Cleopatra

This thread is far more addictive than Scrubs now, I would even go so far as to say COMEDY GOLD.

BTW, Frith, wasn't Charles Dickens infact a soap script writer? When he wrote for example Oliver Twist, I'm pretty sure I remember reading that he published weekly or monthly editions of his stories in either newspapers or journals so as to keep public interest and changed the plots depending on public demand. Is this right or have I believed a load of waffle for a long time?

Anyway, apparently his stories became addictive in this way, ending on a cliffhanger at each issue...... but without the da da da da da Eastenders theme music of course.

__________________
"Then they pull down their filthy trousers, squat over a massive, subsidised ditch and evacuate their corrupt, socialist bowels all over a photograph of Shakespeare."

Frith

Well, he was foremostly a socially conscious writer and did what he did to highlight the sad state of affairs among the workers in the factory system. So, yes, he put a lot of humour in and a lot of soapy type drama. I got addicted to him in my first year. The scenes from Great Expectations of Wemmick (and his mouth like a postbox slot) and his dad who used to fire a ceremonial gun from his cottage roof or some such thing, were terrific. And the lawyer Jaggers who began everything with "take the case ..." and had a maid who was a murderess client of his and had wrists that could strangle a man (in fact she had strangled a man). It is hyperbole and soap operatic comedy for Victorians. Underneath runs the serious hatred Dickens harboured for snobbery and cash consciousness and the plight of the workers, the debtors prison and those who come unstuck by skulduggery.

There are two endings for Great Expectations.

Dickens did write one serious book (the name escapes me at the moment) which they filmed for TV. About the murky dealings of the dead body transporters on the Thames. That was interesting. Glasses on and no smiling in that one.

Jane Austin's one of my favourites. Shakespeare's wonderful, devious and has escaped without anyone really fathoming him. And Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, although a classic sh*t is still one of our literature's sexiest demon men. His opposite is Mr Knightly from Jane Austin's "Emma". An English gentleman. Yummy. (Please can we have both to tea, Mummy, and they can fight and we can take bets ...)

This is the education thread so it's okay to go ga-ga about our literary heritage, which is so crammed full of fantastic things, characters and situations as well as choc full of social commentary and plain in your face criticism that you can spend your whole life going from book to book and from poet to poet (the poet's are a veritable can of worms) and still not have scratched the surface. And the mastery of metaphor among them is breathtaking. And our women started the genre of the novel.

But that is just for adults, the children's literature is just as wonderful. In fact it's my favourite genre. Wind in the Willows, Alice, Watership Down ... And the superb artwork that accompanies it.

I got lost in the funhouse of English for 22 years. Officially. Privately, I'm still in there and won't be coming out. Instead, I became a writer myself.

Hartlepool

Everyday honesty and openness are things that I admire very much.

However,I think that on such an open forum as this one you could end up being severely challenged on your personal outpourings,by some.

This is a friendly observation based on what you have projected in past posts,nothing more than that.

Frith

Challenged? Me? I am nobody. No one gives a hoot who I am or what I am, so I am dancing on your tables for an instant in time.

My favourite prayer from childhood?

I shall pass this way but once,
Any good thing that I can do, let me do it now,
For I shall not pass this way again.

We had it on the table in one of those stand-up cards with the Praying Hands on it. It's good advice and I took it. I'll take yours as well. Thank you.

Hartlepool

You're very welcome.

david H

Cleo, whoever told you he was a soap script writer is typical modern, taking superficial similarities for the same thing. Dickens used popular techniques but his personal abilities were so great that the comparison is ridiculous. Dickens had genius, soap writers are run of the mill scribblers who need the techniques rather than use them.

Cleopatra

Actually David, it was me that used the comparison. Obviously Dickens was a genius and today's soap writers will never be able to compare but when I read how he issued the stories in parts, finished on a cliffhanger and how people could not wait for the next installment, plus their reaction influenced the next installment I compared that to a soap opera. Considering there was no television at the time then I think it's a pretty good comparison, if there was television at that time then I think it would be highly likely that his work would have been acted out on a screen. For the length of his stories it was the only comparison I could think of. Can you think of another comparison?

__________________
"Then they pull down their filthy trousers, squat over a massive, subsidised ditch and evacuate their corrupt, socialist bowels all over a photograph of Shakespeare."

david H

Why should I?

Cleopatra

?????????

It wasn't an order David. Why so defensive?

__________________
"Then they pull down their filthy trousers, squat over a massive, subsidised ditch and evacuate their corrupt, socialist bowels all over a photograph of Shakespeare."

Frith

It's a gap, Cleo, that exists between people who seriously love certain things, appreciate them seriously and see them as part of a tradition, and the modern tendency to try and find in the traditions something they can relate to and help bring these artists and writers into our world. I like your style as you will need it if you ever teach history.

