Sunday, February 19, 2012

Power Mouth

I first became aware of it when I was a kid, looking at a picture of Benito Mussolini.

It's that mouth, the upside-down smile.  Over the years, I've grown accustomed to seeing it on the faces of people who wield a lot of power, and it seems to me we should pay more attention to it.


By the time we're forty, Abraham Lincoln said, we have the face we deserve.

If this is so--and I see little to contradict it--why do we flock to the ballot boxes year after year in order to hand the reins to people who are so clearly permanent two-year-olds?


I think it may be for one of two reasons.

First, we're simply unwilling to believe that anyone can be as awful as that mouth suggests; okay, maybe Hitler and Mussolini had it, but in other people, it's just an accident of physiognomy.

Second -- and this is worse -- we've gotten used to it.

There was a lot of this in the second Bush administration.  And okay, we didn't elect Donald Rumsfeld-- we can thank George W. Bush for his presence in our lives.  But we did elect Bush who, when he wasn't trying to act like a slightly dim good ol' boy, had a pretty good power mouth of his own.

And let's not forget the most terrifying power mouth of the 21st century, someone else for whom we actually voted.  Actually, this is a unique power mouth sub-genre, the power mouth that suggests a childhood dominated by sadistic dentistry.

Surely, we can learn from our mistakes.  Surely, we won't put another power mouth in charge of what we sometimes humorously call the free world.

Nope.








Nope.










Nope.










Nope.

Careful, Barry.


Tim -- Sundays

Saturday, February 18, 2012

A Lesson From The Desert


I’m composing this among the sand, cacti, and scents of Sedona, Arizona on my way back east from California’s Palm Springs, Joshua Tree National Park (photo above by Scott Mansfield), and the Mohave.  I know with that itinerary some of you wags out there are thinking, “Siger’s getting his just deserts.”
Sedona

Palm Springs
I’ll forgive you for the thought if you’ll forgive me for the pun.

I find something magical about deserts.  I don’t know why that is.  I live on an island yet deserts arouse me in much the same way as the sea.  For instance, a few days ago in Joshua Tree I stood among massive granite boulder formations I’d never seen before and yet I sensed that I had.  But how could that be and where?   

Then it hit me: underwater. I free dive in the Aegean off the shores of Mykonos and Delos, and the granite shapes I’m so used to rising up at me from the sea floor now surrounded me in a California desert.  Even the flora reminded me of shapes that grow beneath the sea. 

Amazing.  Just add water to the desert and voila I’m back in Greece!

Scuba, not free-diving
I realize that referring to deserts, underwater, and Greece in the same thought may seem a strained attempt to segue into the elephant in the room anytime Greece is mentioned these days, but I promise you I had no such intention.

It’s all too predictable anyway.  The news I mean.  It’s as if I’m watching an endless loop of a Punch and Judy show played out against the same tired sets and staging.   

Here we are again, back atop Athens’ Hotel Grande Bretagne overlooking Syntagma Square in front of Greece’s Parliament Building, “cue the black hooded hooligans,” “launch the marble chunks and molotovs,” “send in the police,” “pan to the politicians pontificating,” and don’t forget to “burn a few cars,” and “torch some shops.”


Attikon Cinema then
Okay, I admit that what happened in Athens last weekend was tragic beyond any demonstrations of recent memory (though Greece remains the safest country in the European Union, as difficult as that may be to believe with the patently violent (televised) demonstrations) as rioters destroyed the Attikon cinema—one of the few remaining neoclassical buildings from Athens’ glory days of 100 years ago—to punctuate misguidedly the general feeling among the Greek citizenry that its Parliament is corrupt, incapable, and out for itself as it allows Greece's destiny to slip more and more out of its own hands with every passing day.

...and now
And, yes, the country is gearing up for a very interesting summer of repercussions.

But, still, it’s the same old storyline with the same characters, same speeches, same inaction.  Hmm, dare one say, “therein lies the rub”?

I recently saw a staunch supporter of her homeland describe it as “The Greece of Hopelessness.” That’s a pretty fair opinion on the state of things if you confine yourself to what’s in the news, but perhaps because I’m by nature more optimistic…or have seen first hand the granite that is Greece beneath its surface…I see things somewhat differently.  


No doubt the country faces very difficult times, but there’s hope out there that this is Greece’s chance to find and hit its “restart button,” one that will return the country to its lost core values...such as one carved above Delphi by Athenians 2500 years ago: “Nothing in Excess.”  

