MySpace

Irene Black - My Writing Journal and other Eccentricities

MySpace.com | rss | sign in
Irene

Irene Black


Last Updated: 5/21/2009

Send Message
Instant Message
Email to a Friend
Subscribe

Country: UK
Signup Date: 12/26/2006

My Subscriptions
joe black
Jackie
Ant

Blog Archive
[Older      Newer]
 /  / 
Friday, October 30, 2009 
Hallo again, I just got back from a few hours with SIL and BIL at Tring auction – I didn’t leave any bids, nothing of the remotest interest. Nothing that is, that would fit into my house. There was a nice painted Indian chest – but totally unplaceable as far as my house is concerned. I’m trying to cut down on junk, not accumulate more. Anyway the whole purpose of my one-hour trip oop north was to have a chinwag with SIL (that’s short for Sister-In-Law, by the way). Did I say one hour? Well, that’s how long it’s supposed to take. I hadn’t reckoned with returning half-term holidayers and that, in addition, on a Friday afternoon. So it took more like 1 ½ hours up and the same back. My relationship with the M25 is definitely love-hate. (pause to retrieve cat who’s just fallen off my lap, squealing. I don’t recommend word-processing with cat on lap but since I was out all day he’s feeling precious).

Well, it’s been quite a fruitful week. My withdrawal symptoms at the end of my Indian Art course at Guildford Institute somewhat allayed by email from them saying that due to ‘excellent feedback’ (can you see my head swelling?) they would be happy to include me as a course tutor for future offerings. Which is great news as it’s a step up from my ‘outsider tutor’ type of status for this last course. I’ve agreed to give a one-off lecture on ‘hidden Thailand’ as a next ‘offering’.

Ant came on Monday and Joe took the afternoon off so we have a good session of clearing out Joe’s flat ready for letting. Still some way to go. Best was taking both kids out to lunch and the pizza at Frankie and Benny’s wasn’t bad. Fattening but tasty (we’d tried two Indian restaurants but they’d both taken it into their heads to close on that particular day), so F & B’s was a last resort. But it was great to have my chicks around me (they may be adult chicks, but once a mother-hen, always a mother-hen).

One the book front I’m delighted to say that the Inner Bookshop in Oxford put in an order for more copies of Darshan. This is at least their fourth order, so I LOVE YOU, INNER BOOKSHOP!! And Jackie and I are doing a book signing at Waterstones in Dorking on 22nd November, so hurry along for your signed copies of Darshan, Tainted Tree and our other novels.

On the subject of Jackie, I dragged her and Jennifer (alias Jay Margrave) along to scale the heights of the amphitheatre at the Royal Opera on Wednesday to see a double bill of 2 small one-act operas: L’heure Espanol by Ravel, and Puccini’s wonderful Gianni Schicchi. They are both comedies and very funny apart from the ending of the first, which none of us understood. Anyway, I think this sneaked photo of the safety curtain explains what it was about.

Gianni Schicchi is a black comedy about greedy relatives and a will. Not sure of the significance of the safety curtain here! Except that it took place in Italy (Florence to be precise). The aria ‘Oh my beloved father’ comes from this opera and isn’t at all what it sounds like. The daughter is trying to sweet-talk her papa into helping the unscrupulous relatives inherit, thereby easing her way with her lover (who is one of them).


Right, time to unseat the cat and give dinner a stir. It’s probably burnt by now…
8:54 PM 
4 Comments
(Add Comment) |
Translate
Monday, October 19, 2009 

 

Time for a moan
I shouldn’t really be moaning because it’s been a fun week in many respects, ending with a sublime performance of Tristan and Isolde at the Royal Opera yesterday. Even the horrible staging didn’t annoy me too much – the front half of the stage where the action was, was bare. The rubbish was at the back - a load of dining tables with candelabras and men posing in dinner jackets. Quite how they fitted in to a medieval saga that takes place mainly on a ship and in a castle, beats me. But since this display kept appearing and disappearing behind a curtain at the back, I managed to ignore it most of the time. The applause at the end was tumultuous, but, as I heard one lady remark, ‘if that had been traditionally staged it would have brought the house down.’ Hear, hear!


I started attending art sessions on Wednesday after an absence of a year. Boy, do I need to practice! Mind you, it was a big mistake to try to paint this photo I took of my daughter-in-law by a waterfall in Thailand.Ever tried painting mist? With watercolour? Forget it…


I also enjoyed giving my penultimate Indian Art lecture on Thursday. In fact I loved every minute of it. The topic this week was ‘image worship’, a problematic concept for those raised in the Judaic-Christian-Islamic tradition – thou shalt not bow down before graven images and so on. Well, I hope I managed to make my students think again. It’s all too easy to dismiss an unfamiliar belief-system if you don’t understand it.



Saturday brought the second of Goldenford’s Creative Writing workshops on the five senses. It was part of the Guildford Book Festival. This time I was responsible for touch and sight. I decided to combine the two, getting the students to feel, without seeing, one of two pieces of Indian cloth, a painted cotton wallhanging of Ganesh and a sumptuous piece of woven silk and cotton, shot through with gold thread.





