Ten Books

A (not so) recent trend that did the rounds on Facebook was the "ten books that stayed with me" list. People nominated others (for reasons beyond my comprehension) after having listed what essentially amounts to their ten favourite books, to list their ten favourite books.

Well, I apparently didn't have enough friends to be nominated for this thing, but sod it I'm doing it anyway. So here we go, late to the party as ever; ten books that have stayed with me and/or affected me. In no particular order.

Potential spoilers ahead, just so you know.

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card [link]
This is now a film which stars Ben Kingsley and Harrison Ford, and as with most adaptations, it's not really comparable to the book. That said, it does an admirable job.
Ender's Game is a science fiction story for children, and is the story of Andrew "Ender" Wiggin as he is in Battle School for the war against an alien race known in the film as the Formics, and in the book as the Buggers. As it transpires, the author is a mildly homophobic Mormon. That being said, the book remains one of my favourites, ever since I read it in year 7. Despite being an extremely clever, extremely capable soldier, Ender is a very likeable character.
One part of this book has stayed with me without me even realising until I reread it earlier in the year. An early scene in the book involves Ender being bullied at school, and in trying to ignore it he begins to count doubles in his head; 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, and so on. I don't know how long I've been doing this for, but when I'm trying to distract myself, this is my go to method. Naturally, I can't get anywhere near the 4,194,304 Ender reaches, but it still works.


How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie [link]
The only non-fiction book featured in this list, and the only one which I am still actually reading (does that make its entry a bit of a cop out?). The book can in truth be boiled down to about thirty bullet points, but Carnegie has a wonderful collection of anecdotes with which he uses to illustrate these points. The advice given in the book so far has been thoroughly interesting, ranging from how to write a good cover letter, all the way to how to (surprisingly) come across as more interesting when meeting new people.
Even if you don't need the advice in this book (and I know many that don't), it's actually a really good read. As I said, the collection of anecdotes is very enjoyable. There are tales of US presidents, acquaintances of the author, and prolific businessmen... I've yet to be bored by this book, though it's taking me a while to get through it.


His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman [link]
Wow. Is this really a children's story? I'm fairly sure that if I'd read this as a child, I would not be capable of love as an adult. It's absolutely brutal. And also delightfully written, wonderfully imagined, and spectacularly epic. The idea of Dæmons is wonderfully interesting, and I spent a remarkable amount of time putting a lot of thoughts into my answers on this quiz to find out what animal my Dæmon would actually be. As it stands, I can't actually remember any more, so I'll have to take it again.
What I do remember is that this book is absolutely amazing, and the themes are at times exceedingly dark. Pullman is clearly not very fond of the Catholic church, and is at times not even subtle about his criticisms. All that in mind though, His Dark Materials is one of the most unforgettable stories I shall ever have the privilege to read.


The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien [link]
And to a lesser extent, The Lord of the Rings.
I remember for a long while I would see this cover in book shops and be mildly curious as to what the book was about. I'd read a passage from The Hobbit in school, and wasn't actually wowed by it at the time. However, long before The Lord of the Rings hit the cinemas, I bought the book with a view to persevering. Needless to say, perseverance wasn't necessary. I fell in love with this book from the very first chapter, and managed to read it in its entirety on the round trip to The Forbidden Corner with my family. For the few of you who haven't read the book, it is the tale of Bilbo Baggins as he goes on a journey with the wizard Gandalf and twelve dwarfs to steal gold from the dragon Smaug. Need I say more? It's a fantastic fish out of water story that delighted me as a child and delights me still as an adult. Who doesn't get chills when they read and/or hear the words "In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit."


Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell [link]
No, not that David Mitchell.
I confess that I actually saw the film before I even knew this was a book. And I loved the film; the soundtrack alone was enough to grip me. That said, like so many films, the book is far superior.

Six stories within stories, all set in different periods of history and the future. To describe it to sort of belittle it, the way it's written is just phenomenal, and sort of beggars description. Safe to say though, it's a cracker. The way the stories link together is ingenious, and each one is so different and yet so similar. I was mildly disappointed to discover that the author for not write them in the order in which they are presented, but instead just used copy and paste after having written each part individually. 

