It is November so I am partaking in National Blog Posting Month and I will be posting every day. I am unclear whether this is still a thing on other parts of the internet, perhaps I am like those soldiers in the jungle still fighting World War II many years after hostilities have ceased. Something for you to look forward to.
Reading etc.
Miscellaneous Cultural Adventures
We went out on the town on Culture Night. It was only somewhat successful. We visited the Mansion House and the Royal Irish Academy which were both fine in their way – beautiful buildings with interesting contents – but as we’ve been to both of them before, we were resolutely underwhelmed. I dare say there are fresh things to see on every visit but we did not appreciate them as we ought.
Probably a highlight of the evening was meeting a misfortunate teacher from the children’s school who was out with her fiancé and not entirely delighted to meet students and their parents in the wild. She left after a quick hello hauling her young man behind her at speed. Who would be a teacher?
It was also the theatre festival and the Dublin fringe festival. We went to see the comedian Alison Spittle in the Fringe. I was unamused but the venue was Dublin Castle chapel royal which was nice to be inside, so there was that.
We went with my in-laws and their friends from London to one of the worst plays I have seen in years. It was called “The Bluffer’s Guide to Suburbia” and the premise was musician who fails in London moves back to Dublin suburbia. Promising I felt. It resolutely failed to live up to the promise of the billing and although I fell asleep half way through and was spared some of the worst, I was quite mortified to have brought everyone there. The English visitors were very nice about it (there was no question but that it was dreadful
The following evening we had tickets for a play called “The Alternative”. The theatre festival is a cruel mistress. We were bringing the children and I was afraid. The premise of the play was that Ireland had never split from the UK and we were now having a present day independence referendum like the one they had in Scotland a couple of years ago. It was so good. We all loved it. It was clever and funny and inventive. The best thing I have seen in years. The children noticed the new deputy principal in the audience but we not to frighten another member of staff at a cultural event and nodded from a distance rather than approaching more closely.
In the visual arts, I forked out €15 to see the Sorolla exhibition in the National Gallery. I had never heard of him before; he’s a Spanish impressionist. I mean, fine, but I was not overly impressed, some nice interesting paintings but overall, I didn’t feel excited or delighted to have visited. In contrast the free Bauhaus exhibition in the print gallery upstairs is outstanding and well worth your time. I was also pretty impressed by the finalists in the National portrait competition which are on temporary exhibition at the moment. The Crawford in Cork is showing an exhibition about children called “Seen not Heard” around the theme of childhood and that’s pretty good. A smaller exhibition upstairs of the works that the Gibson bequest committee bought during the Emergency (known as World War II elsewhere) I found less impressive. One or two things I quite liked but overall, not the finest moment in Cork art collecting.
Herself meanwhile had been invited by a friend to hear Oscar Wilde’s grandson reading his poetry at the Abbey but had to turn down the invitation as she had too much homework. Alas.
A Paean to the Public Library
I cannot speak with enough enthusiasm about the library service. I never went to the library much as a child. This quote from CS Lewis has always spoken to me:
“I am a product of long corridors, empty sunlit rooms, upstairs indoor silences, attics explored in solitude, distant noises of gurgling cisterns and pipes, and the noise of wind under the tiles. Also, of endless books. My father bought all the books he read and never got rid of any of them. There were books in the study, books in the drawing room, books in the cloakroom, books (two deep) in the great bookcase on the landing, books in a bedroom, books piled as high as my shoulder in the cistern attic, books of all kinds reflecting every transient stage of my parents’ interest, books readable and unreadable, books suitable for a child and books most emphatically not. Nothing was forbidden me. In the seemingly endless rainy afternoons I took volume after volume from the shelves. I had always the same certainty of finding a book that was new to me as a man who walks into a field has of finding a new blade of grass.â€
That said, although I similarly had access to all my parents’ books suitable and unsuitable, the library would have brought some welcome additional variety to the stock of children’s books available. My sister became a youthful aficionado of the library and was always going in to the book club run by the librarian. I looked upon her with disdain. Foolish me.
Mr. Waffle as a child was a regular at the local library so when our own children came along, we got into the habit of going to the library. The scales fell from my eyes. What a truly wonderful service.
I continue to marvel at the ability to go into a library anywhere in the country and take out a book and then return it in my local branch or vice versa. When my sister-in-law and her family were in Cork recently (a triumph, of course), they went to the library in the city (it’s a good one) and borrowed some books to return in Dublin.
I have not bought a book in ages; almost anything I read, I order from the library. I am at a bit of a loss to understand how, on this basis, our house continues to be absolutely falling down with books. A mystery.