When they had described the feel of the cloth I let them see it, ultimately creating a scene that combined the two senses. Interesting results. I sensed an alienation from the Ganesh portrait, whereas the woven cloth inspired writing full of Eastern promise. I tried to inspire them myself, by reading a bit out of Darshan, to show multiple use of the senses to create atmosphere, carry the plot forward and tell the reader more about the character.

Now for the moan. On Tuesday the tree surgeons, whom I’d engaged at great expense, came to cut my Leylandii hedges and prune my eucalyptus and copper beach trees. At the end of a noisy day’s work (with me acting as tea lady) they skiddadled, leaving me to inspect their handiwork. I found: a bag of cement (used to fix my neighbour’s new fence post) left outside my back door; the old wooden fence post slung across a raised bed; my carefully-anchored bird table ripped from its mooring and moved; the trunk of an old fallen laburnum slung onto the shrubs; my hose attached to the outside tap (for fixing said fence post) and left in situ.

But these were minor irritations compared with my discovery that the crew had given up, a third of the way along the left-hand hedge and simply abandoned it. They had also given the eucalyptus a punk haircut instead of tidying it up. The foreman was called back and he was mortified (clearly helped by the fact that I haven’t paid them yet – they know they’re not getting it until the job’s complete). They are due to return asap – but I won’t be making any more cups of tea for that little gang of ne’er-do-wells.


Guildford Borough Council is so great. I’m so lucky to be living in such an enlightened town (NOT)! The latest meshuggas is the New Recycling System. The decree was delivered some weeks ago. Every household is to be issued with: an outside box for food waste (to be collected weekly); an inside box for food waste; a wheelie bin for waste ‘everything else’ (to be collected fortnightly-I ticked the box for a small one). That on top of the green box (for glass, cans and plastic bottles) and the purple box (for paper) that we already have.

I wrote to the council. ‘Everything else’ I pointed out, actually boils down mainly to food packaging (such as yoghurt pots). If it is acknowledged that food waste needs collecting weekly to stop it getting smelly, how come food remains adhering to packaging, equally smelly, are to be collected fortnightly? The Council replied. Wrap them in a plastic bag.
Excuse me? Aren’t we trying to exterminate plastic bags? Or hasn’t this fact filtered down to Guildford Borough Council yet?

The food caddies arrived this week. I’ve shoved them both outside. No point in falling over them before I have to, when the scheme starts in November. The wheelie bin arrived too. Yes, you guessed it. On my drive I found an ENORMOUS ugly horror designed for a ten-ton family, not for two delicate damsels (Okay,okay, cut the ‘delicate’). I phoned up the Council. Remove this monster, I told them, and bring me the small one I ordered (if you must). It will be done forthwith, they promised. Leave it where it is for collection. Five days and two phone-calls later it is still decorating my drive. The Council girl is getting fed up with me. ‘We can’t say when they will come,’ she finally admitted. ‘It’s a private firm (well, it would be. Wouldn’t it?). They have a long list to get through.’

‘ A long list?’ I snapped back. ‘That means they must have got it wrong lots of times.’ Well, yes, the girl conceded. There were ‘some’ mistakes. I await mistake-rectification. Meanwhile I have to put up with the alien in my front garden. I tried to get Joe to run it over, but she was afraid her car might come off worst in the battle (which is why I haven’t flattened it with mine).
9:25 AM 
2 Comments
(Add Comment) |
Translate
Monday, October 12, 2009 

 

Where’s the time gone, eh? The last few weeks have been so hectic that I simply haven’t had a moment to sit down and record my incredibly interesting thoughts.

So what have I been up to? Well, exercising the little grey cells for a change, and, dragging my teaching skills out of retirement. There’s my Indian Art course, for starters, trotting along nicely on Thursday afternoons at Guildford Institute. It feels so good, sharing my passion with others. And isn’t technology wonderful? Whatever happened to the days of OHPs and whiteboards? I used to wonder how I managed before acetate sheets. Now I can’t imagine life without Power Point. Talking of which…

…next month I’m giving another talk about India (not architecture this time, more general). I popped along to the venue to check on the projector situation. I need to use Power Point, I told the organiser. Do you have the equipment? She looked at me with the bemused look of someone dealing with an imbecile. But of course we have, she replied. It’s over there. She pointed at an electric wall socket…

This week saw the first of the monthly Creative Writing sessions that I’ve been asked to take over. This time I simply sat in on the session and listened. The poor dears have been taking it in turns to chair the meetings since their previous teacher disappeared some time ago, and are crying out for a little TLC in the form of an organised routine. It will be a challenge – for them and for me. But (hopefully) rewarding!

On Tuesday, we, the Golden Girls, were booked to give a talk about Goldenford Publishers in Staines. One of our number was struck down with that nasty virus that’s doing the rounds, so the two of us remaining had to improvise and absorb the missing talk into our own talks. Undaunted we spouted forth, and (though I say so myself) it was jolly good.

Saturday brought the first of our Goldenford Festival workshops, this one in Leatherhead as part of the Mole Valley Arts Festival. The subject was ‘Using the five senses in Creative Writing’. Our long-suffering participants were required to wax lyrical about such items as a pink sock and nail varnish, surrender their ears to the Dance of the Seven Veils, plunge their hands into a black bag containing jelly, sniff at TCP-contaminated perfumes and bravely gulp down a small glass of neat Campari. The last (taste) was one of my two contributions, the Seven Veils (sound) being the other (now how did you guess?)

