted children and three adults who had just seen some magic happen.
They were just some sweets after all; many are boiled sweets still in their complimentary bank wrappers... now they look kind of ordinary, in a little bowl in our kitchen, being slowly distributed day by day. They still have a little magic in them though and we will certainly be venturing out to the procession next year...we know where we need to stand now to get the sweets. And next year we’ll take plastic bags.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Christmas Past and Christmas Present
There are a few Christmas traditions that are very British, some new Spanish ones that we have discovered and some Green/Davies idiosyncrasies that we are passing down to our children...
Something old...
The Christmas tree, which we put up when we feel like but NEVER before December. We have a collection of Christmas decorations from Doha the Uk and some holiday destinations, such as Germany. We have a great wooden tree, a wedding present form the Samys, who had lived in Germany for years and whose house resembled a magical Christmas grotto every year...our house still doesn’t quite measure up, but we have received a fair few Christmas decorations as gifts this year, so we will get there...
Something new....
A few weeks ago, as we were getting ready for school, my seven year old son came into my bathroom naked (he had just woken up and was in the process of getting ready for school; evidently this new was too important to wait for getting dressed). He said “Mum, did you know that in Spain, on the 6th of January, the three kings come with presents too..” Cunning, cunning boy, so now we have the joys of Christmas day presents, my daughter’s birthday on the 28th December and the day of the three Kings on 6th January and more presents...we have to put some shoes on the balcony and the presents will be left there...so my son tells me.
Something Green/Davies...
For some bizarre reason (we’re not competitive honestly...) Steve and I have got into a habit of leaving the ridiculous Christmas hats on after Christmas dinner for as long as possible. The person left with the hat on is the winner. I have no recollection how or why this started, but every year one of us will wear the hat until the other concedes defeat. This year, the tradition was explained to Owain and he wore the hat all day and to bed. When Steve and I woke on Boxing Day, Owain came into the bedroom and said “Have either of you got your hat still on?” When we blearily replied “NO”, he yelled “ Yay, I’m the winner” and so a family tradition is born...
I hope you all enjoyed a very festive time; we had a very large bottle of cava with the neighbours last night and are feeling a little bleary...getting myself ready for Aoife’s birthday tomorrow...
Something old...
The Christmas tree, which we put up when we feel like but NEVER before December. We have a collection of Christmas decorations from Doha the Uk and some holiday destinations, such as Germany. We have a great wooden tree, a wedding present form the Samys, who had lived in Germany for years and whose house resembled a magical Christmas grotto every year...our house still doesn’t quite measure up, but we have received a fair few Christmas decorations as gifts this year, so we will get there...
Something new....
A few weeks ago, as we were getting ready for school, my seven year old son came into my bathroom naked (he had just woken up and was in the process of getting ready for school; evidently this new was too important to wait for getting dressed). He said “Mum, did you know that in Spain, on the 6th of January, the three kings come with presents too..” Cunning, cunning boy, so now we have the joys of Christmas day presents, my daughter’s birthday on the 28th December and the day of the three Kings on 6th January and more presents...we have to put some shoes on the balcony and the presents will be left there...so my son tells me.
Something Green/Davies...
For some bizarre reason (we’re not competitive honestly...) Steve and I have got into a habit of leaving the ridiculous Christmas hats on after Christmas dinner for as long as possible. The person left with the hat on is the winner. I have no recollection how or why this started, but every year one of us will wear the hat until the other concedes defeat. This year, the tradition was explained to Owain and he wore the hat all day and to bed. When Steve and I woke on Boxing Day, Owain came into the bedroom and said “Have either of you got your hat still on?” When we blearily replied “NO”, he yelled “ Yay, I’m the winner” and so a family tradition is born...
I hope you all enjoyed a very festive time; we had a very large bottle of cava with the neighbours last night and are feeling a little bleary...getting myself ready for Aoife’s birthday tomorrow...
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
All I want for Christmas is...
