the ramble dump
Monday, May 28, 2007
An Amazing New Toy!
Coming soon to a spaceretailer near you: the Talking Organza Nousu™ Doll!
The Talking Organza Nousu™ Doll is capable of many of your favourite Organza Nousu™ phrases, including such classics as this, this, this and this!
This amazing toy is totally not the product of an instant messaging conversation we had just now!
The Talking Organza Nousu™ Doll is capable of many of your favourite Organza Nousu™ phrases, including such classics as this, this, this and this!
This amazing toy is totally not the product of an instant messaging conversation we had just now!
Labels: sketches and doodles, starcustard
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
The English Language
Probably, sadly, the most interesting thing we've done all year in English Language class has been the history of the English language, something that we don't even need for the big and important exams that are coming up in the next few weeks.
I always find it interesting to see how things have come to be the way they are; how the world has reacted to the biggest and smallest events, the rippling and fizzling of the almost uncontrollable chaos of cause and effect. That's history. A duke is shot in Sarajevo, the proverbial camel's back breaks and suddenly we find ourselves engaged in a world war. The USSR launches the Sputnik space programme, spurring the USA to regain a technological lead by founding an agency which seeks to further the research of a nationwide network of radar systems; and now, nearly fifty years later, I'm on this thing called the internet inventing stories about skateboarding slugs and spacecustard with some weirdo on the other side of the Atlantic.
Wrapped around all these events in history great and small is language. Every modern language carries with it the weight of all the history it's been through, and yet it's the most immediate reflection of the world we currently live in: we're constantly introducing new words or changing the meanings of old ones to fit our purposes. Language changes or it stops being useful and, unless you deliberately preserve it, it dies out. Some words fall out of use, become obscure and fade away, but language is forever changing and expanding to stay alive and leaves us with some impressive banks of vocabulary to draw from whenever we decide we want to say or write something (assuming the recipient has a dictionary on hand).
When it comes to the size of vocabulary, the English language, in its various forms, is currently the richest, most diverse language there is. Why? Because we've absorbed so many others. Here are some of the 'landmarks' according to the timeline I've been given: in 436AD, the Romans withdraw from Britain leaving behind Latin. A few years later, the Anglo-Saxons arrive and bring with them the Germanic language, forming Old English. In 597 Latin then returns to Britain in the form of St Augustine and the Roman Catholic Church, and two hundred years later the Vikings pay a visit and give us some Norse. In 1066, the Normans invade and social changes are reflected through a rift in the language: those of higher class use grand and sophisticated French words like faeces, while German--and shit--becomes common and a bit vulgar. In 1204, King John loses his English territory in France and the French influence retreats.
Then when Britain decides it has quite finished being invaded, it sticks its colonial fingers abroad and taps the lexis of all its gains: in 1600, the East India Company establishes a trading post in India; seven years later, the first British Colony is established in Jamestown, Virginia (had it been different, the USA may today have been speaking French). In 1610, battles with Ireland reduce the influence of Gaelic; in 1745, the Battle of Culloden results in the Anglicisation of Scotland. The first convict transport ships arive in Australia in 1788. Britain abolishes slavery in 1837, blacks become lawfully equal citizens and the language is broadened. In 1845, the Great Potato Famine drives thousands of Irish immigrants to British and American shores. And so it continues, each event influencing and further expanding the language. Now there's the internet, with millions of people worldwide communicating with each other.
I'm probably being weird, but I find the thought of this pretty awe-inspiring. Most English-speaking people only ever use the smallest fraction of the language in their lives, enough as is practical. But here we are with all this wealth of language, and when people do explore it and utilise it and realise it as a powerful means of expression, the richness of the English language--with all the subtleties and nuances that have developed during its long history--is really something to appreciate.
I always find it interesting to see how things have come to be the way they are; how the world has reacted to the biggest and smallest events, the rippling and fizzling of the almost uncontrollable chaos of cause and effect. That's history. A duke is shot in Sarajevo, the proverbial camel's back breaks and suddenly we find ourselves engaged in a world war. The USSR launches the Sputnik space programme, spurring the USA to regain a technological lead by founding an agency which seeks to further the research of a nationwide network of radar systems; and now, nearly fifty years later, I'm on this thing called the internet inventing stories about skateboarding slugs and spacecustard with some weirdo on the other side of the Atlantic.
Wrapped around all these events in history great and small is language. Every modern language carries with it the weight of all the history it's been through, and yet it's the most immediate reflection of the world we currently live in: we're constantly introducing new words or changing the meanings of old ones to fit our purposes. Language changes or it stops being useful and, unless you deliberately preserve it, it dies out. Some words fall out of use, become obscure and fade away, but language is forever changing and expanding to stay alive and leaves us with some impressive banks of vocabulary to draw from whenever we decide we want to say or write something (assuming the recipient has a dictionary on hand).