In self-defence of inflicting Campari torture on the participants, I should clarify that I did give them the choice of an alcoholic or non-alcoholic drink. Stone the crows but they all opted for alcoholic, no doubt expecting a large glass of Chateau Rothchild 1974 instead of a thimbleful of a doppelgaenger for cough mixture. They were fantastically sporting about it all, didn’t even pull a face.

All in all they produced some really inventive and imaginative writing. Next Saturday will be more of the same (but different, if you get my meaning) at the Guildford Institute as part of the Guildford Book Festival. This time I’ll be in charge of touch and vision.

Just as I was getting depressed, thinking winter is just around the corner, not only does the sun grace us with an Indian summer, but my indoor and conservatory plants decide to put on an incredible show to cheer me up. Here are a few of them:

The amaryllis my kind Dutch friends brought when they visited in September. Colour incredible.


My cymbidium orchid which has never let me down yet (unlike the phaleonopses, which are notoriously temperamental.)
My faithful hibscus - this is the pink one. Last week the yellow and red ones were flowering too.
My papaya tree, currently sporting three junior fruits: don’t know if they’ll ever reach ‘eat-me’ size, but one lives in hope.
I’ve just spent the whole day in front of the PC preparing talks and ended up doing this blog. No time even to get on with Noontide Owls, never mind getting off my amply padded backside to do something energetic. No wonder I’m turning into a large slug. Resolution: at least 10 minutes on the air-walker from tomorrow on. I may have to do ten one minute sessions instead of one ten-minute stint – I get bored easily.
3:53 PM 
4 Comments
(Add Comment) |
Translate
Thursday, September 24, 2009 


I just checked the Amazon page for my novel The Moon’s Complexion (as one does…) and found a new feature. In big bold letters it announced that ‘72% of the people viewing this page buy The Moon’s Complexion. 28% buy…Mosquito.’

Mosquito? I looked it up and it’s by someone called Roma Tearne, of whom, I’d never heard. (Okay, okay, so everyone else has heard of her/him. What can I say? I'm a philistine). No indication either of what the book’s about. Very weird.

I then checked the Amazon page for my novel Darshan. But there was no announcement about percentages buying it or any other book. Which is odd because Darshan’s the better seller.

The same was true of my totally bonkers non-fiction book Sold to the Lady with the Limegreen Laptop (about internet selling).

I’m flummoxed. What is this Mosquito that’s siphoning away my buyers????

Apropos nothing, I thought I should upload a few more pictures of my Thailand trip in August/September before it becomes ancient history.

So here’s some ancient history…

A very ancient tree-root-covered temple
 

Plaster (or maybe plastic) chickens and poke-your –face-through-for a-silly-photo figures outside the very ancient tree-root covered temple.


A hill village on the Thai-Burmese border.


Waterfall mist in the mountains


Monks cleaning the temple steps near Chiang Mai.


Today I gave my first presentation on Hindu Art and Architecture at the Guildford Institute (scroll down). I’m delighted to say it was very warmly received – in fact I had to chuck them out at the end. It’s stimulating to be imparting knowledge of a subject that inspires me and hopefully I succeeded in inspiring the audience about this wonderful art. Some of them had never been to India. Several of them were very familiar with India and one was an Indian. He was the most enthusiastic of all of them and stayed behind to continue chatting.

Besides my remaining Indian Art talks (next Thursday afternoon and the consecutive Thursdays after that) I am also involved in two creative writing workshops on the five senses, as part of the Goldenford Team. Should be fun. We sat and thrashed it out over a nice bottle of red on Tuesday. The first will take place on Saturday 10 October from 2pm to 5pm at the Leatherhead Institute (part of the Mole Valley Arts Festival), and the second on Saturday 17 October from 10am to 1pm at the Guildford Institute (part of the Guildford Book Festival). If you want to know more, contact frances@goldenford.co.uk
We have a couple of other talks lined up at the beginning of October, so I’m going to be busy.

HOWEVER… I have decided that the only way I’m going to get Noontide Owls finished is to set aside a certain time each day for writing. I’ve done this – nothing too ambitious, just a couple of hours in the morning. So far, apart from a few unforeseen crises I have managed to stick to it, and am amazed at the progress I’ve made. I thought I was devoid of inspiration, but simply forcing myself to sit and write has dragged it out of me. I’m managing 1000 words per day, which will do me nicely. Fingers crossed, Owls should be ready to fly off to the publisher in a few months time.

Then I can start on my Indian Art book.
5:59 PM 
2 Comments
(Add Comment) |
Translate
Thursday, September 10, 2009 


Really, it’s a question of where to start. After three weeks living in a Chinese Supermarket in a southern suburb of Bangkok there’s a lot to write about. Of course not all the time was spent in the supermarket – there was a five-day excursion up north to the Laos-Burma border, for example; a weekend en famille at the seaside (14 members of our Thai-Chinese family plus YT, Ant and half of Miss T representing the European side); trips to Ayutthaya (an erstwhile Siamese capital), various ancient temple sites, floating (and other) markets and finally Bangkok itself, a monument to Consumerism writ large, with pockets of sublime beauty hidden in the midst of unspeakable twenty-first century decadence, traffic jams and pollution.

