Books

We are what we consume.

Edinburgh Expeditions

One thing that I try to do every week (or at the very least, every month) is attend events at Inspace, the University of Edinburgh Informatics Forum’s art space. The events I try to attend “blind.” I get the event emails from New Media Scotland, and sign up for the various events. I’ve attended lectures on memory and music (which resulted in my showing my inability to use a turntable in front of 75 people), a Pecha Kucha night (in which I stood up in front of a separate group of 75 and told stories of falling off of Arthur’s Seat), and a presentation by the Information Delivery Service (which resulted in no ridiculous stories from me).

IDS is a student cooperative fascinated with information, its readiness, their desire to have it all. The lecture, which I found interesting, was filled with information overload (and rather disjointed, lacking any coherent narrative flow, from which it would have benefited greatly). It did, however, leave me to contemplate how what we consume and create develops our identities.

I’ve recently started using Pinterest, that incredibly popular photo/lifestyle/dream-sharing website that’s been critiqued for everything from creating desires for unattainable lifestyles to dubious copyright infringement. What’s struck me as fascinating is, apart from its addictive qualities, Pinterest is able to give a ‘look’ to how we identify and how we wish to identify. It’s a means, like the Facebook info page, to divulge bits and pieces about ourselves to the world.

We are what we consume. We’re made up of the books that we read, the music that we listen to, the clothing that we wear. We identify through media, with ourselves and with each other. When getting to know one another, we ask about what sort of books we read, movies we watch, music we listen to. We find common ground and relate to it, often through what we enjoy.

If one were to look at my bookshelf, one would find a few books of critical theory (Guattari, Ranciere, Postman and McLuhan), philosophy (Hume and Marcus Aurelius), novels (John LeCarre and Margaret Atwood coexist, Raymond Chandler recently moved to the bedside table), my DVD collection of The Prisoner, a small CD collection (The Smiths and The Jam), and a few art books (exhibition guide to The Queen Art & Image, the exhibit I saw on my first day in Edinburgh). One can start to suss things out about me, just from what I choose to share about my intellectual consumption. I’m interested in media and environments, spies, and music made before I was born.

I see the world filtered through what I consume. Far too much of what I experience or think about is influenced by The Prisoner, even my potential dissertation topic for this degree. The thought of being without my DVDs in a foreign country was too much to bear. I even started reading books like Le Carre’s for research before realising how much I love them (okay, I’ve always enjoyed these stories, far more than I have the books that I’m “supposed to like”).

And I hate for the pretension that comes with saying, “I am an artist” but it’s true. I am an amateur painter, perhaps someday a professional digital artist (my dissertation, with hope, will kickstart that). But I read books on art, I examine it, I enjoy it, I consume it.

The presentation made me think only of this.

“Hello. I’m the first line of your novel.”

Edinburgh Expeditions

Last week, whilst at a Jazz festival with friends, I was hit with a line, a phrase, a sentence. Somehow it managed to stick in my mind, mutating, growing, digging itself into the part of my brain that ought to be reserved for PHP and PHP alone.

“Hello,” it said to me after six days of maturation. “I’m the first line of your novel.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Tell me about yourself, future novel.”

“I’m chick lit. Or at least more female-focused-fiction than you’re used to, Ms. John-le-Carre-and-Patrick-O’Brian-are-my-favourite-authors.”

This is where I spat out my tea and wondered if my painkillers were a lot stronger than my GP said they were (swing dancing accident–water, concrete and two enthusiastic lindy hoppers don’t mix particularly well. I didn’t break anything, thankfully).

Nope, they aren’t. It’s just the story that needs to be told.

I haven’t been able to write fiction for months, not since I arrived in Edinburgh. Whether it was the change of scenery, the stress of coursework or a general reprogramming of the brain, fiction slipped to the backburner in favour of my recording everyday life, the adventures and the misadventures.

Turns out, though, that my opening line, combined with fodder from my day-to-day-life would make for a potentially hilarious, snarky and above all, entertaining book on life and love in the 21st century. Or some other cliche. Regardless, I’m excited to start writing…but why does the Muse need to return when I’m up to my ears in coursework?

International Women’s Day in Edinburgh

Edinburgh Expeditions

For the last three years, I’ve been in Europe for International Women’s Day. The first one, I had no idea what was going on. There were women carrying flowers through the streets of Florence, lovely bright yellow ones. I found out what the meaning was (indeed, what the day was) after asking one of my professors.

The second was also spent in Florence, this time whilst my family visited my sister. We didn’t realise it until going to one of the local museums, and it was free entry for myself, my mother and Holmes. My father was a bit surprised when he had to pay! I translated the handwritten sign for him and we went on our merry way, enjoying the museums and the fact that we’d each saved about 12 euro (to be spent on gorgeous handbound journals in my case).