Tales of composition in Belgium, revolution in futuristic Seoul, a conspiracy in the sixties, and science in a dystopian Hawaii... It's a fantastic novel that defies genre and is genuinely a pleasure to read. 

I Am Legend by Richard Matheson [link]
Yet another book on this list which has been turned into a film. However the book is so different from the film that it doesn't really count.
Similar to Jurassic Park (further down) there's a great deal of science in this book, as Robert Neville attempts to find a cure for the vampiric pandemic that has eradicated most of the human population. This book has a wonderful mix of science and myth, as the mystery of the zombie/vampire plague is unravelled. Terrifying in places, and heart-rending in others, this book will have you on edge. The ending of the book gives the title a lot more sense than it initially appears to do, and is a satisfying end to the story.

Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer [link]
Artemis Fowl is an eight book series, but it is the first one which stayed with me.
The young, Irish anti-hero Artemis is a child genius, determined to con the subterranean fairy people out of their gold. In what is billed as "Die Hard with fairies" I fell in love with Colfer's writing style (so very like that of Douglas Adams), and all of his characters. I took some sort of savage pleasure at school when people would see me reading it, ask what it was about, and saying "fairies." I devoured this book in a single car journey on the way to France, unable to put it down. Trolls, dwarfs, highly trained elvish commandos; the siege of a manor house; a single, deadly manservant; time stops... This book has everything that the eight-year-old me could have wanted.
If anybody ever asks me what book I would like to see turned into a film, it is always this one.


Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton [link]
Dinosaurs. Graphs. Science... So much science. This book, similar to I Am Legend, pulls very few punches in terms of throwing science at the reader. And I love it.
You know this one already too; dinosaurs are brought back to life for an amusement park. The pacing of the book is incredible, and each of the characters is exciting and compelling. After having come from the film to this book, I was shocked to see that Hammond (whom Attenborough portrayed wonderfully as a genial old grandfather) is actually a complete arse. The book has a tendency to get a little preachy nearer the end in terms of greed, progress, and discipline. The thing that really stayed with me is the concept that a karate master has learned the ability to kill a man with a single strike, but has also learned the discipline to not use deadly force in the process. Jurassic Park is about men using science that they don't understand and haven't earned the discipline to use. And it's fabulous.
Oh, and the dinosaurs are terrifying as well.


Battle Royale by Kōshun Takami [link]
The Hunger Games ain't got nothing on this badboy.
In the near future, Japan collapses into turmoil, and one of the ways the totalitarian government keeps control is to select a random middle school class of students, send them to an abandoned island, and force them to fight each other to the death. Violent, poignant, funny in places, scary in others. Takami throws emotions at you from all sides and just as quickly pulls them out from under your feet. The point of view of the book is constantly shifting, to the point where you even feel sympathy for the "evil" students who are doing the most killing. A masterpiece of writing, equally as fun in translation as it is in the original Japanese.
There is a film of this book, directed by the legendary Kinji Fukasaku, and although Quentin Tarantino himself has stated that he wishes he had had the idea for this film, it does the book surprisingly little justice. Check it out, I implore you!


So there you have it. Ten books that I will never forget, for one reason or another. You may now continue with your day.

I'm sorry, I'm English

I write this* on the return journey from my family's holiday in The Netherlands, which has been wonderful; silliness aplenty, boundless relaxing, and no small bit of drinking.

*and post it the day after my return... Poops and giggles, y'all.

And I come away feeling a little bit awful for being from Britain. Not because we were rowdy (though we truly were), or because we didn't appreciate Holland for all its beauty (we did), but because I don't speak a single word of Dutch... Not a syllable.

The vast majority of holidays I've been fortunate enough to embark upon have been to France, a country where I can get by with my GCSE-level, rough approximation of the French language. Whilst many of the French do resort to English once my telltale accent massacres their poetic tongue, I still feel that they appreciate the effort. It's an enormous help to be able to say please, thank you, and ask for directions to the nearest pharmacist so that I may procure a cream for my sunburn ("la soleil, la mer, je suis mal a la jambons").