I recently went to investigate the newly renovated city centre library in Kevin Street. It’s a delight. My photo is of the children’s library in an attempt to lure my sister-in-law and little niece there but the adult reading room is quite lovely like an old study.
And the other day, when I was in the library, I noticed that they have a new digital borrowing service called Borrow Box where you can download ebooks and audio books. Just as I am setting off on my holidays. What is not to love?
Reading
“After the Armistice Ball” by Catriona McPherson
“The Burry Man’s Day” by Catriona McPherson
“Bury her Deep” by Catriona McPherson
More Dandy Gilver books; gentle, historical detective fiction set in Scotland. I find these books soothing and also quite funny in places.
“Transcription” by Kate Atkinson
Every Kate Atkinson book is really good. This one about a woman who works transcribing material for an English spy during the second world war is really good. I didn’t love it as much as I have loved some of her other books but it is still very, very good.
“Middle England” by Jonathan Coe
Jonathan Coe’s anguish on Brexit revisiting the characters from the Rotters’ club. I quite enjoyed this and a paragraph about our hero hooking up with his old girlfriend made me laugh out loud.
“How to Stop Time” by Matt Haig
This is about people who don’t age at the same rate as the rest of us. The premise is clever and it’s reasonably well executed. I liked it. I find Matt Haig is full of these ingenious plot ideas and he’s good at playing them out to their conclusions.
“The Dead Fathers’ Club” by Matt Haig
More Matt Haig ingenuity; it’s about a boy whose father dies but he keeps seeing him. It’s clever but quite depressing. There are definite echoes of Hamlet (the boy’s mother takes up with his uncle) but I could have done without that.
“How to be a Woman” by Caitlin Moran
This was really popular when released; I found it fine but a bit of its time. There’s a lot of journalism slightly reheated in here and in my experience that doesn’t work well a number of years after the event.
“Educated” by Tara Westover
I thought this autobiography about being brought up by very strict – actually insane in the case of the father – Mormons was absolutely eye-opening. This isn’t a genre I care for much in general but the author is an exceptionally good writer and she has an extraordinary story to tell. Possibly the best thing I’ve read so far this year.
“The Moncks and Charleville House: A Wicklow Family in the Nineteenth Century” by Elisabeth Batt
I went to visit Charleville House on an open day and I was curious to learn more about it and the family who lived there. This book fitted the bill but it’s really more family history/local history than anything else notwithstanding that one of the Moncks was very influential in Canadian history which was covered extensively. For enthusiasts only.
“Lethal White” by Robert Galbraith
Latest JK Rowling crime offering. I quite enjoyed this, I have to say but her plots get ever more ludicrously complex.
“Notes to Self” by Emilie Pine
This is a beautifully written personal series of essays. I really loved this book although at times I found the author a bit irritating because sometimes she does seem to believe that she is the only one who has really felt. But what a writer.
“The Dubliner Diaries” by Trevor White
The notions; this is a book about a loss making magazine that Trevor White edited through the boom. I found it funny in spots and a real reminder of how we lost the run of ourselves.
“My Beloved World” by Sonia Sotomayor
I found this interesting but a bit worthy. I can see how Sotomayor is an excellent legal writer but as an autobiography this was plodding.Â
“The Break” by Marian Keyes
Meh, it was ok; very readable as Marian Keyes is so good at this kind of stuff but quite forgettable.
“The Wych Elm” by Tana French
Another brilliant author whose every new book I read. This is a mystery story set in Dublin but for my money, not the best book she has ever written.   I know the hero is meant to be complex and not entirely sympathetic but I just found him tough going.
“Insurgent” by Veronica Roth
“Allegiant” by Veronica Roth
God, these are definitely the worst written books I have read this year. The latter was written from different character points of view and I kept forgetting which character was supposed to be narrating which chapter as the authorial voice was so unchanging. Still, they were a cultural phenomenon and I read them. I cannot recommend them.
“The Shepherd’s Life” by James Rebanks
This is a beautiful book. A big hit in England, I understand. I got it after hearing the author on “Desert Island Discs” (why, hello, middle age). It’s by a man who works as a shepherd in the Lake District. He assumes a degree of ignorance about the ways of agriculture and farmers in his writing that I suppose is warranted in England but can seem a bit patronising in this jurisdiction. We are not very far removed from farming. I have a colleague whose father is a shepherd and he helps out at the farm at weekends and takes leave for lambing. I recommended this book to him but he’s pretty dubious. I recommend it to you also.
