Quoth the Scotsman | Claire North on The Theory of Everything

You'll have heard about Harry August: the title character of a nearly-here novel by someone calling herself Claire North. Furthermore, you may be aware that the first book to feature the fellow documents the highlights of his first fifteen lives—he's an immortal, after all, both blessed and cursed to live his life again and again until who knows when.

What you might not know is whether The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August is truly any good, or just the latest in a long line of debuts perpetually pitched as the next next big thing. Well. Consider this confirmation: The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August is an extraordinary novel, as the publicity has promised. I'll be reviewing it in full at a later date, but for today, a quick quote.

It takes the form of a discussion between our protagonist and his friend and fellow academic, and it touches on two topics I've been dealing with whilst teaching recently: the inadequacy of studying any one subject without others to temper our learning, as well as the question of academic success versus actual education. Here, Harry's helping Vincent figure out his final year thesis:

The turning of the stars in the heavens, the breaking of the atoms of existence, the bending of light in our sky, the rolling of electromagnetic waves through our very bodies...

"Yes yes yes." He flapped his hands. "That's all important! But ten thousand words of thesis is... well, it's nothing. And then there's this assumption that I should focus on one thing along, as if it's possible to comprehend the structure of the sun without truly understanding the nature of atomic behaviour!"

Here it was again, the familiar rant.

"We talk about a theory of everything," he spat, "as if it were a thing which will just be discovered overnight. As if a second Einstein will one day sit up in his bed and exclaim, "Mein Gott! Ich habe es gesehen!" and that's it, the universe comprehended. I find it offensive, genuinely offensive, to think that the solution is going to be found in numbers, or in atoms, or in great galactic forces—as if our petty academia could truly comprehend on a single side of A4 the structure of the universe. X = Y. we seem to say; one day there will be a theory of everything and then we can stop. We'll have won—all things will be known. Codswallop." 

"Codswallop?" 

"Codswallop and barney," he agreed firmly, "to paraphrase Dr Johnson." 

Perhaps, I suggested, the fate of the universe could briefly take second place to the thorny issue of graduating with honours? 

He blew loudly between his lips, a liquid sound of contempt. "That," he exclaimed, "is precisely what's wrong with academics." (p.190)

The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August will be published by Orbit on April 8th, and you really need to read it: it's as good as guaranteed to be of the best books of the year.

But I Digress | Reading Rituals

Well, that's it, isn't it? Summer's over.

And winter, of course, is coming. I've felt the frost already, and if you squint into the slate-grey skies, you can nearly see the snow. Hell, if the supermarkets are to be believed, it's a fine time to start thinking about Christmas.

But let's not get quite so far ahead of ourselves!

Let's lament the end of the summer before we start celebrating the beginning of winter.

'Twas a mean season for me, I suppose. I had hoped to take a few weeks away from work over the holidays, but other factors intruded: a death in the family, changing obligations, sudden monetary troubles and so on. All the while the kiddies kept coming in, so I kept showing up to the education centre I teach English at.

As it stands, the plan is to steal off somewhere warm as soon as humanly possible - more on that as the story develops - but I'm running on empty at the moment. Have been since I got back from America in March: coming back from a life-changing experience only to have life kick in immediately will do that, I know now.

It hasn't, however, been doom and gloom all day and night in my little corner of Scotland. The rare sunny days we've had hereabouts have been a huge highlight, because earlier in 2012, I got myself a hobby: I decided the time had come to turn the rampant wilderness I called my back yard into a proper goddamn garden.

Well, it isn't perfect yet - and I don't imagine I'll be able to do much more with it till next spring - but six months of back-breaking, at times bloody labour later, I've got a lawn, a rock garden, and a pretty paved path between the two. A pretty paved path that proved the perfect place to drop a pair of camping chairs and improvise a table.

I have many happy memories of afternoons in my brand new garden this summer. Yes, the weather could have been better, but often enough there was some sun, and whenever there was, I took out my book, and I read.

And I read and I read and I read!

This became rather a habit. A ritual, if you will — which brings me to my point.

Now that I can't go out there, under pain of mild frostbite or a simple soaking, I've had to say goodbye to the garden for the time being. That I can live with. What I've having more trouble overcoming is the loss of the spot I spoke of, where I spent, shall we say, some serious time reading.