But how can Greece possibly return to such glory when so many consider their country a vast desert of despair?  Suggestion: just add reason.

Jeff—Saturday

Friday, February 17, 2012

The Kids are All Wight


Apologies for the lateness of this blog, but I've just returned from a brief family holiday back in time. I say back in time, but I mean the Isle of Wight, though the effect is the same. The biggest island that belongs to this island is an old-fashioned place. When I mentioned I was going on Twitter I was followed by a spambot. But even she was innocent. She asked that I call her on Bembridge 452 for a jolly good time and she'd describe her shapely ankle.

The Isle of Wight was Queen Victoria's favourite place. It still cleaves to her memory, or at least tries to. The pace of life is slow; there are no motorways; the mobile phone signal is intermittent and one of its main attractions is a garlic farm. I used this often to whip the kids in line. 'Stop squabbling or we'll go to the garlic farm!' It worked a treat. Especially when I told them it sold garlic fudge (true.) Just the sheer ghastly prospect of eating that was enough to draw immediate silence. They also sell garlic beer. I think we have the new alternative to Guantanamo Bay.

There are, thankfully, many other attractions, not least the Jurassic coastline, its crumbling cliffs and glorious windswept beaches. The coastline is being eroded by a metre each year, and each slight fall or storm brings out thousands of fossil hunters seeking prize dinosaur finds. Our children spent many a happy hour scouring the sands for fossils. I will now spend several less happy ones standing on and tripping over lumps of worthless rock. Their guide made the mistake of telling them about a schoolboy who found a fossil worth £20,000. We ended up with bags of stuff, even if the the best find was fossilised dinosaur crap. The metaphor is way too easy.

But from rocks to rock (see what I did there.) While there is something quintessentially old-fashioned about the Isle of Wight, and well-heeled, given that it's home to the yachting set, it also has its place in music history. The Isle of Wight festival of 1970 is infamous, not least for witnessing one of Jimi Hendrix's last performances, an incendiary one, before which he was believed to have consumed at least two bottles of garlic beer.



And see what happened next...

Anyway, no guesses for the prize at the next Bouchercon MiE panel...

cheers

Dan - Friday

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Monkey Business


On the 13th of November 2010, a British couple of Indian descent – Shrien and Anni Dewani – were honeymooning in Cape Town.  The couple hired a taxi to take them to a coastal dinner, and then they decided to see the nightlife of the township of Gugulethu, a very poor area outside the city.  This proved disastrous.  Soon after entering the area, the car was hijacked by two armed men.  They terrorised the couple, and eventually pulled Shrien out of the car and drove off with his wife.  She was later found dead in the abandoned car shot through the neck.

The endemic South African crime was immediately in all the headlines.  Whatever the dubious reason for going to a slum area in the middle of the night, it was felt outrageous that a touring couple could be attacked and murdered so easily.  Teeth gnashed in the South African and international press.

But there was a twist.  The taxi driver – as part of a plea bargain – claimed that Shrien had hired him and two thugs for the princely sum of R15 000 (about $2,000) to kill the wife.  In other words, the whole hijacking was just a façade to murder Anni Dewani.  So it was not the endemic crime that was to blame but rather the evil intent of the new husband who had set up the murder within days of their arrival in South Africa.  Gloating over the breakthrough in the case, police commissioner Bheki Cele infamously – and inappropriately – referred to Dewani as “a monkey who came all the way from London to have his wife killed here”.

Shrien Dewali denied any wrong-doing, and in the context of the media and police enthusiasm in South Africa, fought an extradition order which was nevertheless finally granted at the end of last year and is now on appeal.  The resolution of what happened is still months or perhaps years away.  

Enter Mike Nicol – well-known journalist and one of South Africa’s most respected mystery writers.  His mystery trio – the Revenge Trilogy, which starts with the emotive Payback – is a fascinating series set in Cape Town, and very highly recommended.  Get them all from Amazon as books or in Kindle format.  Incidentally, it’s shooting the lights out in Germany. 