“In this House of Brede” by Rumer Godden
This was recommended to me by a faithful blogging friend. I enjoyed it very much. It’s a very odd book written about life as a nun; by a convert, so very keen. Interesting.
“Breakfast with the Nikolides” by Rumer Godden
This is a terribly sad book – autobiographical in part, I suspect – about a sensitive young girl in India whose parents are not getting on. It’s excellent and quite, quite different from the nun book.
“And then there were none” by Agatha Christie
I haven’t read this in a long time – still a very good read. Michael found it around the house and adored it.
“The Witness for the Prosecution” by Agatha Christie
I got this out of the library for Dan as my sister took him to see the play in London. Sadly, he had no interest but Michael and I quite enjoyed these classic short stories. Mediums feature strongly.
“Admissions” by Henry Marsh
More stories from a neurosurgeon about his life. Interesting although he is an unusual and difficult man based on his own account.
“Guards Guards” by Terry Pratchett
I saw this on a colleague’s desk at the office and it precipatated a general discussion on the brilliance of Terry Pratchett and also made me realise that I had never read this one before or at least had no recollection of doing so which is just as good. Great stuff.
“The Essex Serpent” by Sarah Perry
This was an immensely popular book when it came out so when I read it, I had high expectations. I did enjoy it – a 19th century mystery/romance – and some of the characters were wonderful but I was not overwhelmed with delight.
“The Seven Imperfect Rules of Elvira Carr” by Frances Maynard
This is a bit like “Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine” – young woman with a domineering mother and difficulties has to get on in life. It suffers by being so similar thematically to “Eleanor Oliphant” because although it is a very well written, interesting and funny book, it just doesn’t feel as novel.
“The Hate You Give” by Angie Thomas
This is a very well-written, deeply depressing book about race relations in America told through the prism of a girl who witnesses police shoot her friend. You’d want to be in the whole of your health to tackle it.
“This Could Hurt” by Gillian Madoff
I thought this was a bit meh. It’s about life in HR in a big company. Funny in parts but overall, I was underwhelmed.
“A Manual for Cleaning Women” by Lucia Berlin
This is a series of beautifully written, very autobiographical short stories. Each is more depressing than the last. I would recommend consuming them in small doses rather than reading a whole collection at once.
“Small Fry” by Lisa Brennan-Jobs
If you would like to feel better about your parenting or how your parents brought you up, this is the book for you. Steve Jobs comes across as an appalling parent and an unpleasant human being but his daughter still adored him so I suppose he had something. It’s very unclear what it might have been from this memoir. Competently written but I’m not sure I would have found it so engaging if her father were not Steve Jobs which makes me feel a bit displeased with myself.
“Reasons to be Cheerful” by Nina Stibbe
Funny story about a dentist’s assistant. A familiar range of characters, if you have read any of the author’s previous books. The cover describes her as the heir to Sue Townsend. Somewhat similar in tone, alright although not quite as good as Townsend at her best.
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Cultural Activities
Mr. Waffle and I visited 11 North Great George’s Street which is open to the public at odd hours for tax reasons. It was a bit of a pain to arrange but I can truly recommend it. The owner has been there 30 years and the house is obviously an (ongoing) labour of love. When he bought it water was streaming down the walls as the roof was largely gone and he has been painstakingly restoring it ever since. He was fascinating about the history of the street and Georgian Dublin.
We also went to visit the Tenement Museum on Henrietta Street with the children. I absolutely applaud this as an initiative and think it is a great idea. However, fresh from our tour of number 11, the information seemed a bit basic (though good for tourists at whom it was aimed) and the house a bit spartan. Obviously, it’s a tenement museum so I suppose that was inevitable. We may have had the experience ruined by going there before it opened for immersive theatre experiences which were reasonably successful (one on the 1913 lock out, one on the tenements) and the children felt that they had had enough experience of Henrietta Street, thanks all the same. Still, well worth a visit, if you haven’t been there before.
The Words We Use
A certain amount of mockery has made me aware that the following terms appear to have fallen out of use:
Tradesmen: Not in common use since the 1950s, I am informed. I do not find this credible.
Pr̩cis Рmeaning summary: I have discovered that any Irish person over 45 knows exactly what this means and younger people think I am describing a press release in my own weird argot.
Maiden Aunt: Not since the early 1900s, I am told. Again, I do not find this credible but yet, the levels of mockery makes me think that perhaps it may have fallen out of favour before most people I know were born.
Updated to add: I am informed by herself that précis is spelt thus with an acute accent, we have checked Chambers dictionary and found she is correct. I have amended the text to reflect this. Do you think we pedants are born or made?
