Union Haul

Walking my dog on Killiney Beach yesterday I came upon a fine sturdy plastic container washed up on the shoreline. Thinking it would be ideal to store logs, I stuck it in the boot and brought it home. It was emblazoned with the identifier: Union Hall Fishermens Co. Could this really have made it all the way up the Irish Sea from West Cork? Or more prosaically had it made its way down the coast from Dun Laoghaire or Bullock Harbour, places where commerce in fish occurs. A creepy coincidence is that it's exactly a year since that Union Hall trawler sank with the loss of five lives near Glandore.

Tremendous Turner Turnout

The National Gallery was packed out (no room in cloakroom for latecomers) last night for the launch of the annual Turner exhibition.  It wasn't the standard arty crowd that you might see at IMMA or the RHA.  This lot mainly featured clusters of over-dressed middle-aged women, hard-faced men in suits,  and a plethora of those officious biddies that administer the arts in our institutions.  I overheard a number of foreign accents so maybe the diplomatic corps were in attendance - supporting the British Ambassador who opened the event.  Hennessy sponsored the launch so we were offered various brandy cocktails on arrival, including a delicious hot brandy and cassis confection that went down well (twice).  We were forced to sing for our cocktails by enduring four  speeches before we could view the art.  Three of these were dull and worthy, but the fourth,  performed with panache by the British Ambassador Dominick Chilcot, was well turned and witty.  You can't beat that Oxbridge polish.  He mentioned that he had stood up Tessa May (his Home Secretary) to be with us - bringing  an appreciative laugh from the assembled worthies.  He also noted that Turner and Shakespeare shared a birthday.

Eventually we were allowed upstairs to view the work.  I wonder about this annual limited season for the Turners.  I suppose it gives them a spurious cachet - like creme eggs.  It's certainly wonderful PR for the National Gallery and it does focus attention on art - always a good thing in this country where most people don't give a fart through their corduroys (as Beckett maintained) for it.  And yet the works are slight and modest enough - some mere sketches for larger pieces.  Only one or two hint at the drama and power of Turner's major works.

The Christmas Debacle

Thank God that's over.  As the years pass I identify more and more with Scrooge.  It's the enforced jollifications I particularly dread. But of course there are certain elements that I still enjoy. The trip to Blackrock College to buy the tree is always fun: the sap, the smell, the helpful lads, the car crammed on the way home. The annual viewing of the Bono on Christmas morning in St. Patrick's near Bulloch Harbour - the amiable padre and the solid Protestant burghers. The quality racing at Kempton and Leopardstown - with Cheltenham prospects on view. But the highlight is the escape to Schull on the 27th. A week of walks on Barleycove Beach, and crab sandwiches and Guinness in O'Sullivan's of Crookhaven.  The brace of pints before dinner every evening - in Hacketts or O'Regans. The extended sessions of mutual abuse when the family convenes. An annual purging of affectations.  The glimpses of Schull's most infamous denizen - older and wearier looking this year, grim-faced woman in tow. The unflagging amiability of Tom Brosnan - unofficial mayor, fire brigade driver, musician, supermarket owner and deer lover. The wonderous vistas along the Sheep's Head peninsula. Checking out the graveyard on the Colla Road I noticed they've finally given Jim O'Driscoll a decent stone with handsome surrounds. The inscription is a bit cryptic:  "Surrecturi" -  no dictionary helps here.  Jim was a well known exponent of the Cork art of ball-hopping so I'd like to think it's an attempt to befuddle us from beyond the grave. However it's more likely to be an arcane Latin term known only to his fellow obfuscators in the legal profession.

Recent Reads - December 2012

The Necrophiliac by Gabrielle Wittkop
A weird masterpiece. It's similar to Lolita in its beautiful language and its depiction of an obsession. Nymphets are replaced by putrefying bodies however.  It introduced me to bombyx. Not for the faint-hearted, but a must read for anyone who appreciates fine writing.

Every Love Story is a Ghost Story: A Life of David Foster Wallace by D. T. Max

A sad and revealing account of a truly tortured talent.  He never seemed happy in his own skin despite his huge success. Very good on his academic career and on the parallels between his life and Infinite Jest.  

Beckett Remembering by James and Elizabeth Knowlson
A variety of creative types (Aidan Higgins, Paul Auster, Billie Whitelaw) and personal friends recount their memories of Beckett - not always, but mostly, positive.  He got less difficult as he got older it seems.

Philip Larkin - Letters to Monica edited by Anthony Thwaite
The great curmudgeon unmasked.  These epistles reveal a little-Englander given to moments of tenderness with his lover, and a lot of shy-making tweeness.  The outside world gets short-shrift - Yeats comes in for dog's abuse - and wogs of course at Calais.

Terra Incognita by Nabokov
Three little gems by the maestro, elegantly written and psychologically astute.

Farther Away by Jonathan Frenzen
Book reviews and essays that usually hit the spot.  He's still evidently cross with his friend David Foster Wallace for his suicide.  His fulsome review of The Hundred Brothers by Donald Antrim sent me off to research a name new to me.

The Boys by Christopher Fitz-Simon
A gossipy biography of Hilton Edwards and Michael MacLiammoir.  It's great fun reading of their frenetic life in the theatre  - always on the go, always short of money.  Being rescued regularly by Terence de Vere White. It was only after The Importance of Being Oscar that they could relax financially. Coy about their sex lives.

Review of Harry Kernoff Biography

A slightly shorter version of my review (below) of Kernoff's biography appeared in the Sunday Times Culture magazine on the 16th December 2012:

http://tinyurl.com/c9tmudg

Liberty Hall by Harry Kernoff