Marc Cooper > Recent Status Updates

2018's 50 book target was fine. I wanted to read more novels, and that's how it played out. There were some non-fiction and novellas in the 80-odd I read in the end, but I past 50, which was the goal. Job done.

I learned from them all, but mostly I learned from reading poetry seriously and in volume for the first time. That's a life-changer. I can't imagine not reading poetry now.

I've read some of these over the years, though not as a collection. One after another they tear pieces from your soul. Sassoon is one of the greatest Englishmen; he recorded the atrocities then stood up to the Establishment. They would have had him shot if they could.

This is more poetry than prose, It's utterly beautiful language.

The production of this book is absolutely wonderful. I have books twice the width, yet half the weight. It's just a lovely thing to hold.

On #NationalPoetryDay, I read Autumn Journal (1939). A 64-page poem of 24 cantos in diary form covering the final months of 1938. Much ground and subject matter is covered, but Macneice’s sadness over his failed marriage is where he is most distinct. That and the stench of Hitler, who is mentioned more than once here.

Completed the third book – of twelve, I think - The Earth Compels (1938). Very mixed (for a noob). Mostly dark & brooding, and sometimes incomprehensible. Though, I see that this is the period his wife (taking their son) ran off with their grad student lodger, so understandable. It's also when he moved to London. Christmas Shopping is wonderfully scathing. Bagpipe Music's daftness is worthy of drunk-singing. Slàinte!

I'm enjoying this a lot more than I thought I would. I expected the usual trek through the science history of the age with added anecdotes, and a cursory nod to childhood. Gleick's telling is taut – terse even – and limited to the context of the times and Newton's circumstances. Newton's childhood, in particular, seems to have been especially significant.

Poems 1935

Turf Stacks: Speaking for simple things and the need to “fortress” against the “theory-vendors, the little sardine-men”.

The Individualist Speaks: Of escapism. The outsider viewing celebration at a time of war (or looming war?) and walking away rather than acting. Love this one, once I got it, which took a while!

Those two are of their time, I suspect: 1930, the depression, between the wars.

A tale of long descriptions and lists. Flaubert is not big on dialogue. Indeed, after the shock of encountering one, about a quarter of the way through, the translator's note quotes Flaubert: "Never in my life have I written anything more difficult than what I am doing now – trivial dialogue. This inn scene may take me three months… but I’d die rather than skirt round it."

The links between stories is interesting. With three of the twelve stories read, the world (which is a little piece of central London) and its people are becoming familiar. With a new apprentice in each story, I noticed that each was engaged in a different way. The third story, Moss & Blister, is wonderfully funny and ridiculous. Leon Garfield is worth reading for these moments.

Eclogue by a Five-barred Gate (Poems 1935)

Another eclogue. Death talking to two shepherds. The shepherds aren't playing the game of poetry to a high enough standard which irritates Death who offers them life on his land as a prize for sharing their (literal) dreams providing they “ring true”. They "win".

This poem baffled me on first reading. Writing down thoughts has a lot revealed more.

Book: Poems 1935.
Poem: Valediction

This is MacNeice examining and introspecting on his place of birth, Belfast, Ireland, and looking back over his shoulder as he departs.

The rhythm of the words didn’t work for me, and the theme didn’t interest me much. I expect it speaks much more to folk from that neck of the woods than it did to me.

Book: Poems 1935.
Poem: An Eclogue for Christmas

The eclogue form was new to me. This is a pessimistic dialogue between a city-dweller and a country-dweller about Christmas. Wonderful use of language. Loved the darkness of it. Eighty years on, I would believe it was written yesterday.

By far the best book on writing a story/novel that I've read. I'm taking it very slowly to absorb the content. It's not for neophytes, though. Best to have travelled the road of 60-80k+ words and finished a draft to get value from it. Dispels a lot of nonsense found elsewhere en route. e.g. POV fixation. And, itself, beautifully written.