Add onto that the fact that I lived in  Tokyo for a year with the sole aim of attaining fluency in Japanese. Whilst far from perfect, I could make myself understood there well enough that I rarely had to eat something that I didn't intend to order, and only got lost a few dozen times.

The point is, this is the first time in a very long time (barring a drunken weekend in Prague) that I've been in a country where the language is completely and totally alien to me. Asking for a bus ticket led me to use some bastardised German to attempt to convey where I wanted to go, and bars or restaurants have seen me give up the ghost completely and just point at what I think I want. On more than one occasion, I've had Dutch people come up and ask me something, only for me to respond with "I'm sorry, I don't speak Dutch" which doesn't quite seem to cut it. Perhaps the whole of Europe has collectively realised that the English as a people have a tendency to be lazy when it comes to foreign languages, and it seems barmy to them that anybody but the English would attempt to enter their beautiful (I can't stress that enough) country, without first learning a bit of the Netherlands-speak.

To compound matters, it seems that a large number of Dutch people speak incredible (and delightfully accented) English. Bafflingly, it doesn't bother me all that much when French people speak English to me... I imagine this is because at least in France, I've opened with French, even if I revert to English down the line. All in all though, I've come away from Holland a peculiar mixture of extremely relaxed, and mildly embarrassed. 

The simple solution, of course, would be to learn a few phrases before heading into foreign climes, but some how this holiday crept up on me in terms of preparation. As it is, in terms of blending in, I royally buggered this one up.

Next time I'll do a bit more prep to avoid being lumped in with those Brits that say "they all speak English anyway, so what's the point?", and then having to say that hideously shameful phrase; "I'm sorry, I'm English."

Telling Tales

So I've been writing short stories and fiction generally for as long as I can remember. Ever since I was in secondary school, I would come up with ideas and begin to write them down. They always petered out though, as I would lose interest, or realise that the tale I was telling was just some blatant rip-off of another author's works.

More recently, University intervened and I haven't written anything in months. Now that I am done with higher education, and as yet still on the job market (not through lack of trying, let me assure you), I am returning my hands to the world of fiction. In truth, I have had the outline of a novel in my head for the better part of a few years now, but until recently had never tried to write any of it down. When I did, I was rather stunned to see that I'd lost my touch (if I ever had it) and could not write in a way which seemed compelling to me.

I took to the Internet, for where else does one turn when in a crisis? For the budding writer there are a vast amount of resources online with which to begin, track, compare, edit, and ultimately release a work of fiction (or, I suppose, non-fiction). There are websites brimming with advice on how to get started, and the most common piece of advice was write every day. Or if not every day, then at least (they advise) on a regular basis; set yourself some time aside regularly to do some writing. And then, write anything. It doesn't need to be good, it doesn't need to be pretty, just write.

So I'm doing just that. I'm going to set aside some time every week to plan, write, edit and publish a short story for the enjoyment of you lovely people out in Internet land. Where do you go to read these wonders marvels random bits of fiction, cobbled together from a very disordered mind? Just have a look at dontgotellingtales.blogspot.co.uk and you'll see my work. I can't promise that they'll be good, enjoyable, earth-shattering, compelling, or even particularly readable. But I can promise that they'll be regular, published every Sunday for the foreseeable future.

Enjoy!

B.

A Ramble in Two Parts

I was all too recently forced to survive for 36 hours without a stable Internet connection.
I know. Brutal, right?

It's the first-worldiest of first world problems, but that's a rant for another day. Today's blog will be a ramble in two parts.

Part the First: Addict
It was early afternoon on Saturday the 22nd March 2014, and the Internet suddenly gave up the ghost. We were without a connection. Oh, our phones displayed that glorious Wi-Fi signal symbol, but connect we could not. Forced to resort to conversation and casual gaming to stave off the inevitable end of all things, but no online interaction for us.
The hours ticked by, still no fix. Using paltry signal on a mobile Internet connection, we checked the status of Virgin broadband in the area and found it to be a problem throughout the area. The estimated fix time was midday on Sunday. We could survive. After all, we had company in the evening that could distract us from our disconnecty woes.
Sunday morning occurred in a bleary mess and still no Internet. The router is turned off, and the house is vacated in favour of the local greasy spoon. The router is turned back on upon return, and still nothing. It's after midday, and we had hoped it would be fixed by now. The Virgin team now say a fix should be available by the following day.
Resorting to cleaning the house before attempting to entertain ourselves without the use of the Internet, we make it to Monday, and University. What a blessing to have something with which to distract ourselves from the woes of disconnection. After returning home, in a final desperate attempt before demanding an engineer cure us of this disease-like state, I jiggle all of the wires and restart the router once more.

