Old friends: the joy of rediscovery

Re-reading a book that you have loved is a little like meeting up with an old friend you haven't seen for some time.

Over time, we all change, and the way we relate to other people and things changes to reflect this. It's the same with books. I've just finished rereading The English Patient, which I last read when I was in my mid-teens. I loved the novel and the film, although the film was quite different from the book, as is often the case. Minghella managed to capture the essence of the novel: the beauty of Ondaatje's writing was translated into stunning cinematography.

Reading The English Patient, what struck me was the craft that went into the writing of it. I found myself reading much more slowly than normal, savoring the words to the point where I would read passages aloud to listen to the rhythm of the words. It's exquisite.

The way Ondaatje weaves the four narratives together, slipping between the past and the present is impressive. I found myself having to read passages more than once to appreciate the the technique; I'd got too caught up in the story to notice how they'd been constructed. The prose is sparse but achingly beautiful in places. Not a single word is wasted.

I love The English Patient now more than I did when I first read it at 17 because appreciate the work that has gone into it. The precision of the sentences, the scenes, the character development and the research that went into writing a novel set at the end of the Second World War.

Welcome back, old friend.

Return of the blog

It's been a while since my last blog. There's been a lot happening this week, both in terms of actual events and stuff that's going on in my head.

The return of my teenage insomnia gives me way too much time to think, and that's never a good thing. The most frustrating thing is that I can't actually do anything productive with that time, but I can't turn my mind off. That's when doubt starts to creep in and I start stressing over all the the things on my list that still remain undone.

On Wednesday I went to see the fireworks with some of my housemates. I was slightly disappointed that there was no actual bonfire (Bonfire Night without the bonfire - something missing, perhaps?). The fireworks were really good though, although the choice of music was a little odd. Most of the songs they were playing were really popular in 1998 or thereabouts. As I reminisced about what I'd been doing back then in those halcyon days as an undergraduate, I noticed the slightly blank looks from some of my housemates. Then I realised they must have all only been about ten then.

I've spent most of the weekend at the film festival, volunteering and trying to catch some of the events while the opportunity was there. After working on numerous arts festivals previously, it was quite strange to see things from a volunteer's perspective. Generally it was pretty easy going; most of the other volunteers were good fun and I didn't really have to do anything more taxing than check tickets and make tea. Plus I got a cool t-shirt.

Probably my favourite event of the weekend was John Yorke's lecture about story structure, which was also attended by at least half of the people on my course. He was a dynamic speaker, and I could have quite happily listened to him talk for much longer.

I also went to see a silent film from the 1920s called Sunrise, which was accompanied live by Cornish band Wurlitzer. I'd never actually seen a silent film before, so I was intrigued to find out what it would be like. I found myself fascinated by the images on the screen combined with modern music. It was a slightly strange combination which really seemed to fit the mood and tone of the film.

Whatever else is on the list is just going to have to wait. I'm done for tonight.

A Visit from the Time Thief

This morning, as my alarm went off at some hideously early time on a Saturday I dragged my slightly hungover self out of the comfort of my bed and headed into Falmouth. It was a still, calm autumn morning, and dawn lit up Penryn harbour; everything was bathed in a soft amber light. I decided the walk would do me good, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to take a few photographs while I had the world to myself.

The Cornwall Film Festival kicks off in Falmouth 6-9 November, and I had decided to volunteer , partly because it is a good way to get a free ticket and pick up some useful insider information, and also because volunteering at festivals can be a lot of fun. This morning's meeting was a bit of an induction, a chance to meet the team, check out the venues and mingle with other potential volunteers (as well as we could at 9am without the benefit of serious amounts of caffeine).

Despite my good intentions to return home after the meeting and get on with something a) useful, b) meaningful or c) work that I actually needed complete, I still managed to spend rather a lot of time wandering around Falmouth where I bumped into a couple of friends and bought more stuff in Tescos that I don't really need. The rest of the afternoon disappeared in a blur.

I think someone out there is stealing time. It's the only rational explanation as to why this keeps happening. Several other people I know have reported the same phenomenon. Surely this can't be a coincidence?

Suddenly it was 6.30pm and as I was whipping up another culinary masterpiece, I became rooted to the spot. what strange enchantment was this? Luckily I managed to free myself by the time Strictly Come Dancing had finished, but I was so overcome by this effort that I had to recuperate by spending some time phone talking to one of my best friends.

It's now after 10pm, and I'm just settling down to get started. I think it's going to be a late one....