I'm a creature of habit, I confess. Most of what I read, I read in bed, immediately before nodding off. I did this all through the summer, in addition to which I had a couple of hours every couple of days with my book in the back yard. Absent that, it's back to burning the midnight oil until some replacement pattern arises, so my reading, recently, has dropped off dramatically.

How I miss my afternoons in the garden! :(

On the bright side, this got me thinking. Am I just an oddity, or do we all have specific spots where we get the bulk of our bookworming done? Places where we can go, or things that we do, to get away from it all, you know?

With so many other things competing for our attention, reading for a protracted period - for me at least - isn't easy these days. Without my camping chair in the garden, I'm having trouble getting through more than a book a week.

So I want to know: what are your reading rituals?

Inspire me, people, please!

But I Digress | An Education in the Arts

It feels like just yesterday I was starting out at Uni.

It wasn't. It was, oh... ten years ago I guess? Maybe more. Maybe - I'd like to think - a little less. In any case, my four year degree course ended ages ago, so it must have begun even before that.

I studied English and Film & Media.

It was lots of fun. I look back on the experience more positively than I felt about it at the time, in fact. But however much I enjoyed it, or however much I convinced myself I did, the qualification it was all for has been of... shall we say very little use to me in the years since.

Then again, I don't care to pursue employment in a field that stresses educational achievement. Perhaps if I did, it'd be different. I won't know for a fact until I've given up on my dream once and for all, and then, well... it'll hardly matter, will it?

But enough about me. There's a whole new breed of would-be purveyors of art out there, a whole other generation's worth, and the other day, geek-god Neil Gaiman blessed them with his presence.

By now you'll have been tempted by this video somewhere else on the internet, I bet, but it's 20 minutes long, and if you're anything like me you'll have kept it in an open tab until your computer crashed, then promptly forgotten all about it. I'm embedding it here on The Speculative Scotsman precisely because that's what happened to me, until I was rudely reminded of it.

This, then, is your reminder. 

You'll be glad of it too, as I assuredly was. I've had the pleasure of hearing Neil Gaiman talk in person on a couple of occasions - whenever he's come to Scotland, obviously - but his commencement address to the graduating class of Philidelphia's University of the Arts is leagues more inspirational, dare I say uplifting, than any amount of Q&A.

The author has some stellar advice to share, and anecdotes aplenty to illustrate his experiences. I'll admit some of his sayings seem slightly misguided - optimistic to put it politely - but even these are illuminating, because of course you need a little luck as well as a lot of talent to make it in the arts. Or vice versa.

If I had all day, I could go on about the value of an education in the arts for all of it. But I don't! So I'm just going to let you watch this video, wherein Neil Gaiman is funny, smart and self-effacing, as ever:

Mountains, my friends. Mountains.

What's yours? And here: if you're completely honest with yourself, are you getting any closer to it, doing what you do on a day-to-day basis?

I'll show you mine if you show me yours! :)

But I Digress | A Speculative Education

Last week I blogged about how I was going to be spending the next wee while working like the clappers, writing and designing a book of essays about and examples of the usage of various elements of the English language.

Well, ten days of almost total radio silence later: it... is... done!

At least, it's near as damn it done. Or close enough to near as damn it done that I finally feel alright taking a little time out, to talk about how what I've been doing this past week feeds into what I do here (on a daily basis when I'm not otherwise engaged).

But I am so utterly exhausted, I had trouble last night holding a book upright. This would be the first book I've picked up since beginning this thing. Anyway, it's not that this experience has been physically exhausting, per se -- 

(That is short of the commute into the city. I have no end of sympathy for the folks who have to do that every day. More than ever now I count my blessings that I don't.)

-- what's worn me out so has been the exhaustive process of being beyond reproach about certain aspects of a subject I thought I knew inside out. Turns out... I didn't. Or at least, it turns out that what I know, or what I think I know, is not necessarily what teachers believe we should be teaching Standard Grade-level students.

For instance I wrote a couple of thousand words about the use of inverted commas, and felt quite proud, for a few hours, about what I'd accomplished. I even themed it, calling the essay "Alice's Adventures In Inverted Commas," and structuring it around key quotes and exemplars from that Gutenberg text.

Truth be told, I don't really spend a great deal of time thinking about inverted commas these days, but I was chuffed, nonetheless, that I'd been able to make the subject halfway interesting.