O! The blinking light!
The flickering blue star
That signals the return of
the book of faces
the endless video
the electronic mail
eldritch rants and o!
the status updates
link sharing and
communication
Thank you, blue star
For leading us to our destination

Or something less tortured and marginally more subtle.

I wrote a blog almost a year ago on the subject of being addicted to my smartphone and this experience threw into harsh relief the freedom that actually comes from not being connected to the Internet. Yes, it is embarrassing how many times I crossed my fingers and hoped that this time would be the time for the router to start working after a reboot. But in between those times, it is amazing how little I cared for the missing Internet.

Part the Second: Status
Not the type of status update that Facebook quietly, but incessantly asks us for at all times. But what comes from having the very best of possessions.
It is common knowledge that I don't use Windows or Mac because I don't believe in paying for operating systems and I am quite happy using Linux thank you very much. Anybody that wants to can read about that particular little tantrum here or just ask me about computers and watch in amusement as I explode with rage that everybody thinks that Windows is the only option *ahem* I'm back, sorry.

Today I was walking through the Leeds Student Union, happily eating my English breakfast pasty and getting crumbs everywhere. My jubilation at finally filling my stomach was torn to pieces by an overheard conversation by two people of the female type sitting at a table with their laptops out. Their laptops were Apple Macs, and I'm guessing on the newer side - they were very thin, shiny, metallic... and expensive looking. Take a look on the Apple website and notice that their cheapest offering in the laptop department; £849.
Now, this is not a tantrum about how awful Macs are, or that they are overpriced, or evangelism about why people shouldn't use the operating system. I have a lot of respect for the ecosystem, and a lot of good things have come from Apple in the past decade or so.

My issue is what I heard one of these girls saying to her friend:

"Oh, I only really use my computer for the Internet."

Fantastic. You've just spent the best part of one thousand pounds to buy one of the best computers available today and only use it to check Facebook and your emails. So why do you own it? Would not a cheaper computer have suited? Google make their Internet-dedicated chromebooks, why not get one of those? It would have cost you a quarter of the price and you could have spent the remaining £600 on something like driving lessons. Or a holiday.
I'm the last person to teach about being sensible with money. My idea of good business practise can't actually be written here in case a prospective employer reads this and sees that not only am I a raving lunatic but also have literally no idea how the economy works. Suffice it to say that I think right now the best place to invest in is Russia. Or Crimea.

What it eventually comes down to, surely, is that a Mac is a status symbol? People of my generation are familiar enough with computers and technology for the "it just works" argument to be so much dung. Maybe I just don't get it. But I'll give you another example of my startlingly acute business acumen: If I were in charge of selling Apple computers, I would require each customer to submit a usage plan for their new machine that they must stick to or else. That'll see 'em right.

The Secret Hipster

Well, they say that good things come to those who wait. Whilst that most assuredly is sure of the die hard fans of Tool, Guinness, the Higgs Boson and (we hope) the Star Wars franchise, it's perhaps less applicable to this here blog of mine.

Yes, it's been a while since last I donned my helmet of Internet-based vitriol. Too long since I last hammered out my mundane thoughts into words on your screens for you to snort at in disgust. I like to tell the Internet on a regular basis that I'll "get my act together" and "be more consistent" but we both know that it's not true. Hell, you know it's not true as well. Don't you, lovely reader?

But fret not, because true to form, I'm back and it's a long one.

We're all familiar with the hit TV show Sherlock. Whether you're amongst the very small number of my friends who cannot stand the show, or what appears to be the rest of the world in worshipping the programme as some form of messiah for all BBC television, we've more or less all of us seen it. For a good many of us, we've lived the consistent two years between each instalment of the show, forgetting about it for about twenty months before the adverts start to return to our screens, minds and hearts (how good was #sherlocklives ?).

