The house troll

Is ready here. I mean to go back and turn it into much better English, but at least this is a draft, which shows the storyline.

Posted in Literature | 4 Comments

Miscellanea

  • Jeremy Ahouse points me to a small reason for pride in our profession: an interview in the New Yorker wth the woman who wrote their (print-only) piece on the Dover trial, in which she points out that the real predictor of attitudes towards intelligent design was whether people got their opinons from newspapers or from television:

“One consistent division I noticed, and that I wrote about, was between people who read and trusted the very good local newspapers (nearby York has two, which is pretty unusual for a small American city these days) and those who just didn’t trust them. The plaintiffs were the newspaper readers; the pro-intelligent-design school-board people were the newspaper rejecters.”

  • In the meantime, I am fascinated by the map of where readers come from — and in fact shall move it up the page later today. I’m pretty certain I recognise a Hammersley or two in Florence, David Weman in Stockholm, HE in San Diego. But who is the reader in Armenia? Who is in Alice Springs? And, strangest of all, who is the blob on the left-hand side of Hudson’s Bay?
  • I have to write about Resumé with Monsters this morning, then go to a lunch party. But this evening I hope to do the last 600 words of the latest troll story. The more I do of those, the more I come to believe that I should go back when they are finished, and rewrite the whole thing into a much free-er translation, possibly a complete retelling.
Posted in Blather | 4 Comments

Ethical Christmas presents

Some people are upset about the craze for giving charity goats to Africa. In Africa, the real goats gnaw at everything they can reach, still further deforesting a fragile ecosystem; in this country the certificate gnaws at the recipient’s self-esteem, suggesting they are the kind of miserable bastard who never gives enough to charity. The also swell the pharisaic self-satisfaction of the giver, who can believe that they have done something ostentatiously good which simultaneously reflects well on their own sensitivity and care for the earth while causing obscure dissatisfaction to the recipient who is deprived not only of a present they might have liked more, but of grumbling, the traditional compensation for bad presents. You can grumble about a revolting sweater or a silly book, but how can you grumble about a gift for the poor? It only puts you further in the wrong.

I see an opening here for a shrewd entrepreneur. The charity goats remain a very middle class phenomenon. There must still be millions of dud presents given this Christmas, ranging from CDs to pullovers, gifts that appear good only for landfill, or charity stores. But there is one more thing that an unwanted gift can do. It can feed a hungry goat. No matter what it is, a goat will eat it. Given the perversity of the animal, it may well prefer a cashmere sweater to an acacia tree.

So on Boxing Day, I plan to open a web site offering charity gifts for the rest of us: ship your rubbish off to feed a goat in Africa! Save the environment, and, if you want, we’ll send a card to the original giver of the gift you have recycled.

Posted in Net stories | 3 Comments

Longer Andrew Brown

Perhaps I should just change my name to Biggles and get over it. Two people have asked me to day if I wrote a biography of JD Bernal which has just come out. No, I didn’t. That was some other Andrew Brown, about whom I know nothing.

Posted in Blather | 3 Comments

Shorter Tori Amos

She seems to have two songs: “Oh God, oh God, I can’t find my vibrator!” and “Oh God, Oh God, I’ve found it!”

UPDATE: in the interests of balancing misanthropy, a story. My impression of TA comes from the (otherwise) flawless Future Wolf Biologist playing her for an hour or so every day between school and homework for the last two months.

Among the FWB’s accomplishments is drawing (she did the front page rollover in the lower right quadrant when she was twelve) but as she has grown older, her quick portraits have become less and less flattering. In fact she appears to draw people not as they are, but as they will be after several days on their deathbed.

The other night we were sitting in a pub with my visiting Aunt Vicky, and when the meal ended, the FWB sketched while we talked. First, her great aunt, looking like Oetzi’s sister. Then me. “My God!” I said. “I look like Iain Duncan Smith after he’s been dead for three days.”

“No!” said Vicky, “You look exactly like his father. They had a house near us in Cork.”

Posted in Blather | 3 Comments

Horrors of war

There is a video going around (I’ll not link to it) apparently made by British mercenaries in Iraq. It’s shot out of the back of a moving truck/SUV which is driving down the fast lane of a dust-coloured concrete dual carriageway. There is quite a lot of civlian traffic in the inside lanes. Sometimes other cars are visible in the fast lane behind; whenever this happens a gun fires from the right of the camera position. You see the muzzle sometimes, and sometimes ejected cartridges jerk across the screen.

There’s one sequence where a white Mercedes comes fast round a bend, so he couldn’t possible have seen the mercenaries riding ahead, and the firing goes on until the Mercedes lurches abruptly to the right and crashes into the rear quarter of a car in the slower lane. Both vehicles stop. The doors of the car that was crashed into open. Two men get out and run across the remaining traffic for the verge. For some reason. I had expected to see them rush back to help the wounded or dead people in the car that had hit them after being machinegunned by the British mercenaries. I don’t know why this struck me as more terrible than the murders themselves but it did.

Even worse was something you couldn’t see at all: the whole video sequences — and there were three or four scenes, obviously carefully edited — had been given a soundtrack, of Elvis singing “Mystery Train.” And I suppose there is more chance that the perpetrators will be done for copyright infringement than for war crimes.

Posted in War | 3 Comments

Been all around the world.

I was wandering around net and found this map of Swedish bloggers. Clicking on the smallest red pimple in the heart of nowhere I was whisked to Sorsele (see photo above) where the first snow has just fallen. However, the blogger reporting this seems to be writing from Luxembourg. All very confusing.

I note from the curious map I signed up (look down the right-hand column) that I appear to have a reader on the west coast of Hudson’s Bay. America is quite well spotted: there are a couple in Peking, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Sydney … none at all in Scandinavia. I’m pretty certain that I recognise Florence. Send our love to the greyhounds.

Posted in Net stories | 3 Comments

A silly question deserves

A silly answering machine. I will at some stage put together a feed for the Troll blog. For the moment I am happy to have it looking fairly OK.

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It was a dark and stormy night

When I finally left the London Library, clutching the second volume of Selma Lagerlöf’s Troll och Människor. Now, perhaps, the world is ready for my favourite of all the stories. The first installment is over on the troll blog right now. Posting may be slow over the weekend. I have work to do, a visiting relative, and I can see the site needs faffing over in a css-ish way.

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The running dogs of capitalism exposed

One of the minor consequences of the present catastroophe is that it lets us lose the Cold War in retrospect. I mean that for generations it has been an article of faith among liberals, conservatives, decent socialists, and everyone who was not a paid Communist hack that the Moscow show trials were an evil farce, and that none of the accused were guilty of anything more than losing a power struggle. Yet they confessed. That was the evidence against theim, their full and detailed confessions, extracted after months of interrogation.

Up until now, we have always dismissed this as the consequence of torture. But now it turns out that they weren’t tortured at all. All of the “variety of unique and innovative ways” methods of interrogation that the CIA uses are not torture. So they weren’t torture, either, when the KGB used them.1 And the information that the KGB got from them must have been every bit as accurate as the information that the CIA is getting out of its prisoners. Bukharin really was working for British intelligence all along.

I am going to have to find the Gulag Archipelago and roll it through the scanner in order to stand up this parallel exactly — but if you want to read it yourself, there’s a relevant passage here.

And if you still can’t believe that Bukharin worked for British intelligence, in collaboration with the international Trotskyist conspiracy, come to Downing Street on Sunday. Wear black; we’ll be in mourning.

1 I know this makes them a little less unique, but how many forms of sleep deprivation, hunger, thirst and mock execution can you come up with?

Posted in War | 1 Comment