For today let’s start with the supermarket. It is not in Chinatown, but it is in a Chinese district. This is the view from my bedroom window.

It stands a few metres from the mighty Chao Phraya river. There’s a temple complex on the river bank, where you can spend a serene morning feeding the catfish and listening to the monks chanting in the temple, where people come to worship and add tiny slivers of gold leaf to the Buddha images.

If you’ve ever been to Chinatown in London, New York, San Fransisco, or indeed, Bangkok, you’ll know what a Chinese Supermarket looks like. This one is further enhanced by delectable Thai products. It sells everything – and I do mean everything. Want some new sandals? This is the place. A strap for your sunglasses so you can hang them round your neck? No problem. A lethal-looking catapult? But of course. Bedding, clothes, pain-killers, swimming goggles etc etc. And of course, every food, fruit and vegetable item you could ever want. Fancy a tarrow icecream? A slice of pungent durian? A mooncake? Some dried shrimps? Every imaginable type of cake from the in-store bakery?
The warehouses at the back of the shop seem to go on and on in a maze-like fusion of large spaces. At the top is a roof garden, where pots of orchids, plumeria, lotus tubs and hanging vines thrive. The family (and some staff) living quarters are upstairs. A small shrine sits at the foot of the stairs leading from the shop to the private quarters, and this is also where you leave your footwear – bare feet only upstairs. Special events take place there, like the early September ancestor remembrance day, when a table full of food and incense is placed before photographs of long-dead relatives, and the family come to worship (and finally eat the food…)

But in practice, most of daily life takes place in the supermarket. The TV stands on the bakery counter.

The dinner table is usually shoved against the wall at the end of an aisle, but if there are many visitors it is pulled out right into the middle of the aisles, next to the bakery counter. Meals (various dishes cooked in the behind-the-scenes working area of the supermarket by the senior males in the family) arrive in large quantities on large plates and you just help yourself to Pad Thai, Tom Yam, noodles, stir fries, rice etc – there’s no such thing as sitting down together for a family meal (unless it’s a trip out to a restaurant). Meanwhile the customers carry on shopping around you.

All very eccentric and wonderful to our western eyes.

Now I’m home I have to come back down to earth and sort out the coming busy month. My Indian art course starts at the Guildford Institute (scroll down to Special Events) on 24th September, I have several talks and workshops coming up (both individual and Goldenford) and I’ve now been asked to run a monthly Creative Writing course.

I might get down to finishing Noontide Owls. Eventually…
1:29 PM 
8 Comments
(Add Comment) |
Translate
Friday, August 14, 2009 
I’m attempting to write this on my laptop. I say attempting, because I’m still sore after what happened yesterday. I spent the whole evening writing a large new chunk of ‘Noontide Owls’, my YA Fantasy novel. Then I saved it and… hey presto! It disappeared. Nowhere, but nowhere to be found. I stayed up until one in the morning looking for it, but it had vaporised. Moreover, it’s the second time this has happened. Exactly the same thing happened last week with my previous blog entry. In both cases I had to rewrite the whole lot on my PC next day.

So what happened? I’m not sure, except that in both cases I saved the document on Word 97-2003, instead of the default Word 2007 that was supplied with the laptop. I have to do this to make it compatible with my PC, which has XP and cannot read Word 2007. Usually this works fine. The problem seems to occur when I try to open an existing document and then resave it. Any advice would be gratefully received.

In addition, my laptop has started making decisions on its own. Twice now it has decided to update Windows while I’m working and simply close down on me so that it can activate the updates with a restart.

That’s, no doubt, got you thoroughly bored. It would certainly bore me if somebody harped on about their laptop. So now I’ll tell you about my week.

Sunday: to London with Joe and a friend from her office. They wanted to do ‘something cultural’ so I suggested the exhibition ‘Garden and Cosmos -The Royal Paintings of Jodhpur’ at the British Museum. Yes, I was being thoroughly selfish but I was determined to see it before it was due to close in a couple of days’ time.

The upshot was that we were all totally absorbed by the 56 paintings on display. We arrived before midday and left at around 3 pm. The paintings, 17th, 18th and 19th century Rajasthani watercolours, never before shown in Europe, were enchanting, as were the stories, philosophies and historical events woven into them. We all hired audio sets, which enhanced our enjoyment further. The catalogue was a steep £30 for the softback so I resisted, but I know I’ll give in eventually. There are hours and hours of pleasure in those pages. Next day I discovered that the exhibition has been extended until 11th October. You can find details here.

(Photo from BM website...)

I will certainly be paying a second visit.

Monday: lunch with V, in the picturesque village of Alresford. First time I’ve been there, All very pretty and very English, Crammed with boutiques, hardly a chain establishment among them. I wondered if this place might hold the answer to my dilemma: how to find a gift for a seven-year-old girl that is NOT made in China. Other, that is, than Lego and Meccano. I kid you not. Try it for yourself. Go into any toyshop. Pick up anything and read where it is made. I guarantee 99% will say China. The other 1% will probably be from Indonesia. I find this extraordinary. Are we to be dependent on China for everything in the near future? My immediate reason for avoiding Far Eastern products, however, was entirely non-political. It was simply that the (ethnic Chinese) child in question lives in Thailand. I certainly don’t want to fill my suitcase with coals to Newcastle when I visit them next week.