A big leg off a dead pig to hang in my kitchen! Yes it’s preparation for Christmas here in Spain, the supermarkets will all be open the four Sundays of December and the Christmas trees and decorations are out in force. Christmas music is being played and some truly awful things are in the shops, like the fuzzy felt nativity scene we saw, all in luminous greens and yellows! Christmas preparations in Spain have their own unique flavours, with the supermarkets full of traditional dried fruits and marzipan, more turron than you can shake an almond tree stick at (turron is a sweet confection of crushed almonds and loads of sugar all mixed together into some sort of sticky treat – Owain had not tried it before, to the horror of one of his school mates who promptly nagged his mother to purchase some, which he brought in for our deprived boy the next day! The Spanish are very kind in so many respects.) Finally of course, the cured pig legs. I had quite a shock when I entered Carrefour to see a load of pig legs on display, and the cost....about 100 euros for some.
They always look really rustic when Jamie Oliver uses them in his recipes but as a vegetarian, they don’t really appeal to me. I do like the fact that this is not meat in disguise though...it’s not that pink ham nicely sealed in plastic wrap, all sanitised for your sandwiches and not looking at all like it ever came from a pig. No, this is the real, undisguised thing; it looks like it’s come off a pig...and not in the too far distant past either.
We won’t be getting one but Merry Christmas preparations everyone!
They always look really rustic when Jamie Oliver uses them in his recipes but as a vegetarian, they don’t really appeal to me. I do like the fact that this is not meat in disguise though...it’s not that pink ham nicely sealed in plastic wrap, all sanitised for your sandwiches and not looking at all like it ever came from a pig. No, this is the real, undisguised thing; it looks like it’s come off a pig...and not in the too far distant past either.
We won’t be getting one but Merry Christmas preparations everyone!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
How to make 16 litres of the purest olive oil.
Step One
Buy a beautiful house in Spain with a rather bare and dusty garden, the garden has three lovely looking olive trees, as well as three other small trees that bear some sort of small fruit, but you´re not really sure.
Step Two
Completely neglect the garden, as your priority is to get the house sorted for your own comfort and your children. Focus on the house and pool. Occasionally remember to water the trees. Periodically notice that one tree is very large and keeps bashing into the gate as you open and close it to leave the house. Spend large amounts of money on the house.
Step Three
Notice that the olive trees seem to have an abundance of green olives on them. Other than watering them intermittently, ignore them.
Step Four
Do a desultory search on the internet about when to harvest olives as you are utterly clueless. See an article about deep watering the trees. Spend a couple of minutes, with four year old daughter helping, watering the olive trees, feeling a bit guilty.
Step Five
Notice that some black olives are being blown onto path; they look ripe, wonder what to do. Notice that one particular tree is very overladen with weighty olives which are dragging the branches down to the ground…hmmmmmm
Step Six
Have a conversation with friendly neighbours about picking some green olives as they have a recipe for them
Step Seven
Overhear some folks at work talking about taking their olive crop to be pressed. They swapped their weighed olives for oil! Yippee! Immediately ask where olive pressing place is, only to find it is miles from your own home. Thankfully, kind Spanish member of staff offers to take your olives for you if you drop them off at school!
Step Eight
Discuss olive pressing plan with neighbours, agree to meet at weekend to pick olives, neighbours will take green olives for a recipe and remainder will be taking for squashing
Step Nine
Neighbours come over at weekend to help pick. Thankfully they are equipped with plastic for the ground (to catch dropped olives), sticks for beating the tree so that olives fall off, and baskets for collecting.
Spend a good part of 6 hours picking olives, supervising 4 and 7 year old as they beat the olive trees, chatting to Spanish neighbours. Become ridiculously upset each time you accidentally step on an olive and crush all the oil out of it. Become obsessed with getting as many olives off the tree as possible. Realise that the trees have an enormous number of olives on them. Realise that picking olives is thankless. Realise why olive oil is so expensive.
Step ten
Clear up plastic, sort green olives from ripe ones, sweep path. Realise that you have about 80kg of olives in back of car. Discuss with neighbours re-convening on Tuesday as there is one final tree to strip!
Step Eleven
Drive olives into work and drop them off in kind Spanish colleagues car…realise that they are quite heavy! As you drive out of gate, look up at “stripped” olive tree and realise there´s a whole section that four adults and two children have completely missed, it is jam packed full of olives!!
Step Twelve
Meet with neighbours and strip third tree. This is quicker as you are now experts at laying plastic, climbing tree and stripping olives. Also, final tree is smaller! After final tree is stripped, jokingly comment to neighbours about section missed on first tree, at which point, they lay down plastic…strip final section of first tree, which yields about another 15 kg!
