I'm a Jew... I'm small... I'm homosexual... and I live in Sheffield. [Pause] I'm fucked.
London was stunning, again. Despite a bout of gastric flu ("omgangssyke", in Norwegian), it was oh-so worth the trip in Aurora's smoked car and perpetually late Ryanair. And despite my disregard of Shakespeare, the Globe was fantastic. Our guide was marvellously British, with a penchance for "indeed", noted by most of my class-mates. I did not bat an eye, and had no idea 'til Erik made me aware as I said it myself. It is a bloody brilliant word, get over it!
And, haha, we got drunk with our teachers. The plan was to go pub-crawling, but after having "vorsed" in our rooms - with several of us complaining of light-headedness (we later decided to blame lack of sleep and nutrition) - and drinking a rather lot, the crawling never did happen other than to our hotel, several hours later, all of us inappropriately drunk. Someone looked a bit baffled when they heard we were a sixth-form college from Norway on a study-trip, so we were forced to add that it did involve a bit of alcohol. Drinking with teachers is weird, very weird. Doubly so when you've just seen a play partly about teacher-student relationships.
I am having a problem with justiying my disregard of Shakespeare, by the way. I belive that a writer's mastery of his craft does not go hand in hand with social and literary impact. Further, all literature is written for an audience. Be they ideal, imagined or average. And plays for both audience and stage. Shakespeare's audiences knew Plutarch, and his plays were deviced for the Renaissance stage. The average modern audience does not know Plutarch and the stage is not that of the Renaissance, and that must be taken into account when considering Shakespeare. Thus we cannot judge him purely by his writing, for most of us do not understand his writing. And we do not see it in its original form. There is no doubt that his impact is considerable, and that his writing was great then, but I do not think he is for all time. The language has changed too much, it is too inaccessible. Though I can accept the fact that to know English culture and literature, we most acquaint ourselves with Shakespeare.
We saw The History Boys at Wyndham's on Monday. I am in love! The allusions, the critique, tristesse, humour, irony and heart-breaking ending. I was under the impression that we were seeing something much along the lines of Dead Poets Society, and while I can see the parallels, it is vastly different. This is a much more demanding story, almost too high-brow for its own good. Particularly the satire and open critique of grading and modern teaching was a delight (forgive me, it was so wonderful I lapse into italics). I got some - or most, if I am optimistic - of the allusions, yet felt completely inadequate. If you have no knowledge of English university and cities, and have not read a plethora of more or less obscure literature, you are lost. With my bad school French I got most of the part spoken entirely in French. And I feel so sorry for most of the class, I know they did not get not only the French, but the play. The two to my left most certainly did not understand a thing, they laughed when Katrine and I did, with a few seconds of added delay. Poor things. It was not, of course, intended for half-witted Norwegians with lacking knowledge, a smattering to no French, and no culture for homosexuality (ie, prep-schools and oxbridge), but still. It was scarily high-brow, and not at all what I was expecting. Did the audience know what to expect, I wonder?
I want to run around hitting people in the head with exercise books, like Hector. " The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - that you'd thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you've never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it's as if a hand has come out, and taken yours." Also Hector's, though I am not so sure I agree with him. The most wonderful part of reading is new ideas, not the recognition.
The Photographic Portrait Prize 2007 exhibition at The National Portrait Gallery was fantastic. I only wish they had the catalogue, so I could look more closely at some of the shots.
And oh, this country fails at everything.
And, haha, we got drunk with our teachers. The plan was to go pub-crawling, but after having "vorsed" in our rooms - with several of us complaining of light-headedness (we later decided to blame lack of sleep and nutrition) - and drinking a rather lot, the crawling never did happen other than to our hotel, several hours later, all of us inappropriately drunk. Someone looked a bit baffled when they heard we were a sixth-form college from Norway on a study-trip, so we were forced to add that it did involve a bit of alcohol. Drinking with teachers is weird, very weird. Doubly so when you've just seen a play partly about teacher-student relationships.
I am having a problem with justiying my disregard of Shakespeare, by the way. I belive that a writer's mastery of his craft does not go hand in hand with social and literary impact. Further, all literature is written for an audience. Be they ideal, imagined or average. And plays for both audience and stage. Shakespeare's audiences knew Plutarch, and his plays were deviced for the Renaissance stage. The average modern audience does not know Plutarch and the stage is not that of the Renaissance, and that must be taken into account when considering Shakespeare. Thus we cannot judge him purely by his writing, for most of us do not understand his writing. And we do not see it in its original form. There is no doubt that his impact is considerable, and that his writing was great then, but I do not think he is for all time. The language has changed too much, it is too inaccessible. Though I can accept the fact that to know English culture and literature, we most acquaint ourselves with Shakespeare.
We saw The History Boys at Wyndham's on Monday. I am in love! The allusions, the critique, tristesse, humour, irony and heart-breaking ending. I was under the impression that we were seeing something much along the lines of Dead Poets Society, and while I can see the parallels, it is vastly different. This is a much more demanding story, almost too high-brow for its own good. Particularly the satire and open critique of grading and modern teaching was a delight (forgive me, it was so wonderful I lapse into italics). I got some - or most, if I am optimistic - of the allusions, yet felt completely inadequate. If you have no knowledge of English university and cities, and have not read a plethora of more or less obscure literature, you are lost. With my bad school French I got most of the part spoken entirely in French. And I feel so sorry for most of the class, I know they did not get not only the French, but the play. The two to my left most certainly did not understand a thing, they laughed when Katrine and I did, with a few seconds of added delay. Poor things. It was not, of course, intended for half-witted Norwegians with lacking knowledge, a smattering to no French, and no culture for homosexuality (ie, prep-schools and oxbridge), but still. It was scarily high-brow, and not at all what I was expecting. Did the audience know what to expect, I wonder?
I want to run around hitting people in the head with exercise books, like Hector. " The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - that you'd thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you've never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it's as if a hand has come out, and taken yours." Also Hector's, though I am not so sure I agree with him. The most wonderful part of reading is new ideas, not the recognition.
The Photographic Portrait Prize 2007 exhibition at The National Portrait Gallery was fantastic. I only wish they had the catalogue, so I could look more closely at some of the shots.
And oh, this country fails at everything.