The children’s shop in Alresford had a partial answer. A gorgeous pink felt bag, adorned with beads and ribbons. V, who has a similarly-aged granddaughter, assured me that it was a young girl’s dream. What’s more, although the shopkeeper couldn’t tell me where it was made, at least it didn’t have a label. I filled it with pink frothy girlie items from the Ballet shop in Merrow (no ‘Made in…’ label on these either). And before you admonish me for buying pink frills, well, sometimes you have to bow to the Zeitgeist. Far better than guns and prickly Barbie Dolls (in my opinion). In any case, in spite of being a life-long feminist, I never was a bra-burner. I am totally of the opinion that femininity and feminism are not mutually exclusive.

As long as femininity is not confused with bondage. By this I mean those awful, mile-high stiletto heeled shoes that some females insist on tottering around in. For goodness sake, girls, can’t you see that these are no better than bound feet? You may think it’s your choice, but it’s not, you know. You are letting fashion turn your brain into blubber. Do you realise you are basically standing on tiptoe when you wear these evil objects? why fetter yourself? Why cripple yourself? Why sway around looking vulnerable? Lord forbid that you ever have to run away fast from anything… Their only redeeming feature is that if you have to defend yourself you could do some damage. Though I suspect my knee would work as well.


Tuesday: Déjèuner sur l’herbe, or, to be precise, a picnic on Pirbright village green.

Not on my own, I hasten to add, in spite of my crudely doctored photo (there were others on the photo but I'm not sure they'd want to be publically displayed!) . We were three ‘girls’ and one fella. All acquaintances from the ‘Pirbright days’ long ago. We all brought goodies for the feast and even the sun came out and smiled on us. I felt quite rejuvenated.

And in the evening, an additional ‘holiday’ Guildford Writers’ meeting at J’s. We were a select group of seven. I read out some poems, as I didn’t want to start on the next section of Noontide Owls until next term.

Rest of the Week: Starting to panic about impending trip to Thailand. It takes me ages to get organised. I write lists. Everything that goes into my luggage gets listed as it gets packed. Then I don’t have to unpack everything to check whether I’ve remembered my glasses, sunscreen, sandals etc. And if – worst scenario – my suitcase is lost, I know exactly what to claim for. Other lists for those left behind at home with instructions for cat-feeding, fish-feeding, plant-feeding, lawn-mowing, rubbish collection, plum freezing etc etc.

Talking of which… This is what I’m picking off my Victoria plum tree every day. The bulk will be ripe while I’m away. So lucky Joe, D, G …


Thanks are due to Anjali Mittal for this review of Darshan on Amazon.co.uk:

5.0 out of 5 stars A MUST READ

A fantastic book. Very difficult to put down right to the end. Coming from India myself I can see how Irene Black has a superb understanding of the Indian culture and life. I certainly learnt a few things myself having read Darshan - A journey. Keeps you mesmerised till the end. The characters created by Irene Black are so real to life, it feels like you are actually living the tale yourself. Pulls on every emotion as many of us feel and have gone through what the author has portrayed in the novel. Would recommend it to anyone who has a passion for reading.

And also to Julie Yau for this one:

5.0 out of 5 stars Excellent and Addictive!!

From the beginning to end, I was totally gripped by Darshan, unable to put the book down till the early hours of the morning. I found Irene Black's writing and storyline addictive. The book left me wanting more of the characters, especially Sara, a young Anglo-Indian woman who struggles to find her identity and sense of belonging in the world. A fantastic book which I highly recommend to all.

Thank you so much, ladies. It’s a wonderful warm feeling to read that my book is appreciated.

Now there are multitudinous tasks to do before I go off to Thailand, so I’d better get on with them.
9:59 AM 
14 Comments
(Add Comment) |
Translate
Wednesday, August 05, 2009 

...Jackie and I had a lovely day at the Pirbright Flower Show at the end of July. We set up our table of Goldenford books and settled down for an afternoon of cheerful chat with the friendly villagers - and, of course, selling our books.
I even had time to peek into Lord Pirbright's Hall and admire all the lovingly cultivated fruits (and vegetables) of painstaking horticultural labour, now carefully laid out on tables, receiving scrutiny and awaiting judgment. Almost worthy of the Archers...


I am also delighted to report that I have found a mention of Darshan on the blog of renowned Brazilian author Paulo Coelho. It appeared in comments by Keith as part of a discussion during Paulo Coelho's August online workshop on his wonderful book The Alchemist. This is what Keith had to say about Darshan:

‘I have recently been reading an excellent novel Darshan by Irene Black. It is very Paulo Coelho, following ones dreams, especially the discussion of the Indian concept of darshan.
Darshan is seeing God, and God seeing you. It is the Buddhist concept of enlightenment. It is the Jewish practice of Kaballah, of being as one with God. It is crossing the transition zone, of communicating with the Soul of the World. Knowing God and being known.