When it comes to the size of vocabulary, the English language, in its various forms, is currently the richest, most diverse language there is. Why? Because we've absorbed so many others. Here are some of the 'landmarks' according to the timeline I've been given: in 436AD, the Romans withdraw from Britain leaving behind Latin. A few years later, the Anglo-Saxons arrive and bring with them the Germanic language, forming Old English. In 597 Latin then returns to Britain in the form of St Augustine and the Roman Catholic Church, and two hundred years later the Vikings pay a visit and give us some Norse. In 1066, the Normans invade and social changes are reflected through a rift in the language: those of higher class use grand and sophisticated French words like faeces, while German--and shit--becomes common and a bit vulgar. In 1204, King John loses his English territory in France and the French influence retreats.
Then when Britain decides it has quite finished being invaded, it sticks its colonial fingers abroad and taps the lexis of all its gains: in 1600, the East India Company establishes a trading post in India; seven years later, the first British Colony is established in Jamestown, Virginia (had it been different, the USA may today have been speaking French). In 1610, battles with Ireland reduce the influence of Gaelic; in 1745, the Battle of Culloden results in the Anglicisation of Scotland. The first convict transport ships arive in Australia in 1788. Britain abolishes slavery in 1837, blacks become lawfully equal citizens and the language is broadened. In 1845, the Great Potato Famine drives thousands of Irish immigrants to British and American shores. And so it continues, each event influencing and further expanding the language. Now there's the internet, with millions of people worldwide communicating with each other.
I'm probably being weird, but I find the thought of this pretty awe-inspiring. Most English-speaking people only ever use the smallest fraction of the language in their lives, enough as is practical. But here we are with all this wealth of language, and when people do explore it and utilise it and realise it as a powerful means of expression, the richness of the English language--with all the subtleties and nuances that have developed during its long history--is really something to appreciate.
Labels: i am the ramblemaster, language, starcustard
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Gormenghast: the Play
So, after intending to write a post about Gormenghast for, well, months now, I decided that this weekend would probably be a good time to do it after my sister issued from her sleeve a leaflet for a Gormenghast play, which we got last-minute tickets for and saw last night.
It was amazing.
It was done by the David Glass Ensemble at the Liverpool Playhouse, and it was my first real experience of the theatre. I think it might also have been their last performance of it this year. I can't compare it to other plays, but I was impressed. Really impressed. The more I'd thought about it beforehand, the more I'd realised that Gormenghast was the perfect novel for some bizarre physical theatre, but wow they did it well. There wasn't one weak bit of casting out of the handful of actors and actresses who did it. Obviously not all the characters made it into the play (Sourdust, Nannie Slagg, Keda, Irma Prunesquallor, the Professors...), but those that did all hit the mark. The most curious representation was probably Sepulchrave, who appeared as a short, dust-laden old man completely hidden away in his robes.
Their use of white sticks and rectangular black boards was something mesmerising, which they choreographed and fluidly rearranged into different sections of castle and corridor, doorways, haunting symbols, boats and all kinds, with the actors dressed in black running around as anthropomorphised shadows to change the scenery. There were times when setpieces literally seemed to melt in and out of the darkness.
The opening scene was the creepiest thing I've ever witnessed. I actually nearly wet myself. It was some some highly abstracted version of Titus' birth scene, with the human shadows scuttling about and chanting like things possessed, stomping their white sticks to the accompaniment of oppressive, rumbling sound.
From then on it only got weirder. There are moments when you find yourself watching a tufty-haired woman sitting on a high platform swaying to a bizarre tune of synthesised cats that you begin to question your sanity and that of everyone around you. Other fantastically surreal moments include Flay's lengthy travelling through the shifting corridors as he makes unintelligible interactions with the shadows; and the appearance in a window of the two Aunts' sideways heads, launching immediately into a mindless drone about power, during Steerpike's break for freedom from Flay's prison. And, of course, there were the stuffed cats.
Flay was emphasised more as a comic relief character, but he was still true to the book and the play as a whole was so weird that it wasn't a distraction. It had an appropriately twisted brand of humour mingled with odd visual gags like Flay's arm extending behind the set to deliver a message to Steerpike at the other end of the stage, and during the interval, Satan the monkey appeared in the form of a plump stuffed chimp to wave at the audience, later swinging insolently in the background during a dramatic exchange between Steerpike and Fuchsia. The most bizarre visual gags were Swelter's prosthetic penis, which spouted all over Steerpike at the start and was later removed from his person by Flay's sword, and then when at the end of that fight he mournfully removed a string of paper intestines from his fatsuit, which he later swung about while appearing to Steerpike in a vision and singing to him.