Last year Mike did something very different and very intriguing.  He wrote a true crime book on the Dewani murder by compiling the newspaper, blog, website, Facebook and Twitter reports of what had happened.  The story itself, and the tensions it generated between the UK and South Africa, makes fascinating reading.  Almost inevitably, the book is called Monkey Business.  I asked Mike about writing the book and where he thought the case was heading:

You chose to structure the book as a set of quotes about the case from newspapers and internet reports and comments.  What made you choose that format?                                               

Two things, really. The first consideration was journalistic. I wanted to see if one could build a non-fiction narrative out of snippets of news from a variety of sources. When I was thinking about this book, I kept coming back to the point that the narrative already existed on the internet but in such widely dispersed places: websites, blogs, Facebook, Twitter. If I could collate material from all these sources could a narrative be constructed? After a bit of experimentation it seemed that it could and on the basis of the first 10000 words Umuzi decided to commission the book. The other constraints were money and time. The deadlines were tight: two months. And there was no money for original research. So I decided that this book had to be written entirely from secondary sources and I had to be able to do it from my laptop. And that is a long explanation for the structure. A combination of necessity and curiosity.

However, that said, I did try to structure the story as I would have written it had it been a normal tale of a murder.  Start with what happened, go on to describe those involved, dig deeper, record the consequences.

'Set of quotes' makes it sound very dry.  Actually, the book flows well and is hard to put down.  What issues did you face in order to achieve that?

The issues were really about finding the best quotes. I couldn't just accept the first one that came to hand, I had to search further in case there was something better. So a time issue really. Inevitably, in all research I suppose, one afterwards comes across something that you missed but fortunately there were few of these. Or at least I think there were. Your comment about the flow is interesting as the construction of the narrative depends on the reader. You, the reader, have to fill in the linkages and the thing is that readers do. Says something about how we all construct stories even when they are not written out for us. It comes back to the power of the reader's imagination - which is a point I tend to go on about in creative writing classes.

The book reveals as much about the different perspectives in the UK and South Africa as it does about the case itself.  Was that a deliberate theme or did it just evolve as you compiled the material?

It soon became evident that this story was read one way in the UK and another way in SA. Although there is a UK Facebook site - which, incidentally, hates me for capitalising out of this tragedy - that has pilloried Shrien Dewani from the getgo. (It's called Anni Dewani - what really happened.)  I didn't set out to reflect this divergence of opinion but it soon became part of the pattern of the story and added an extra dimension. Although I was aware of the differences going into the project, I was unaware of the subtleties and so these evolved as the material built up.

Normally in a 'true crime' book, the author has a view which comes out during the book.  In Monkey Business you restricted yourself to an Afterword.  Did you find it frustrating to be always bound by what other people had to say?

No, actually, it wasn't frustrating at all, well not entirely. My primary motive was journalistic and because all journalism has a subjective element this manifested on this occasion as the structure of the book. Where I put what quote. What it was contrasted with. This was a fascinating part of the process. How to convey a message without stating it blatantly. Also I was very aware that this story has a long way yet to run and wanted to keep my personal take out of the text as much as possible. I really saw the job as being one of recording the murder and the consequences. The full story will only be written after/if he gets to court. When I say not entirely frustrating, I suppose when writing a book one wants to do the writing and here that wasn't going to happen. So I looked on the project as editing a collection of short stories. In other words I was more the editor and compiler than the writer.

After all your research into the case, where do you think it will all end?

Ah, the sixty-four dollar question! Maybe some questions are the answer here. For the conspiracy theorists: Does the unsolved 2007 hijack murder of Dr Pox Raghavee in the Eastern Cape have anything to do with the Anni Dewani killing? Perhaps not directly, but does it suggest that SA is a place where such murders become part of the background noise? Another question: the SA police claim they have text messages which will nail Dewani. It seems to me that these messages are the essence of this case. Without them the evidence may well be too flimsy - at least technically - to put Dewani behind bars. As for where it will all end: I like to think it will end in a South African court but if the Dewani family has very deep pockets this could still go to the European appeal court. If that happens and a judge decides that SA jails are too risky and that Dewani might be murdered or raped (and become HIV positive), the extradition could be denied. And then, as some cops have suggested, he could disappear into India. SA does have an extradition agreement with India where the rules are slightly different, but will there be the political commitment to continue the pursuit? I doubt it.

Michael (Sears & Nicol) - Thursday.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Tick Tock

How can it be February 15th 2012? I just don‘t get it, last time I checked the new year had barely taken its first breath after having snuck up on the world without due notice. The only thing I am sure of regarding the calendar these days is that time gains momentum as the years go by. Maybe it has something to do with the writing, I find that the days, weeks and months since I took to this profession are on the side of the endless deadlines.

But being a writer sure beats being a fisherman.