The Alchemist is a book on following your dreams. Paulo Coelho followed his dreams when he decided to become a writer and many people around the world who have read his books are very happy that he did as the world would have been a less better place had he not chosen to follow his dreams.

Irene Black, author of Darshan and The Moon’s Complexion, used to be a school teacher. Like Paulo Coelho, she followed her dreams when she decided to become a writer.
Too many people lack the courage to follow their dreams, or if they try are stopped by others.’

Many thanks, Keith. I am honoured to appear in such exalted company. I read The Alchemist many years ago and loved it. I will now be re-reading it.

I was also delighted to receive the following e-mail from Julie, a reader of Darshan.

‘I don't normally choose read fiction as I barely find books that keep me interested till the end. However, I love Darshan. I was totally gripped, reading till 2-3am!! I cannot believe that an Indian woman did not write that book - I mean that as a compliment. The book also leaves me wanting more of the characters, their life after their marriage, returning to Wales, etc. The books also reminds me of my British Asian friends, to whom I will recommend your books.

I can't wait to read The Moon's Complexion and will order one from your website. If at all possible, I hope you will be able to sign the book for me. I am totally hooked to your writing.’ Later she wrote ‘I find your writing/book very much in the same league as those listed as best sellers. I don't know much about book publicity, but I would not be surprised if your books do become best sellers.’

Shucks, Julie, what can I say?

Last Monday I was treated to my third visit to the Proms. Joe, Mayen Visitor Three and I went to hear a concert of eastern European music-Smetana, Bartok, Martinu and Stravinsky (Petrushka). I was rather dreading the Martinu double piano concerto – I’m a philistine when it comes to 20th century Czech composers – aprt from the usual suspects. But the Martinu work was a very pleasant surprise. Not a discordant bone in its body. Lovely. Before the performance we paid another visit to the idiosyncratically charming V&A.
I think the cast rooms are just wild. How could they make these accurate life-size copies from plaster moulds in the 19th century? Mindboggling.


On Saturday Joe and I finally got round to seeing Slumdog Millionaire at the Guildford Film Festival. Not easy viewing but extremely good. I have just read Rohinton Mistry’s superb novel A Fine Balance, which, Like Slumdog, exposes the flipside of Indian society. India is the most sublime, but often the most barbaric country in the world. You can’t turn a blind eye to its iniquities, no matter how much the place seeps into your soul, so to speak. Sara, my heroine in Darshan, expresses her own fears for its future, in the light of the gaping chasm between the haves and the have-nots. Wealthy and middle-class Indians are a tiny minority. The rest, in far-flung villages, are often poverty-stricken, sometimes downtrodden and ferociously abused. Your caste and religion can decide your fate. One day the bough must break.
7:41 PM 
3 Comments
(Add Comment) |
Translate
Saturday, July 25, 2009 
I do love amaretti morbidi. Munchy-scrumpchy soft Italian almond macaroons. So much so that I was a bit surprised to find a half-eaten one on top of the packet I’d put on the dining room table. Not like me to leave one unfinished. Must have been distracted by the phone… So anyway I pick up the remains of the cake and stuff it in my mouth. A bit soggy, perhaps the table was wet, or… I swallow hard as the evidence looms before me. Dribbled, previously unnoticed cake crumbs materialise in front of me. Smears on the glass table top, unmistakeably caused by… a paw. Under the table an innocent black and white face with a wonky moustache smiles up at me. Steal a biscuit? Moi?

Fortunately I survived to tell the tale (tail?) though I did feel a bit – well very – sick for a while.

Turned on BBC One and caught the end of the most revolting programme about rat catchers – a dog killing a rat, a dead decaying cat, squirrel traps that look like man-traps. And macho, grinning ‘pest-controllers’ who seem to think its all great sport, looking for all the world like those mobster skinhead brothers from Eastenders (whose names I’ve forgotten). What does it say about our society that this kind of barbaric programme is so popular that it is shown on prime-time TV on the Beeb?

I‘m having a day off from visitors today – don’t get me wrong, I love having people to stay. But the occasional breather to catch up on emails (and this blog) and watch a little telly is welcome (except when I switch on to dead rats and choke on the cat’s leftovers).

It’s been an activity-packed fortnight ever since H & I appeared from Germany. We had a couple of superb nights in the Peak District, staying at a farm in the middle of nowhere with naught but sheep and cows for company and an old (16th century) ruined manor house (used to belong to Thomas Cromwell). The stones had contributed to the building of the ‘new’ (Georgian) farmhouse.
We climbed Ecton Hill, over the dramatic Manifold Valley,


walked through the valley to Thor’s Cave and next day walked the length of Dovedale from the Thorpe end carpark to Milldale and back.


The weather smiled on us and the heavens only opened when we were safe and dry in Chatsworth House the next day.

On Saturday we went up to London for a day of culture – the RA Summer Exhibition, the V&A – I finally got round to seeing the new Buddhist wing – well worth while and excellently informative. In the evening we attended a performance of Haydn’s Creation at the Proms. It’s one of my favourite choral works, beautifully performed by the Gabrieli Consort, though the Royal Albert Hall did tend to swallow up the baritone, in spite of the blue mushrooms.

I went to the Proms again on Monday with my Good Neighbours. This time it was Mahler’s Ninth conducted by Bernhard Haitink – what can I say except ‘wow’?