Note, this blog will contain spoilers for seasons 2 and 3. You have been warned. If you've not seen the TV sensation that is BBC's Sherlock, go and watch it all and come back when you're done. Go on. I'll wait. I'm writing this in smallprint, because hey. What's life without whimsy?

The Confession
I am getting slowly more annoyed with how popular Sherlock has, is and will become. Those of you who I've condemned as hipsters to be first against the wall when the revolution arrives will have to pause now after reading that to calm yourselves. Perhaps you'd like to adjust your ridiculous glasses, and rebutton the tweed jacket that you've just torn off in disgust. That's it. Now take a refreshing sip of Pabst Blue Ribbon and we'll get back on with the preceedings as though I've not just confessed to being a massive hypocrite and I'll explain.

Where was I? Ah yes!

I am getting slowly more annoyed with how popular Sherlock has, is and will become. When the first season came out, it did so quietly and unassumingly. Much like the rest of British culture in that respect. After three weeks, Sherlock went away again and the world went about its business. Two years later, we experienced the rush all over again.
Perhaps you, like me, had prefaced the glorious return with a marathon of the first season. And like me, mayhaps you introduced a friend or six to the phenomenon. Lather rinse and repeat for the third season. Only this time, all of your friends have introduced Sherlock to five or six of their own friends. You involve them in your marathon of the first two seasons (nine hours in one go... Don't you have anything better to do?) and then gorge yourselves on the offerings of the third.

And herein lies the problem.

You, dear reader, like me (I imagine) watched Sherlock from the off. We have from the very outset, been used to having to wait two years between each new instalment of Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat's retelling of the tale. We don't mind this wait. In fact, we relish it a little. Time to mull over some of our favourite scenes. Time enough to discuss in hideous, sickly detail exactly why the angle at which Holmes jumps from the roof explains his miraculous survival. We are the lucky ones.
It's the people we introduced - foolishly, with hubris in our hearts - maybe even the second generation of fandom that we helped to create are similarly lucky. They too have had the two years' wait to find out precisely what happened to Sherlock and whether or not he was wearing a parachute that blends into the colour of the building behind him as he fell *ahem* sorry, getting distracted there. Except, we all know that's how he really survived.
No, it's the people that we all introduced just before the third season that are the problem. These people, who watched all six episodes on Netflix or through slightly more illegal means. Who perhaps only had to wait a week, a few days, or even a few short hours before finding out what has become of our beloved sociopath. They have been spoiled.
They have not learned the patience that you and I, dear, beautiful, wondrous reader, have learned.

The Internet it seems, is overflowing with articles, blogs, comments, podcasts and videos discussing the future of Sherlock. As well they should. After all, it is one of the BBC's triumphs! But it is the slightly dispondant, demanding, desperate, dunder-headedly deserving way in which these are written and spake, that truly sparks my ire. All of them seem to centre around the theme that the fourth part of the saga will not be with us until 2016, and that this is too long of a wait. All of them are just obsessed with the fact that it will take two more years to release the equivalent of three films. Never mind the fact that both of the star actors now have huge roles in major franchises, or that the writers have other projects to keep them in BMWs, fancy restaurants and Armani suits (I'm just guessing at these. In my head, writing something as successful as Sherlock means that they must be richer than Bill Gates by now).
No, instead they whine at how two years is such a long wait. And lets face it, I'm not nearly as eager to see how Moriarty survived as I was to see how Sherlock had. My point is, that when I read such articles as these... I find myself thinking "God, I wish Sherlock weren't so popular... I liked it back before it was cool to think Benedict Cumberbatch is sexy and Martin Freeman looks distressing with a moustache."

It's at that stage that I find something decidedly conformist to do and join the masses in reading A Song of Ice and Fire after it became cool.


As I write this, sitting in my linen, festival clothes, sipping at a vodka-laced hot chocolate, it occurs to me that I'm probably not the first to talk about, write down, or even think about this... But bronze is important too guys. And as with this blog itself, as well as the subject matter; better late than never.