World Congress - The Verdict

And like the infamous curate's egg it was 'excellent in parts'

The gripes first, if only because I was born and bred in the North East of England where that's the way we roll. In fact often it isn't a case of gripes first but gripes only, the inference being that anything that isn't mentioned was just fine.

So OK, if I were organising the First World Congress of Scottish Literatures, with a very definite purpose to that final plural, I would have had a few more sessions dealing with Gaelic Literature. As far as I recall there was one, which I know because I was there. It was on a couple of C20 Gaelic poets and therefore very relevant to me, and very good, but I would have liked to see more on that and on the wider aspects of Gaelic poetry - it didn't start with Sorley MacLean, or finish with Derick Thomson. Someone said at the first session that 'the elephant in the room was Scottish Literature in Latin' but if that was the case then Gaelic Literature was the mammoth.

 

Also if I were organising I would have had much more on the C20 and C21, less on Burns and less on Scott. They were great figures yes, but they don't add up to the totality of Scottish Literature and on some days if you had taken out the Scott/Burns/RLS stuff there wouldn't have been much left.

 

There was a day when we had 30 minutes for lunch. Given that it was a buffet and there were about 200 people to get served then 30 minutes wasn't really enough. Generally the days were very long - 9.30 - 5.30/6.00 ish. I appreciate that if people are coming from a long way (Oz, NZ, Canada etc) then you need to pack a lot in, but there comes a point when it's counter productive.

 

There were some Question Askers there. I differentiate between Question Askers and people who ask questions. I myself ask the occasional question, but that is because I want/need to enlighten my ignorance. Question Askers aren't interested in the answer to any question they may ramblingly formulate, they are only interested in stunning the audience by their supposed erudition which they display by packing into their 'question' as many long words and references to books and journals that they have read (skimmed?) as possible. This irritates me intensely, because what they are doing is Showing Off and another thing my north eastern up-bringing instilled in me was a horror of Showing Off.

 

There was also the occasional paper to which the only punch drunk response at the end was The Archers referencing question 'Are we at The Laurels?', code for utter and total bemusement.

 

That said, there were many good things. I met and listened and talked to  some amazing people. There was a reading session with not only Liz Lochhead  but also Jackie Kay. I've already mentioned the panel on literature/history intersection that featured the wonderful Henry Marsh (and really if that had been the only thing I got out of the Conference it would still have been totally worth going to Glasgow for four days). Some other sessions that really stay in my mind are the one on children's literature, a very highpowered collection of people talking in a very relaxed and accessible way about Hugh MacDiarmid, a great session on Post Colonialism and Scottish Literature....the list goes on.

 

So if there's another one, will I go? Like a shot.

Moved to Tears by a Man and a Poem

It's not often that I'm moved to tears by life,  let alone literature. And I can literally count on one hand the number of writers who have made me cry. Literally because it only comes to four. And before last week it was only three.

Of the four writers who have managed to reduce me to tears no fewer than three are Scots. The exception is the Canadian Lucy M Montgomery (and looking at her antecedents I reckon she had more Scots blood in her veins than any other sort).  I defy anyone with a spark of feeling to read the death of Matthew Cuthbert in Anne of Green Gables and not at least want to cry even if they manage by a huge effort of will not to do so.

 

Dorothy Dunnett and Nicholas Stuart Gray both managed it twice, but particular kudos to NSG who made me cry when I was 20 and a very tough nut. 

 

But last week was a first because the writer who made me cry, as well as being a Scot, was a poet. To be exact his name was Henry Marsh and he was speaking and reading at the World Congress which I attended last week.

 

He writes poetry about history and about the effect huge historical events have on the people who are caught up in them. Last week he was reading from his book A Voyage to Babylon , which includes a sequence on the fate of some of the Scottish Covenanters sent to the New World. I'm aware that sounds as though it could be very dry, but in fact it wasn't. There were two beautiful poems about the death of a new born baby and of its mother several days later of puerperal fever. I'll never look at a speedwell in the same way again.

 

Poetry isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you dip your toes in it now and again can I recommend you give Marsh a go? Out loud, and with due weight given to the silences between the words.

Oh Yes - The Bedroom.

Done and done and almost done. The keen eyed amongst you will realise that there is nothing at the window for which there are several good reasons. (or possibly is, grammar being a slippery thing)

 

But they are

 

1 - we bought a black out blind. OH had measured the window. Sadly he had measured the window incorrectly and the blind was too narrow. Happily, in  a way, it is not too narrow for the window in the hall, which it will fit perfectly, but there again I didn't want or need a black out blind for the hall. Just the bedroom.

2 - we bought some curtains. We both like them a lot. Sadly only one of us (the OH) is 100% convinced they will 'go', and even if they do I am going to have to call on someone to help me with a big pair of scissors and a tape measure so that they can be taken up. I don't know how tall windows are generally in Sweden*, because obvs, the curtains, like most of the room's contents came from IKEA but I do know that all IKEA's curtains come in a standard 300 cm length. Which is ridiculous. Our ceiling isn't 300 cms from the floor, let alone the top of the window.

 

3 - even if we were both convinced of the rightness of the curtains and I had altered them to the correct length they still couldn't go up because the curtain rail isn't up.  As it happens the curtain rail is one of the few things in the room which doesn't come from IKEA it being of a much more ancient vintage.

Never mind. We are 95% of the way there. On our recent trip to the Central Belt we bought another blackout blind, this time the correct size, and come the weekend it will get fitted, the curtain rail will go up and when my friend M comes back from wherever it is she is at present then I will have her round for a cup of coffee and we will get to work with a tape measure and the scissors. Happy days.

 

* actually I should know this really. It is not as though I am not a big fan of Wallander, not to mention the fact that we have been to Sweden several times. In neither circumstance however have I spent much time contemplating comparative window sizes.

Life - It can Get Busy on You

So last week I was at a four day Conference, nay a World Congress. (More details later. Perhaps. Names may need changing to protect the innocent. Or to protect me.)

 

I was looing forward to coming home and settling down for a bit. Process what I'd heard and seen and then get back to some peace and quiet and my own work.

 

However as the week has panned out it looks like this

 

Monday             Doctor

 

Tuesday            Optometrist

 

Wednesday       Dentist

 

On the bright side  I should be well and truly MOT'ed by Thursday and able to get back to some sustained study free of worries about my overall health, my eyesight and my teeth! Well, that's the theory.