A summons from afar (ie fast train from Waterloo) compels me to abandon my ramblings and collect Joe and German Visitor Three from Guildford station after a day doing cultural things in London.
POST SCRIPT – it’s taken me 2 days to commit this to Online LIVE! And given me a chance to remember to post this evidence of my brush with the Exalted Nobility of Guildford in the Twinning Marquee in Freiburg.

L to R: Ex-mayor of Guildford, wife of Freiburg Association President, current mayor of Guildford Freiburg Association President, ME!!!!, husband of current mayor (mayoress?)

Today I'm off with Jackie to promote Goldenford books at the Pirbright Show. I'm delighted to see that Amazon.co.uk are obviously gaining faith in Darshan as they are now saying they have got in multiple copies rather than the 'only one copy left' tag they put on when they're not quite sure of sales.
10:07 AM 
2 Comments
(Add Comment) |
Translate
Thursday, July 09, 2009 


This is my attempt to blog before my visitors arrive from Germany. I know they have ‘disembarked’ from the Dover ferry but they are planning to take a trip down memory lane and visit old haunts on the South coast before turning north and heading my way, so I should have an hour or so before they appear. These are the same visitors H and I, with whom Jackie, M and I spent a happy few days in Freiburg.

Last week has been quite eventful. On Tuesday Joe and I went to a live transmission at our local Odeon cinema of La Traviata from the Royal Opera. It was simply stunning. What a cast – Renee Fleming, Jose Calleja and the delectable Thomas Hampson. We’d seen both men in the flesh at a Royal Opera concert the previous week, and it was a joy to see them in an opera. One of the most wonderful productions I’ve seen for a long time. What a fabulous idea these transmissions to cinemas are. And the uptake had been so big that they had had to transfer it to a larger auditorium. A word of praise for the Guildford Odeon staff. They are always so helpful and friendly. Others could learn from them…

I put my Indian Art to good use on Thursday by giving a presentation to a class of 24 6 and 7-year-olds at Shalford Infants School, which is a little hidden gem. A tiny school in a picturesque Victorian building, but with very up-to-date ideas and well-disciplined, eager children. I stayed the whole afternoon and had such fun. First I gave them a Power Point presentation on Ganesh and his family (Shiva, Parvati etc) and all the family animals.
Then we watched a cartoon DVD ‘How Ganesh got his elephant head’, lent to me by Anjali, whose lovely children’s book, The Convent Rules, I have mentioned before. Then they wanted more – so another little cartoon and some worksheets. And I even read a bit out of Darshan: there’s actually a suitable extract involving a 7-year old boy. Here’s a bit of it:

‘If you are not too tired,’ Anil told them, ‘I would like to take you to the Bull Temple. I think it will appeal to our young friend here.’ His eyes twinkled as he looked at Dafydd.
‘The Nandi bull inside the temple is fourth largest in India, carved from a single piece of rock,’ Anil explained as we climbed the small hill toward it. He turned to Dafydd. ‘Have you heard of Nandi?’ Dafydd shook his head.
‘In India,’ Anil continued, ‘God comes in many forms and has many names. But each form has someone to ride on, usually an animal. The great god Shiva rides on a bull called Nandi. This is his temple.’
‘Wow! A temple to a bull. That’s like … like having a church named after the donkey Jesus rode on.’
‘Precisely! A good comparison. Come, let us go inside.

Of course, I had to adapt it slightly for infant consumption but it went down well.

Talking of Anjali, her book was launched with a great party on Saturday evening at her home, and Jackie and I attended. And being the lovely person she is, she insisted that we put the Goldenford books on display, in order to whip up interest among her guests. Now who else would promote another publisher’s books at their launch? If you’re reading this, Anjali, you are a star!

Before we went to the launch though, we three Golden Girls were busy promoting and signing books at Book Boys in Farnborough. One person bought 4 copies of Darshan. Thanks, K – I hope the Russian ladies will enjoy it.

On Sunday I was invited to a party at Jackie’s – I’m really becoming a socialite! Lovely food, old friends and plenty of chat.

I decided to move a chest of drawers in my bedroom and a creepy green hand crawled out from under it.
Luckily I have a good memory and knew immediately that this was a ghost from 25 years or so ago come back to haunt me. I bought this for Ant in Germany when he was a child – you throw it at windows and it sticks and slides down. One of my best buys – both kids loved it. Now it’s re-emerged, I can’t wait to try it on Miss T!


The cat’s on steroids. The vet agrees that he may have an auto-immune disease so it’s worth a try. The vet said, ‘I can’t tell you what’s wrong with him, but he’s definitely not all there.’ Well he was all there all right this afternoon, when a large DOG appeared in the garden – some sort of beagle I think, all dressed up in various collars and name tags. Not that it helped – neither I nor my neighbour could get near it. It saw the cat and raced after him (to my horror!). The cat disappeared into the hedge followed by dog, hot on his heels. Seconds later I hear blood-curdling dog-screams that seemed to go on forever. Then out of the hedge shoots terrified canine followed by HUGE cat (fluffed up to around 100 times his normal size). We won’t see that dog again.
3:52 PM 
3 Comments
(Add Comment) |
Translate
Tuesday, June 30, 2009 

Before I forget – an addendum (or two) to the Bad Boys-Good Boys saga. Yes, you guessed it, Virgin Media again. This time they surpassed themselves. My monthly statement from them came an hour before I was due to leave for Germany. I made the mistake of opening it and checking it through. Should have left it till I got back. Too late. Discovered to my perplexity that the ‘balance carried forward’ column, which should have read ‘zero’ as I pay by direct debit, had a figure of £124 in it. PLUS I had been charged a LATE PAYMENT fee of £10. How can a direct debit payment be late???