This year, I attended a lecture given by University of Edinburgh* alum and best-selling author Dr Philippa Gregory. I’ve only read one of Dr Gregory’s books–Earthly Joys–and while I didn’t love it, I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to attend her lecture! I love listening to authors speak.

I found Dr Gregory to be a wonderful speaker. She was funny, engaging, intelligent and goes on the list of people I’d love to invite for a dinner party. It would be a very interesting discussion, I’m sure.

Now, below is the lecture. I invite you to watch it–its very good (if long, just over an hour). And yours truly asks a question, because I cannot resist asking questions in lectures!

*My uni. Also the uni that both authors I’ve seen speak are attached to in some way.

A Girl Who Reads…

The Twirl and Swirl of Letters

A poem by Mark Grist.

I had to share this. Because girls who read are brilliant (if I do say so myself).

I do feel like a bit of a fraud. I’ve only finished one book since January, Barry Miles’s London Calling: A Countercultural History of London Since 1945. In my defense, it was several hundred pages long (and I’m working hard on my degree).

But I am a girl who reads. A reader of fiction both literary and pulp (and where the two crossover), of histories (mostly pop), of biographies, of critical theory, of academic articles. And you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way. As much as I love television, movies, even the internet, I wouldn’t trade reading for it.

Not reading for myself hurts. It aches as my brain grows weak, my attention span dwindling, when all I want is to read and find I can’t.

I still wander through libraries and bookstores, my eyes lusting over the beautiful book covers, the words on the pages…I long for the day where I can read for myself again (I may end up cheating a bit and reading before going to bed. All PHP and no books makes Beth a dull girl). Just today, I found myself at both Blackwell’s and the Edinburgh Central Library, perusing the shelves, holding books in my hands.

And yes, I gave in to temptation. I couldn’t resist. I never can. The printed word entices me, it draws me in, it is irresistible. I picked up a couple at the library, and am considering buying one for myself from Blackwell’s (Catriona Child’s Trackman). Perhaps as a reward for surviving this first round of submissions.

And, as a girl who reads, I have to say there’s nothing sexier than a guy who reads.

Maybe I’ll write a follow up poem.

Book Challenge: Scotland, Scotland, Freddie Mercury

What's On the Bookshelf?

At the end of it all! I like this. Much quicker.

Twenty-eight: Last book you read

The Importance of Being Seven by Alexander McCall Smith. I reread the entire 44 Scotland Street series this summer, in between the massive tomes about and by T. E. Lawrence.

I’m quite fond of the series, as you’ve probably gathered. I like McCall Smith’s books because they are fun to read, but also intelligent and hold up on rereads. I’m not much of a book buyer, as I’m constrained with space and love to visit libraries for the treasures hidden in the shelves, which is how I found this series.

These books focus on relationships, on friendships, and on the good of humanity. Very refreshing, particularly after reading the newspaper any given day of the week. The book was easy to read, yet not dumbed down, as is often the case. The thinking person’s popcorn read.
Twenty-nine: Book you’re currently reading

How the Scots Invented the Modern World by Arthur Herman. I’m moving to Scotland in less than a week. I saw this book at the library, and figured I should read it. At the very least, it would give me an overview of the Scottish philosophers and the development of Scottish culture. Which is what its doing. I am learning quite a bit, and am thoroughly looking forward to the chapter on scientific contributions.

I have about three chapters left. A good read, now I’m deciding which philosopher I’m going to tackle while in Scotland. When I travel for long periods, I try to read at least one great thinker of the country I’m in. In Italy, I read Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince. The debate is either to read David Hume or Adam Smith. I’m leaning towards Smith.
Thirty: Favorite coffee table book

This is an easy one. It’s Classic Queen by Mick Rock. Filled with his photographs of Queen in the 1970s, including the very very famous one, the cover of Queen II. I love flipping through this book and looking at the photos. Well designed, lovely to look at, and a book that, when I have a coffee table, will be proudly displayed.

Book Challenge: Pirates, Paratroopers, and me

What's On the Bookshelf?

Nearly done! Finally. So glad that I’m just answering these three at a time.

Twenty-five: Favorite book you read in school

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson. I read this in the seventh grade. It was the book that made me love Stevenson’s work, and search out more of it (I’ve read most of his novels now, I think I’ve just ignored the Master of Ballantrae, which I own, I just haven’t read yet, and one or two others).

Part of what made this a great in school read was my teacher’s plan to get us to learn. He passed out print outs of a ship’s interior, so we could understand what Stevenson was writing about.

Also, Long John Silver is just a great character. One of my favorites.
Twenty-six: Favorite nonfiction book

Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose. I encourage all of my friends to read it, particularly those who have seen the miniseries. Well written, researched…I want to reread it now that I think more about it…

Twenty-seven: Favorite fiction book

You can’t do this to me. Besides, I don’t have a favorite book. I think I’ve already mentioned this a fair few times. Particularly answering question one.