One of my English tutors once said to me: "I don't know what I should do with these young people. Should I wear jeans and sit on the edge of the table, hanging one leg down. Should I say things like 'cool'?"

I nearly fell off my chair with suppressed amusement, as he was a very serious sort and the idea of him doing this was ... well ...

And he was genuinely exasperated with the new generation who seemed so uncaring and so liberated and so far from his own. He wore a suit and had a large personal library of collected books.

So I said to him: "Please don't do any of that, Professor X, as it really wouldn't suit you. I respect your mind and what you know. You know a great deal and at the moment, as your student, I mostly know nothing -"

He interrupted me with: "I don't know much, I ... what do I know ... I'm not a ... "


But I stopped him and told him that in our eyes, in my eyes, he was a specialist, an expert (he was, in his field, he was also just very unsure of himself) and that what we were waiting for, what I was waiting for, was for him to transfer the spark of what he knew to our little bundle of dry sticks and set us all on fire and make us enthusiastic. In other words, I was fully expecting to be remade and reborn by what he could tell me about my language and literature and about literature in general. As I was willing to consider myself ignorant beforehand and was hoping to be enlightened thereafter. He was, to us, a master (he was, he was a doctorate and a Professor and head of the department ) and that is why we were willing to listen to him and take his word for things while we learned how to do this for ourselves.

I hoped he could just ignore the free love, men in pony tails and earrings and the girls with big sad eye make up and really skinny hips and just see us all as part of the circus of humanity so he could do his job and some of us could be all lit up by the fire of his intellect and be enriched by his gifts.

He looked at me as though I had spoken in Japanese, but did smile. I then informed him I had read both versions of Wordsworth's Prelude and that I was presently comparing the 1805 version with the 1836 version and that I found merit in both, but that the later version held the best literary value although the earlier version (in my view) held the fire of the young poet's soul started up during the exciting times of the French Revolution. Which old Wordsworth participated in and during which he had an illegitimate child with a French girl. (That we could really identify ourselves with! Wordsy was like us!)

My Professor stared at me once more and said disbelievingly: "You've read both Preludes?"

I felt my spirit rising in self defence. Yep. Honest, Prof, both Preludes.

He looked dubious, Nobody wanted to read one of them, let alone some skinny blond reading both of them. But I had read both of them and when exam time came I chose the question on the Prelude so I could put into my answer the comparisons I had found and assess this most important work on the basis of a broad view. As I had been taught by people who knew how to teach. I gained a distinction for that paper and when the skinny blond who had seriously considered becoming a beautician instead got her results she also smiled and thought of her Professor. He wasn't a bad stick. He used to take in homeless cats and dogs from the animal shelter and they used to sit with him in his study and beg for biscuits when he had his tea. Academics are not bad people, especially those who do their job because they love their subject.

I know things have largely gone to hell in this area and socialists and other assorted ideologues have entered the hallowed precincts of academia to sell their wares by means of teaching their subjects and that what is important to many today is this political view instead of real knowledge and individual creative talent in delivering it. But I live in hope that the small fires started from when the good guys still walked the halls will burn again and make students feel wild and impregnated with the electric seeds of their heritage.

That is what is supposed to happen. So if, Cleo, you think of Dickens in a way that is part of your world, then, if Dickens can stand the test of time (and he can) you will be able to see him in his era as you see others in yours and find some connection. You may change your mind and your view with time, or you may keep it and develop it. What matters is the fire. Literature, history, biology, science, whatever is part of human knowledge and is all just a great burning of intellectual and emotional fire.

And it's about connections, to the past, to others and to the work itself. When I was a young poet and fledgling writer, I opened a book and there were these words:

TO A POET A THOUSAND YEARS HENCE

by: James Elroy Flecker

...

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
Student of our sweet English tongue,
Read out my words at night, alone:
I was a poet, I was young.

Since I can never see your face,
And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul through time and space
To greet you. You will understand.

Full job here To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence, by James Elroy Flecker

This is when the world and time shrink to an atom and the past, present and future stand together in one moment before splitting apart again and going their separate ways. If learning doesn't have this spark, this spirit of brotherhood and this connection, it often falls short of its mission to enlighten and develop the mind and educate the imagination. And learning is, and should be, for everyone who searches for its rewards.

Just my opinion, but I'd die before I allow anyone to rip it out of my mouth and replace it with anything else. I think David is just concerned that this whole treasure house of heritage is teetering on the brink of oblivion.

I sincerely hope he isn't wrong and that somehow those people a thousand years hence will still be able to read our work too and smile and say "Hello". Because after we are gone only words remain to tell the story that we were ever here. And that is why I always say that words have wings.