Step Twelve
Colleague brings in your olive oil!! 16 litres in exchange for your 80kg, they normally give 15 litres per 100 kg, but apparently your olives are particularly good quality (obviously because of the love and care you have lavished upon them!) And you still have the olives from the third tree and the remnants from the first tree in the back of your car! Give 2 litres to kind Spanish colleague, who says it is too much. Insist that he takes it! Share half of remaining olive oil with neighbours. Plan to give some of your share as Christmas gift. Feel very happy with your first harvest!! Wonder how many more litres you will get from final buckets in the back of your car! Begin to wonder about pruning trees for next year…
THE END
Buy a beautiful house in Spain with a rather bare and dusty garden, the garden has three lovely looking olive trees, as well as three other small trees that bear some sort of small fruit, but you´re not really sure.
Step Two
Completely neglect the garden, as your priority is to get the house sorted for your own comfort and your children. Focus on the house and pool. Occasionally remember to water the trees. Periodically notice that one tree is very large and keeps bashing into the gate as you open and close it to leave the house. Spend large amounts of money on the house.
Step Three
Notice that the olive trees seem to have an abundance of green olives on them. Other than watering them intermittently, ignore them.
Step Four
Do a desultory search on the internet about when to harvest olives as you are utterly clueless. See an article about deep watering the trees. Spend a couple of minutes, with four year old daughter helping, watering the olive trees, feeling a bit guilty.
Step Five
Notice that some black olives are being blown onto path; they look ripe, wonder what to do. Notice that one particular tree is very overladen with weighty olives which are dragging the branches down to the ground…hmmmmmm
Step Six
Have a conversation with friendly neighbours about picking some green olives as they have a recipe for them
Step Seven
Overhear some folks at work talking about taking their olive crop to be pressed. They swapped their weighed olives for oil! Yippee! Immediately ask where olive pressing place is, only to find it is miles from your own home. Thankfully, kind Spanish member of staff offers to take your olives for you if you drop them off at school!
Step Eight
Discuss olive pressing plan with neighbours, agree to meet at weekend to pick olives, neighbours will take green olives for a recipe and remainder will be taking for squashing
Step Nine
Neighbours come over at weekend to help pick. Thankfully they are equipped with plastic for the ground (to catch dropped olives), sticks for beating the tree so that olives fall off, and baskets for collecting.
Spend a good part of 6 hours picking olives, supervising 4 and 7 year old as they beat the olive trees, chatting to Spanish neighbours. Become ridiculously upset each time you accidentally step on an olive and crush all the oil out of it. Become obsessed with getting as many olives off the tree as possible. Realise that the trees have an enormous number of olives on them. Realise that picking olives is thankless. Realise why olive oil is so expensive.
Step ten
Clear up plastic, sort green olives from ripe ones, sweep path. Realise that you have about 80kg of olives in back of car. Discuss with neighbours re-convening on Tuesday as there is one final tree to strip!
Step Eleven
Drive olives into work and drop them off in kind Spanish colleagues car…realise that they are quite heavy! As you drive out of gate, look up at “stripped” olive tree and realise there´s a whole section that four adults and two children have completely missed, it is jam packed full of olives!!
Step Twelve
Meet with neighbours and strip third tree. This is quicker as you are now experts at laying plastic, climbing tree and stripping olives. Also, final tree is smaller! After final tree is stripped, jokingly comment to neighbours about section missed on first tree, at which point, they lay down plastic…strip final section of first tree, which yields about another 15 kg!
Step Twelve
Colleague brings in your olive oil!! 16 litres in exchange for your 80kg, they normally give 15 litres per 100 kg, but apparently your olives are particularly good quality (obviously because of the love and care you have lavished upon them!) And you still have the olives from the third tree and the remnants from the first tree in the back of your car! Give 2 litres to kind Spanish colleague, who says it is too much. Insist that he takes it! Share half of remaining olive oil with neighbours. Plan to give some of your share as Christmas gift. Feel very happy with your first harvest!! Wonder how many more litres you will get from final buckets in the back of your car! Begin to wonder about pruning trees for next year…
THE END
Modern Classics – The Handmaid´s Tale by Margaret Atwood
As a feminist, I have a fascination with the similarities between the religions of the world that are so opposed to each other in so many different ways but seem to have so many common elements. One of those elements, inescapable in Atwood´s novel, is the subjugation and persecution of women in the name of religious beliefs.