That was until the project supervisor reminded me that all the kids need to know about inverted commas was that they're used to denote quotes, titles, and irony. So I heaved a silent sigh, scrapped "Alice's Adventures In Inverted Commas," and wrote something simpler. That's the piece that'll make it into the book.

I think the idea is that, when teaching younger students, we need to be saying a lot with little. What I'm afraid of is that all we're doing is saying a little; saying exactly what we need to say to help the kids pass their exams in a few years. No more and no less.

So that was a bit of a bust.

But the endeavour entire has been as rewarding in some senses as it has been frustrating in others, such as the above. I also worked on a couple of comprehension passages, and several other essays on Elements of English, into which I managed to sneak a fair few references to the speculative fiction which keeps you and I ticking.

Single most amongst my achievements, I think: an entire comprehension passage, complete with 20-odd questions and answers, about Coraline by Neil Gaiman. Which I shouldn't wonder will prove a highlight for the students who study it when it is eventually set in its proper place, alongside passages from Shakespeare and Jane Austen and a bunch of other texts kids today couldn't give a hoot about.

Not only, but also: I managed to squeeze in a couple of references to The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, and some Stephen King for good measure, because try as I might to restrain myself, my mission in life seems to be to spread the good word about speculative fiction.

And that's something to be proud of, isn't it?

I'll never know, of course, but if one day my work turns just a single, solitary student on to genre fiction by way of Neil Gaiman or The Hunger Games, say, I'll be able to look back on this exhausting experience with a measure of pride.

Saying that, I'm in no hurry to do this thing again any time soon. I'm absolutely beat, and miles behind on any number of other commitments. I owe a fair few comments and emails too, so forgive me if you've been waiting. Slow and steady wins the race -- isn't that what they say? :)

Luckily, I've still got a review squirrelled away to share with you all while I tie one last knot in this thing and catch my breath: a review of Fenrir by M. D. Lachlan. And happily, Mark himself has offered to stop by tomorrow afternoon, to guest blog about the fuss from a few weeks ago as to whether - per Steph Swainston's recent comments to The Independent - publishing in this day and age has become a sort of poison. Mark thinks otherwise.

That's tomorrow - it's a great piece, and I can't wait to see what you all think of it - and on Friday, stay tuned for a full review of Fenrir, which follows in the pawprints of its legendary predecessor, Wolfsangel.

The Speculative Scotsman should be full steam ahead again as of Monday, meanwhile, and if the stars align, I'll have a few announcements to make soon, too. I grant you that all's been quiet on the blog front for a bit, but behind the scenes, there have been several exciting developments I can hardly wait to blab about.

Speak soon!

We Interrupt This Broadcast | Out of Office, Educating

Some of you might remember that I started tutoring kids in English earlier this year. Strictly on a part-time basis, you know... a couple of hours here and a couple of hours there, as and when.

Well, it went well.

Much to my surprise, I suppose, it went very well indeed. And it will again, but over the summer - understandably - there aren't enough students to warrant a class, so my sideline in tutoring is on hold till term resumes...

...however. As I understand it, it's come time for the folks in charge of the education centres I've been moonlighting for to update their teaching materials; they're hoping to inject a little more energy, more relevance, more creativity into the curriculum, and for some undefinable reason, they think I might be the man for the job. One of the men, I should say -- one of the people, even.

So, long story short, I've been invited to spend this coming week in the city, helping to conceptualise and thereafter create teaching materials for English students working at the Standard Grade level. This is not normal for me; I'm lucky enough to be able to work from home through most of the year. But this isn't the sort of opportunity you can say no to, however much of a guddle it will in all likelihood be.

Which is to say, things might be a bit quiet on the blog front, this week and the beginning of next. I've been beavering away at a couple of reviews these last few days to tide you all over between now and a week on Wednesday, so there's that, but forgive me if I'm not as quick on the draw as usual in other respects.

Anyway, I should really head off already, so... wish me luck!

And still more important than that, get busy reading while I'm AFK and the weather's still with us. I had just the loveliest afternoon the other day, devouring Raising Stony Mayhall in the sun. Would that I could be out there again now, with another book...

...alas. Education calls. Just remember: it's all in service of the wee Scottish bookworms of tomorrow. I'm only leaving you - and only momentarily at that - for the sake of our children, and our children's children! ;)