steepholm

Over the last week I've been visited by my friend Eriko Kawanashi, the anthropologist who has made a study of the beliefs and rituals of Glastonbury. We had a lot of fun, which I won't detail here (my proud boast is that, over the two days she was with me, I converted her to Marmite), but I was struck by her mentioning that, having learned a lot of her English in Glastonbury, she didn't realise the extent to which it departed from normal usage. Thus, she had been given to saying things like "I feel as if my chakras need cleansing today" to English people elsewhere, and being bemused by the looks they gave her.

Tangentially, two days ago in Athens (where I was attending the IBBY conference) I chatted with an Italian teacher of Japanese and some of my Japanese friends. It was noticeable that, although her Japanese was really excellent, she continued to gesture with her hands as if she were speaking Italian. It was strange how incongruous this looked, at least to undemonstrative me.

Anyway, Athens was a lot of fun, even though I didn't get a chance to do any sightseeing at all. The Acropolis remains unvisited. On the other hand, I heard a lot of interesting papers, gave one that went pretty well, and met some old friends, including Ali Baker and the Tokyo Joshidai Crew, Mihoko, Satomi and Mikako. By the way, here's me hangin' out with Eiko Kadono, the author of Kiki's Delivery Service (魔女の宅急便) and winner of this year's Hans Christian Andersen award, which was given her at the conference dinner, where she gave a really excellent speech. That's two Ghibli-fied authors I've met. Are there any others still alive?

Kilmeny look'd up with a lovely grace,
But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face;
As still was her look, and as still was her e'e,
As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,
Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.
For Kilmeny had been, she knew not where,
And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare.

That's pretty much how I felt after watching Puella Magi Madoka Magica for the first time. This article (new minted though long worked on) is one fruit of that obsession - picked on the academic side of the orchard. (For a basketful of others, feel free to click on the Madoka tab.) If you like narratology, reception studies, discussions of "the child" in children's literature, or magical girls with cool powers, it may be for you. However, it is full of SPOILERS, so tread carefully, don't linger, and don't leave the marked paths.

気を付けてください！

I write this post (or at least, begin it) in Aberystwyth, where I have come to examine a PhD. I will have to turn to PhD-examining matters shortly, so may have to finish this later, but wanted to share a couple of photos of Brockhampton Church near Hereford, which I visited yesterday en route to West Wales. It's all part of the Cotswold Project of course, even though Brockhampton isn't in the Cotswolds, for this is the church that some years ago was (for a small consideration) replicated by a Japanese hotel chain on the 20th floor of an Osaka hotel. (I will, naturally, be visiting the replica in May.) And, on that hotel's website, the church is kinda sorta implied to be in the Cotswolds, by way of a William Morris quotation that was I believe actually about the village of Bibury rather than the churches of the Cotswolds, but hey:

This authentic looking chapel is surrounded by green grass and vivid flowers and illuminated from above by the extensive glass roof. The design imitates the churches of the Cotswolds, described by the renowned designer William Morris as the most beautiful in England. Our chapel recreated the beauty of the Cotswolds, from its rolling green hills to its traditional arts and crafts culture.

Here's a promotional video showing how the replica is used as part of the Osaka hotel's wedding package:



The real church (I use the word with Baudrillard-esque knowingness), though it looks mediaeval, was actually consecrated only in 1902. It's the work of William Lethaby, an Arts-and-Crafts-inspired architect. Of course, it quotes lavishly from many earlier country churches, with its thatched roof, wooden tower and so on, so you might argue that it's no less "fake" than the one in Osaka, but either way the overall effect is beautiful, and Pevsner was rightly complimentary about it.




The view from the church is a little different from the one in Osaka, too:


The churchwarden, Brigadier Rodney Watkins, was kind enough to show me around inside and to give me some of the history of the place. I won't go into that here, but have a couple of tapestries made by the William Morris workshops, after Burne-Jones:



Amongst everything else, Brig. Watkins told me a story (possibly apocryphal but probably not) about a Japanese couple who were spotted drawing up to the church in a car. They got out, slipped into wedding gear, took a photograph of themselves in front of the church, then disappeared again. Can we doubt that they had been married in 20 floors up Osaka, and had come to the fountainhead to put the mother church's imprimatur on their union?