Another nice visual touch was how they represented the deaths of characters with a long red ribbon issuing from their mouths, which a dismayed Titus or a disgusted Flay would then lift between their fingers like a string of blood.
The most dramatic scenes in the book were captured perfectly, such as the battle between Flay and Swelter and later Titus and Steerpike. The lighting, the music, the movements, were all perfect. During the flood of the story's climax, a vast, rippling sheet provided the stormy water while Gertrude stood with others on the high platform at the back of the stage bellowing commands over the intensely formidable live score. It was intense.
Anyway, I could go on and on and on. Suffice to say, I really enjoyed it and every member of the cast deserves an Oscar or something. The main thing that contributed to the success of this play was that it wasn't just a straightforward retelling of the books; it took all their mood and their fantastical imagery and with sound and lighting and amazing performances captured it perfectly, and then some, on stage, in a way that I don't think would have been nearly as effective on the big screen. It definitely makes me want to go see more plays in the future. The only downside is that I can't watch it over and over again.
It was amazing.
It was done by the David Glass Ensemble at the Liverpool Playhouse, and it was my first real experience of the theatre. I think it might also have been their last performance of it this year. I can't compare it to other plays, but I was impressed. Really impressed. The more I'd thought about it beforehand, the more I'd realised that Gormenghast was the perfect novel for some bizarre physical theatre, but wow they did it well. There wasn't one weak bit of casting out of the handful of actors and actresses who did it. Obviously not all the characters made it into the play (Sourdust, Nannie Slagg, Keda, Irma Prunesquallor, the Professors...), but those that did all hit the mark. The most curious representation was probably Sepulchrave, who appeared as a short, dust-laden old man completely hidden away in his robes.
Their use of white sticks and rectangular black boards was something mesmerising, which they choreographed and fluidly rearranged into different sections of castle and corridor, doorways, haunting symbols, boats and all kinds, with the actors dressed in black running around as anthropomorphised shadows to change the scenery. There were times when setpieces literally seemed to melt in and out of the darkness.
The opening scene was the creepiest thing I've ever witnessed. I actually nearly wet myself. It was some some highly abstracted version of Titus' birth scene, with the human shadows scuttling about and chanting like things possessed, stomping their white sticks to the accompaniment of oppressive, rumbling sound.
From then on it only got weirder. There are moments when you find yourself watching a tufty-haired woman sitting on a high platform swaying to a bizarre tune of synthesised cats that you begin to question your sanity and that of everyone around you. Other fantastically surreal moments include Flay's lengthy travelling through the shifting corridors as he makes unintelligible interactions with the shadows; and the appearance in a window of the two Aunts' sideways heads, launching immediately into a mindless drone about power, during Steerpike's break for freedom from Flay's prison. And, of course, there were the stuffed cats.
Flay was emphasised more as a comic relief character, but he was still true to the book and the play as a whole was so weird that it wasn't a distraction. It had an appropriately twisted brand of humour mingled with odd visual gags like Flay's arm extending behind the set to deliver a message to Steerpike at the other end of the stage, and during the interval, Satan the monkey appeared in the form of a plump stuffed chimp to wave at the audience, later swinging insolently in the background during a dramatic exchange between Steerpike and Fuchsia. The most bizarre visual gags were Swelter's prosthetic penis, which spouted all over Steerpike at the start and was later removed from his person by Flay's sword, and then when at the end of that fight he mournfully removed a string of paper intestines from his fatsuit, which he later swung about while appearing to Steerpike in a vision and singing to him.
Another nice visual touch was how they represented the deaths of characters with a long red ribbon issuing from their mouths, which a dismayed Titus or a disgusted Flay would then lift between their fingers like a string of blood.
The most dramatic scenes in the book were captured perfectly, such as the battle between Flay and Swelter and later Titus and Steerpike. The lighting, the music, the movements, were all perfect. During the flood of the story's climax, a vast, rippling sheet provided the stormy water while Gertrude stood with others on the high platform at the back of the stage bellowing commands over the intensely formidable live score. It was intense.
Anyway, I could go on and on and on. Suffice to say, I really enjoyed it and every member of the cast deserves an Oscar or something. The main thing that contributed to the success of this play was that it wasn't just a straightforward retelling of the books; it took all their mood and their fantastical imagery and with sound and lighting and amazing performances captured it perfectly, and then some, on stage, in a way that I don't think would have been nearly as effective on the big screen. It definitely makes me want to go see more plays in the future. The only downside is that I can't watch it over and over again.