Over the last 15 years, the veil has moved into the public consciousness as a symbol of female persecution and male dominance. It´s a debate that´s well worth having and one that is alive and well in a number of Muslim countries. It´s a question for another blog whether the veil is any more offensive than the g string or thong, is the morality of covering up any better or worse than the overt sexuality of clothing and advertising in our world?
In Atwood´s novel, the veil is certainly a symbol of the control and power than men have over women´s lives. The genius of Atwood is that she takes existing ideas from current society, like religious extremism in parts of America and some Arab states, and pushes them to the very worst possible case scenario. By doing so, she forces us to turn a mirror upon the religions that would prefer a woman to be subject to the needs and desires of the male. She forces us to think about sexuality and the way that it can be controlled and destroyed by patriarchal control in the name of religion.
Ultimately, Atwood is a great modern feminist and an utterly brilliant modern writer. By setting The Handmaids Tale in a seemingly post apocalyptic future, we see the horrors of dictatorial control over women. We see men as military fascists, herding women and treating them as a lesser breeding tool. The most wonderful and frightening aspect of the novel is that the beliefs within it are alive and well in this century, right here, right now, no need for an apocalyptic disaster to push some on the America right to an even greater desire to control women. The irony is of course that America went to war on terror to give people greater freedom, but that excludes the freedom for women. The other irony is that those on the far right of American society have a great hatred of Muslim cultural traditions and yet the extremists on both sides have very much in common when it comes to female sexuality and power.
It´s a fantastic, exciting read. It does not have to be read as an overt political text and I´m sure Atwood wouldn´t necessarily want it to be. However, many women in the world today are suffering under culturally prohibitive patriarchal mores. Many other women are living in the mythology of the cultural enrichment of breast enhancement and surgery leading to the perfect woman. Many women are repressed by the veil; others are repressed by a culture that values female beauty and submission above all other qualities. It´s a novel worth reading for the exciting story line and Atwood´s visionary writing. It´s also a novel worth reading to reclaim feminism as a battle worth the continuing fight.
Over the last 15 years, the veil has moved into the public consciousness as a symbol of female persecution and male dominance. It´s a debate that´s well worth having and one that is alive and well in a number of Muslim countries. It´s a question for another blog whether the veil is any more offensive than the g string or thong, is the morality of covering up any better or worse than the overt sexuality of clothing and advertising in our world?
In Atwood´s novel, the veil is certainly a symbol of the control and power than men have over women´s lives. The genius of Atwood is that she takes existing ideas from current society, like religious extremism in parts of America and some Arab states, and pushes them to the very worst possible case scenario. By doing so, she forces us to turn a mirror upon the religions that would prefer a woman to be subject to the needs and desires of the male. She forces us to think about sexuality and the way that it can be controlled and destroyed by patriarchal control in the name of religion.
Ultimately, Atwood is a great modern feminist and an utterly brilliant modern writer. By setting The Handmaids Tale in a seemingly post apocalyptic future, we see the horrors of dictatorial control over women. We see men as military fascists, herding women and treating them as a lesser breeding tool. The most wonderful and frightening aspect of the novel is that the beliefs within it are alive and well in this century, right here, right now, no need for an apocalyptic disaster to push some on the America right to an even greater desire to control women. The irony is of course that America went to war on terror to give people greater freedom, but that excludes the freedom for women. The other irony is that those on the far right of American society have a great hatred of Muslim cultural traditions and yet the extremists on both sides have very much in common when it comes to female sexuality and power.
It´s a fantastic, exciting read. It does not have to be read as an overt political text and I´m sure Atwood wouldn´t necessarily want it to be. However, many women in the world today are suffering under culturally prohibitive patriarchal mores. Many other women are living in the mythology of the cultural enrichment of breast enhancement and surgery leading to the perfect woman. Many women are repressed by the veil; others are repressed by a culture that values female beauty and submission above all other qualities. It´s a novel worth reading for the exciting story line and Atwood´s visionary writing. It´s also a novel worth reading to reclaim feminism as a battle worth the continuing fight.
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