Then I set my sights to the west, and headed for Aber along the A44 - a really marvellous journey. It was late afternoon by then, and the winter light was slanted in that way that makes everything vivid and magical. Murmurations of starlings streamed from one side of the road to the other more than once at the level of my car, and sheep of preternatural whiteness strewed the hills. I was gurgling with delight, my joy mitigated only by the consciousness that such a wretch as I little deserved to witness such beauty, but what are you going to do?

Of course I can't show you any of that since I was driving, so you'll have to take my word for it, but if you enjoyed my pictures of honey-stoned Castle Combe the other week, perhaps you'll like half-timbered Eardisland by way of contrast, a small but worthwhile diversion from my westward road:



At last, the sea, the sea by sundown.

Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing.

Happy first day of research leave, everyone!

Oh right, that would be just me, then. Oh well, never mind, I promise to keep you informed of all my amusing doings. I should add that it's only the fourth period of leave I've had in my 28 years as a university teacher (1995, 2004 and 2010 are the other blessed dates), so my cup, though brimming at the moment, can't be said to have run over on a regular enough basis that I need to call a plumber.

Before I go to contemptuously bowl over some rabbits (carelessly splitting infinitives as I pass), I'll just say that my three main aims, from the writing point of view, are: a) to write a piece on Lucy Boston and genre; b) to write a keynote on WWI children's fiction and empathy for a conference that's happening in September (with special reference to Geraldine McCaughrean, probably), and c) the Cotswolds project. a) and b) interest me, of course, but c) is the jewel the crown of 2018's spring and summer. What adventures await me? Already this week I've spoken with a real live brigadier in the line of duty - a first for me. (And writing that, I've realised that I am quite unable to put a brigade, a regiment and a division in order of size. Not that I want to become a military nerd, but that should be common knowledge, right? Away to Google!)

I'm still marking, hence my recent silence - and indeed, I should be doing so even now. If only I could train the two hemispheres of my brain to work on different tasks at the same time! Productivity - doubled.

Anyway, this is just a fly-by post to confirm that I'm still here in spirit, but I'll mention that I did take a quick break from marking to go to a book launch in Cambridge last week, for this book (to which I contributed a chapter on counterfactual histories). Here I am with the editors, Clémentine and Maria (plus mutual friend Eve), looking perhaps a little gormless but friendly enough:



I had lunch with Clémentine the next day, and mentioned that my Air B'n'B was cheap and central but pretty basic - which was reflected in the price. In particular it was rather cold, but I'd read that in the online reviews beforehand and packed an extra vest, so that was okay. "That's the most British thing I've ever heard," she said, or words to that effect. On reflection, though, I'm not sure whether she meant:

a) I am cheap enough to book somewhere I know to be uncomfortably cold
b) I wear vests in cold weather (and socks with sandals in the heat, no doubt)
c) I am always prepared - dib dib!
d) I am admirably stoic

Possibly all four. It was a nice lunch, anyway - Clémentine and I always seem to click - but all too soon I had to trundle my overnight case through the fenland rain back to the station, and thence to a trainload of marking.

Going down for the third time...

Did you call? Sorry if I wasn't in, I just popped out for a minute to go to Canada.

Specifically, I was in York University, Toronto, for the IRSCL - where I gave a paper comparing the UK and US dubs of [The Secret World of] Arrietty with Ghibli's Karigurashi no Arrietty, and indeed The Borrowers.

Anyway, that all went well, and the conference was good - I saw a lot of familiar faces, and quite a few new ones, and there were some excellent papers (I think my favourite was by Robin Bernstein, which dismantled Jacqueline Rose - not for the first time, God knows, but in a particularly interesting way, through the medium of Go the Fuck to Bed). I'm not going to go into details of the whole event because it could easily become a list of names that most people here won't know, but imagine me on a pleasant campus, and socialising as pleasurably as it's possible for an introvert to do in the company of other introverts, and you won't be far wrong. And although my prosopagnosia was a source of anxiety, a gratifying number of people lanced that boil in advance by introducing themselves with "You won't remember me, but you [edited my article/ examined my PhD/ met me in Ueno, etc.]" - and with that clew I was able to find my way.