Nothing for it but to pick up the phone again (‘Just so you know… arghhh!) Finally (after several minutes of loud pop music and getting cut off) was put through to a male voice (British). Blurted out my tale of woe in some agitation, as I didn’t want to miss my flight. The male voice hummed and ha’d then asked me if I’d moved house recently. ‘No,’ I told him. He hummed and ha’d a bit more then said ‘Are you sure you haven’t moved house?’

‘If I had moved house,’ I said trying to control my mounting rage, ‘I think I’d know it.’

At which point – get this – the fellow replied very haughtily, ‘there’s no need to use that tone with me,’ and HUNG UP ON ME!!!!

Well, I finally did get through to a sensible-sounding woman who immediately realised that Virgin Media had got it wrong (yet again) and promised to rectify it immediatement (or at least on my next payment). I await my next statement with some trepidation and not a lot of hope…

A Bad Boy turned (temporarily, I’m sure) GOOD, is British Gas Home Care. After the sad tale of how they turned up a day late in Oxford, I now have to report that they have turned up a day EARLY to service my boiler. I should add that they didn’t just turn up – someone actually rang me to see if I was in before the man with a van arrived.

Utilities apart it’s been quite a musical week. Joe and I went up to the Royal Opera on Wednesday for a concert by three of the current stars performing there – Joyce DiDonato, Jose Calleja and the delectable Thomas Hampson. These brave souls were doing a last-minute stand-in for Dmitri Hvorostovsky, who met with ‘an accident to his vocal chords’, and who himself was supposed to be replacing Rolando Villazon, who was ill (We’d booked for Hvorostovsky, who is a dish with a dreamy voice - OK so he’s a tad pompous but I can live with that.)

The concert was very enjoyable, especially the Mahler song cycle Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen, beautifully sung by Thomas Hampson.

On Sunday we had tickets for an all-Mendelssohn concert (Philharmonia Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall). Another lovely evening. And the view from the RFH is lovely too (though hard to photograph straight into the evening sun).

Tonight it’s a live transmission of Traviata from the ROH showing at the Odeon in Guildford. These opera transmissions are a wonderful innovation.

On the book front, thanks, Keith Parkin, for a review of Darshan on Bookcrossing – here it is – at least part of it – it’s very long.

Keith’s Review

A Journey!

Saraswathi, an Indian student at Oxford, lost, lonely and far from home, is easy prey for a religious slime-ball and arsehole who seduces her into a religious sect. Although she has her initial reservations she loses all sense of reality when she is brainwashed into the sect. She finally comes to her senses when members of the sect try to gang rape her as part of an initiation ceremony.

That John/Ieuan is a religious nutter is illustrated by his comment 'You won't find God in a stained glass window and rousing music. It's all wrong.' Later we learn that Beethoven, or at least his music, is sinful.

How wrong could he be. Hildergard von Bingen spoke of being 'a feather on the breath of God'. There are those whose art seems to transcend the transition zone, are in communication with the Soul of the World.

Or to quote Paulo Coelho on art:

'Painting is an art. And art is a power that should be aimed at developing the soul. If art does not do this job, the abyss that separates us from God is left without a bridge.'

(Here I’ve left out a whole screed on Paul Coelho and other of Keith’s causes célèbres – interesting but too much. Also left out less than flattering aside about Moon – accusing it of containing clichés (at least, I think that's what he means) – rubbish, they would never have got past me, not to mention the editors. I think he’s got the book confused with another! Or he has a weird idea of clichés)

Saraswathi decides to study in Oxford to get away from India. She also has another reason, she wants to find her estranged Welsh father who her mother will not talk about. She is also on a quest, although she does not know it yet. A spiritual quest to find her inner self. Very Paulo Coelho.

The discussion of darshan is very Paulo Coelho. Darshan is seeing God, and God seeing you. It is the Buddhist concept of enlightenment. It is the Jewish practice of Kaballah, of being as one with God. It is crossing the transition zone, of communicating with the Soul of the World. Knowing God and being known.

Darshan is a very powerful novel, part love story, part thriller, part spiritual quest.

Darshan opens with a beautiful and haunting poem.

A very interesting review – I’m glad Darshan provokes such profound thoughts. And I see he has posted the poem on the web too. Not sure if this is permissible – copyright etc. I don’t mind personally – it’s all grist to the mill.
And last but not least - if you are anywhere near Farnborough on Saturday 4th July between 1 -3 pm do drop in at Book Boyz, (16 Kingsmead Farnborough, GU14 7SL) where Jackie Luben, Jennifer (Jay) Margrave and I will be signing copies of our books.
12:55 PM 
2 Comments
(Add Comment) |
Translate