I am going to India on Tuesday (by plane, not by boat). There I am going to participate in the first crime fiction convention ever held in New Delhi and I am very much looking forward to the trip. Correction, not the trip but the stay. Hopefully I will have something of interest to say next Wednesday as a result, - my string of deadlines are pretty much put on hold when abroad.

When I get back and have stayed a whole six hours in my country known for its "calm" seas I leave for Norway to attend a crime festival that I hear is the first in Oslo - this might be a misunderstanding related to me thinking that I understand Norvegian because my ancestors spoke it. But be it the first or the thirtyfirst it is being advertised on TV and in movie theaters which is something I have not heard of before. This is the trailer:

 

When I get back home I will start preparing for the next new New Years. It is safer seeing how time flies.

Yrsa - Wednesday  

Monday, February 13, 2012

Salgado

Today, I’m going to take a page out of Cara and Jeff’s book and exchange photographs for words.

All of the images below were shot by one man, probably the greatest photographer the early twenty-first century has produced.

And all were shot in black-and-white, the medium he prefers.

This is the man:


Sebastião Salgado trained to be an economist, took a master’s degree at the University of São Paulo and worked for the International Coffee Organization. Then, at the age of 29, he decided to transform his hobby into his profession and struck out on his own as a photographer.


In the course of the last forty years, Salgado has travelled all over the world making photographs.


Sometimes of nature.


But mostly of people.


Capturing them from the rivers of the Mato Grosso…


 …to the tea plantations of Rwanda.


 And from the gold fields of Pará…


 …to the oil fields of Iraq.


Some shots could only be called beautiful.

But others...


...many others...


sear the soul.


Probably his most famous quote: “It’s not the photographer who makes the picture. It’s the person being photographed.”

These days, Salgado works on self-assigned, long-term projects - and publishes them in book form.

His books aren't cheap:


But, believe me, they’re worth every centavo.

Leighton - Monday

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Mr. Coffee

Honoré  de Balzac, after a couple of espressos,
checking for palpitations

"When you have produced the finest grind with the least water possible, you double the dose by drinking two cups at a time; particularly vigorous constitutions can tolerate three cups. In this manner one can continue working for several more days."

We all know that writers are coffee hounds.  But the grandpére of them all was Honoré de Balzac, whose two-fisted approach to the Drink of the Gods is quoted above.

Given his prodigious output, it's not surprising that Balzac relied on stimulants.  His magnum opus, The Human Comedy, comprises more than ninety novels, novellas, and stories totaling millions of words and featuring hundreds of major characters and thousands of one- or two-scene walk-ons.  There is literally nothing like it in the world; the works are layered over one another, the heroes or heroines of one subordinate (or just glimpsed) in another, the characters rising and falling through all the levels of society, from the fields and huddled houses of small provincial towns to the palaces and grand hôtels of Paris.

The Comedy is studded with individual masterpieces: Pére Goriot (a variation on "King Lear"), Eugénie Grandet, Lost Illusions, A Harlot High and Low, Cousin Bette, and others, short and long.  Many of them were published in installments, as he wrote them, meaning that he was pantsing on a grand scale, making it up as he went along, absolutely stuck with what he had already written.  And, of course, "The Human Comedy" itself, written over a remarkably short span of 14 or 15 years, was perhaps literature's supreme feat of pantsing.  He did it all, writing session after writing session, by the seat of his pants.

And on coffee.  Lots of coffee.

Balzac's entire life was arranged to accommodate his writing and his coffee.  He ate dinner in the afternoon and went to bed around 6 PM.  At midnight he was up and knocking back the first in an unending bucket brigade of cups of strong black coffee.  He wrote through the night and into the following day, sometimes  straight through the following day, without going back to bed.  Pounding that caffeine, he occasionally worked for 48 hours uninterrupted, conducting the imaginary orchestra of Paris.

He wrote (probably after a couple of cups) about how it affected him:  "Memories charge in, bright flags on high; the cavalry of metaphor deploys with a magnificent gallop; the artillery of logic rushes up with clattering wagons and cartridges; on imagination's orders, sharpshooters sight and fire; forms and shapes and characters rear up; the paper is spread with ink -- for the nightly labor begins and ends with torrents of this black water, as a battle opens and concludes with black powder."

This is a serious jones.  But I have to say I'd take coffee intravenously if it would allow me to write like Balzac.  I'd snort instant.  Problem is, for coffee to help you write like Balzac, first you have to be Balzac.

Or maybe I could find a new grind.

Tim - Sundays