The return journey was pretty dire, though. The flight from Toronto was delayed by 2.5 hours, due to a) a thunderstorm followed by b) a strike (industrial, not lightning), which meant that I missed my connection to Bristol in Brussels. The later flights to Bristol were full, so they rerouted me via Frankfurt. However, the flight from Brussels to Frankfurt was then itself delayed by 2 hours, which meant that I missed that connection as well. Eventually, I got another flight from Frankfurt to Bristol, but arrived here 12 hours later and much better travelled than planned. I know John Cabot would scoff at me complaining it took 24 hours to get from Canada to Bristol, but I'm made of weaker stuff. Gallingly, I flew directly over the city on the first flight, and had to suppress an impulse to say, "Driver, can you let me off here?"

The other adventure was the afternoon we spent in downtown Toronto. York University is an isolated campus out in the suburbs, so I was pleased to have a chance to see the city proper, especially as I had the company of University of Toronto alumna intertext. She rather tempted fate by pointing out that Ontario drivers were particularly considerate, and may also have said something about the low crime rate, although perhaps I'm adding that in with hindsight.

Anyway, we were waiting to cross at an intersection. The traffic was coming from our right, and I noticed that a car was trying to turn left, into the lane occupied by a motorbike. The car caught the bike, and the bike took the bumper off the front of the car. All this was forty yards away. However, had we but known it the car had taken out the bike's brake pedal, so while the car limped forward to rest more or less beside us, the bike shot across the intersection directly to where I and intertext were standing. By chance, we were right next to the pool surrounding a some civic fountains. I leapt to the ground to one side, but poor intertext, possibly getting entangled with my airborne legs, fell backwards into the pond.

She was unhurt, and everyone (bystanders, motorcyclist, car driver and driver's passenger) was very solicitous - and indeed the whole thing was sorted out with a politeness that can only enhance Canada's reputation (had the incident occurred south of the 49th parallel, several people would of course have been shot dead even before insurance information was exchanged).

intertext herself pointed out that on a hot day, a dip into a cool pond was actually very refreshing, and that this was almost the only way she could have come by it without attracting disapproval. However, she was concerned for the possessions in her now-soaked bag. We found a bench and laid them out. Her iPhone looked okay, but she didn't want to turn it on in case it fried. Having talked for a while, we went over to a snack bar - but unfortunately the iPhone was left on the bench, whence it was swiftly spirited by person or persons unknown.

Afterwards we met up with Mikako and had a nice meal in Chinatown, but it just goes to show that even Toronto has a Dark Side:

I mentioned on Facebook the other week that one of my pet marking peeves this year (they operate on a strict rotation basis) is the habit of saying "it could be argued that X", rather than simply "X". It always strikes me as evasive, a way of saying "I'm going to float an idea, and if you agree with it I'll take the credit, but if you don't then I wasn't advocating it, okay?"

Thanks to stormdog I just saw the perfect illustration of this tactic, although not using that exact phrase, from Nigel Farage - who I bet scattered "It could be argued that" all over his school essays. It's in this article about the reaction to the London bombings on Fox News. Were internment camps a good way to go, mused the incisive analysts of Fox? (For the benefit of those reading outside the UK, no mainstream British politician - by which for this purpose I mean a politician from a party with more MPs than zero - has suggested it.)

Who better to ask than Nigel Farage? Like one of my bet-hedging students (Farage was a professional bet-hedger when he worked in the City, trading commodities, and the instinct is still strong) Farage doesn't call for internment. He says (of people on police watch lists) "if there is not action, then the calls for internment will grow" and, "unless we see the government getting tough, you will see public calls for those 3,000 to be arrested".

Did he just call for internment? Of course not - how dare you suggest such a thing! He was merely acting as a commentator! (Unless it happens, and then he'll be able to say he was brave enough to float the idea.)

And then of course, along comes Katie Hopkins of the Daily Heil like the organ-grinder's monkey, repeating his sentiment but minus the hedge, proving Farage's words true in the process: “We do need internment camps.” What a double act!

A few people on Facebook were bemused by my dislike of "It could be argued that", implying that it was perhaps a bit over the top. This is why I try to drum into people that it's a cowardly and dishonest tactic, whether you're talking about the date of a sonnet or the best reaction to an atrocity.