Labels: gormenghast, plays
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Gormenghast
Gormenghast, by Mervyn Peake, is a masterpiece. It is literary masterpiece and a work of art. I don't think I've ever read anything else in which the characters and the setting have been painted so vividly. And as most other reviews will tell you, the massive, sprawling stone castle in which it all takes place (in the two books that I've read) is a character in itself.
Each character, trapped in a strange world of meaningless ritual, is meticulously drawn in absurd and grotesque proportions, which only serves to make them more real. There's the ever-melancholy 76th Earl of Gormenghast, Sepulchrave; his huge and passive wife who seemingly cares for nothing but birds and cats until trouble afoot stirs in her a quick and powerful mind; their moody and passionate daughter Fuchsia who finds herself having to grow out of her beloved world of stories and make-believe; and their troubled son, Titus Groan, who quickly grows to hate the suffocating ritual he is forced to obey. The eccentric and witty physician Dr Prunesquallor and his sister; Sepulchrave's servant Mr Flay; Swelter the cook, the twins Cora and Clarice and the irritable, stump-legged Master of Ritual Barquentine make up some of the other denizens of the castle.
Peake spends a lot of time fleshing out each character and as a result the events that unfold take their time to occur, which means a slow pace that will not appeal to readers who want an immediate sense of direction to the plot. But while it takes its time, it's fascinating to see how each of the characters react and respond to each other, each with their own traits, grudges, interests and aspirations; and how Steerpike, the cold and cunning kitchen boy and perhaps the most interesting character of all, manipulates each in turn with the aim of his own ascension to power and the consequent destruction of those in his path. There is a persistent darkness to the story that festers and ferments until it reaches an extremely dramatic climax.
In many ways, the Gormenghast books could be seen as almost self-indulgent. But Peake is a master of the language to a mindboggling degree and seems to relish in the richness of it. He'll take an image or an aspect of a character or setting and spend as long as he needs to convey the exact mood, tension, atmosphere or emotion in a way that, while some may find it self-indulgent, left me with a deep appreciation of it.
Once you get into it, Gormenghast is an incredibly absorbing world and the books are an extremely satisfying read for those who are willing to lose themselves in its strangeness. I haven't yet read the third, Titus Alone, which departs from the castle and explores elsewhere in Peake's world, but when I do, I'll be sure to post my longwinded thoughts.
Each character, trapped in a strange world of meaningless ritual, is meticulously drawn in absurd and grotesque proportions, which only serves to make them more real. There's the ever-melancholy 76th Earl of Gormenghast, Sepulchrave; his huge and passive wife who seemingly cares for nothing but birds and cats until trouble afoot stirs in her a quick and powerful mind; their moody and passionate daughter Fuchsia who finds herself having to grow out of her beloved world of stories and make-believe; and their troubled son, Titus Groan, who quickly grows to hate the suffocating ritual he is forced to obey. The eccentric and witty physician Dr Prunesquallor and his sister; Sepulchrave's servant Mr Flay; Swelter the cook, the twins Cora and Clarice and the irritable, stump-legged Master of Ritual Barquentine make up some of the other denizens of the castle.
Peake spends a lot of time fleshing out each character and as a result the events that unfold take their time to occur, which means a slow pace that will not appeal to readers who want an immediate sense of direction to the plot. But while it takes its time, it's fascinating to see how each of the characters react and respond to each other, each with their own traits, grudges, interests and aspirations; and how Steerpike, the cold and cunning kitchen boy and perhaps the most interesting character of all, manipulates each in turn with the aim of his own ascension to power and the consequent destruction of those in his path. There is a persistent darkness to the story that festers and ferments until it reaches an extremely dramatic climax.
In many ways, the Gormenghast books could be seen as almost self-indulgent. But Peake is a master of the language to a mindboggling degree and seems to relish in the richness of it. He'll take an image or an aspect of a character or setting and spend as long as he needs to convey the exact mood, tension, atmosphere or emotion in a way that, while some may find it self-indulgent, left me with a deep appreciation of it.
Once you get into it, Gormenghast is an incredibly absorbing world and the books are an extremely satisfying read for those who are willing to lose themselves in its strangeness. I haven't yet read the third, Titus Alone, which departs from the castle and explores elsewhere in Peake's world, but when I do, I'll be sure to post my longwinded thoughts.
Labels: gormenghast, language, literature, rabbit-hole theory