Nigel Farage uses it, for heaven's sake!

One hundred and one years ago my curate great-grandfather preached a sermon in Esperanto at the church of Holy Trinity, Goodramgate, York, on the occasion of the British Esperanto Congress being held in the city. When I lived in York in the 1980s I often visited the church, loving the old box pews (as who couldn't?), but at that time I didn't know about Thomas Robinson Butler's performance. Yesterday, however, in the wake of a conference organised by the talented and delightful Clementine Beauvais, I visited with her and Maria Nikolajeva, and photographed what was, I assume, the very pulpit:



Meanwhile, here are Clementine (l) and Maria (r), as seen through the church's hagioscope:



Tonight I'm staying with Farah and Edward in Stoke-on-Trent, which really ought to be the occasion to visit the Esperanto Association's Butler Library, named after Thomas's son, my grandfather and housed at nearby Barlaston. But, alas, Wolverhampton calls and I must take the morning train. Bonan nokton, ĉiuj!

#1: when you give blood at Antwerp University, you get free entertainment from a giant drop of blood, who dances around in front of your already-dazed eyes:



I can't decide whether or not this is a good thing.

#2: when the Belgians decide to erect a monument to the characters in a book hardly anyone there has heard of, they make a very good job of it:



#3: When this monument precipitates Korean and Japanese tourists, the Fish and Chip shop round the corner takes on a new dimension, offering panko and tenpura options, and a kimchi side.

#4: When they want to advertise the university, they dress the academics as superheroes (centre-stage is my friend Vanessa, who invited me to talk to her conference on Wednesday):



#5: In Luxembourg, if you're too tired to boil and decorate your own Easter eggs, you can buy them ready-boiled and painted. Probably someone will eat them for you too, for a price:



(Also, there is almost certainly a charming story behind this statue in Luxembourg City, but I've no idea what...)



#6: Finally, it turns out that my brain will only hold a maximum of two languages at a time. Since arriving in Abroad I've done my best at least to make an effort, language-wise, although Flanders and Luxembourg both being notorious nests of polyglotism it was never going to be more than a token one, and it's not as if I knew any Dutch to begin with. However, whenever I try to pull my school French out from the lumber room of my mind I find it's buried under a huge pile of conversational Japanese. I can get at it eventually, but it takes time - rather too much time in a country where everyone's already on a hair trigger to switch to English at the first sign of linguistic ineptitude. I've already thanked someone in a supermarket with 'Arigatou' and, truth be told, a few 'Hai's and 'Daijoubu's may also have escaped the fence of my teeth.

Still, the main business - being patron for a travail de candidature (don't ask) - went off smoothly, though in circumstances that were also rather tragic, for reasons I can't go into here, because it's not my story to tell.

Did I mention that I'd be going back to Japan this summer? I don't think I did, but let me make that good now. Last month I won a Visiting Scholarship at Tokyo Woman's Christian University, and I'm going to be there at the end of June and beginning of July. (In Japanese, incidentally, the name translates as Tokyo Young Woman's University, which I think an interesting difference. It was actually founded by a Japanese Quaker - perhaps a unique combination? - a century or so ago.)

What this means is that as well as a research grant (which will mostly get eaten up by translation fees) I can live on their campus for a very small amount of money for three weeks, while researching an article. I will of course also be taking the opportunity to sample Tokyo life, at a slightly less breakneck pace than I was able in my previous visits. Lectures at the National Diet Library and the university's Institute for Comparative Culture have also been slated, and maybe at a couple of other colleges. By singing for my supper I'm hoping to keep costs down.

The campus looks very pretty, perhaps more like an American campus of the early twentieth century than anything very traditionally Japanese, but lush and leafy. I'll be staying at the foreign faculty residence, which I think is housed in this building. It's not clear whether I'll need to live in black and white, though.

I'll be there for the Tanabata festival, which I'm looking forward to - but where's the best place to experience it? I will need to look into that...

So, that's all rather exciting. When I've finished my stint, the plan is to stay on another week to do a bit of exploring outside Tokyo. Since Tokyo at that time of year is said to be more or less unbearably hot and humid, I'll probably head north in search of more clement climes, but I've not broken it down more than that at the moment. Any recommendations for Hokkaido or Touhoku?