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Sunday, 7 December 2014

BBC Forum - Unintended Consequences

Just to let you know the BBC FORUM  programme on Unintended Consequences will be broadcast on BBC World Service from this Saturday 6th December – Tuesday , depending on where in the world you are. Go tohttp://www.bbc.co.uk/worldserviceradio/help/faq for times and how to listen. 

Main UK Radio broadcast on DAB, cable, Freeview etc. is on Tuesday at 09:05am.

In the US Sirius XM satellite radio carries the full BBC WS schedule, 

You can also access the show or point others to it via ITunes.

The website will be active and populated by Saturday 6th Dec 2014, if not before. If the link doesn't work for whatever reason, please just put in Google "The Forum BBC World Service Unintended Consequences" and it will come up.

The programme will also be available online from Tuesday 9th December here:http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p02d5qfp, and will stay permanently on our archive.

Podcast (available for four weeks after the radio broadcast):http://www.bbc.co.uk/podcasts/series/forum or through iTunes.

There is a  community of listeners on our Facebook Page. They love having guests take part. Do become a fan and join in the conversation http://tinyurl.com/ykx3nzw You can follow on twitter @BBCTheForum
twitter-bird-blue-on-white @BBC

Friday, 7 November 2014


Serial is the world's most popular podcast and doesn't need my endorsement, but the hype is worth it - it is The Wire of podcasts - and, now I have heard episode 7, confirms my opinion that if you at all interested in motive and character and narrative then it is essential listening.

Vulture will provide you with five more reasons to listen

Saturday, 1 November 2014

Windows on the World

Orhan Pamuk
Orhan Pamuk, Istanbul, Turkey
Matteo Pericoli’s new book, Windows on the World, features his intricate pen-and-ink illustrations of fifty views from fifty writers’ windows, including those of Orhan Pamuk, John Jeremiah Sullivan, and the late Nadine Gordimer. In short essays alongside the drawings, these authors share what they see from their windows—around the world, from Lagos to Berlin—drawing a new map of our imaginations and dreams.
Now you can have your view illustrated by Pericoli, too.
Starting November 1, submit a photograph of the view through your window—including the window frame—along with three hundred words about what you see, tocontests@theparisreview.org. Submissions will be judged by the editors of The Paris Review and Penguin Press, and by Matteo Pericoli. The winner will receive Pericoli’s original sketch and have his or her essay published on the Paris Review Daily. Five finalists will receive signed copies of Windows on the World. By submitting a contest entry, you acknowledge that you have read and agree to the contest rules below.
Submissions will be accepted from November 1-15, 2014.

Saturday, 22 February 2014

'Football at Slack'


By Ted Hughes

Between plunging valleys, on a bareback of hill
Men in bunting colours
Bounced, and their blown ball bounced.
The blown ball jumped, and the merry - coloured men
Spouted like water to head it.
The ball blew away downward -
The rubbery men bounced after it.
The ball blew jumped up and out and hung on the wind
Over a gulf of treetops.
Then they all shouted together, and the ball blew back.
Winds from fiery holes in heaven
Piled the hills darkening around them
To awe them. The glare light
Mixed its mad oils and threw glooms.
Then the rain lowered a steel press.
Hair plastered, they all just trod water
To puddle glitter. And their shouts bobbed up
Coming fine and thin, washed and happy
While the humped world sank foundering
And the valleys blued unthinkable
Under depth of Atlantic depression -
But the wingers leapt, they bicycled in air
And the goalie flew horizontal
And once again a golden holocaust
Lifted the cloud's edge, to watch them.

From: Collected Poems of Ted Hughes, edited by Paul Keegan. London: Faber

'One Ordinary Evening'

Lying entwined with you
on the long sofa

the hi-fi helping
Isolde to her climax

I was clipping
the coarse hairs

from your ears
and ruby nostrils

when you said, “Music
for cutting nose wires”

and we shook so
the nail scissors nicked

your gentle neck
blood your blood

I cleansed the place
with my tongue

and we clung tight
pelted with Teutonic cries

till the player
lifted its little prick

from the groove
all arias over

leaving us
in post-Wagnerian sadness

later that year
you were dead

by your own hand
blood your blood

I have never understood
I will never understand.

Virginia Hamilton Adair

Monday, 3 December 2012

NewPages Review of 'The Posthumous Affair'

The Posthumous Affair cover 

The Posthumous Affair

Fiction by James Friel

Tupelo Press, May 2012

ISBN-13: 978-1936797011

Paperback: 252pp; $16.95

Review by Olive Mullet 

The “Little Man” and the “Fat Princess,” as children in the spring of 1880, trail a red balloon—a “swollen heart”—across Washington Square. And thus begins James Friel’s The Posthumous Affair, a beautifully written and unique, daring love story. Even the end is a risky stand on the part of the author.

The mother of ten-year-old Daniel takes him to meet Grace Cooper Glass in an elegant house on Washington Square, occupied not only by the large nine-year-old girl but by her three reclusive maiden aunts. The two children couldn’t have been more different, he small for his age and beautifully dressed in “high hat, a topper of soft gray felt . . . his waistcoat the blue of his extraordinary eyes.” And she is “already woman-sized” and encased in a corset, her ginger hair pulled tight against her scalp and her dress an orange gown with many underskirts. According to her aunts, “she was too full bodied. Freakishly huge, she must be trimmed and tamed.” But when Daniel’s balloon enters Grace’s hands, for the first time she feels light, as though floating like the balloon does, right up into the sky.

In spite of their differences, they fit into each other perfectly, he hardly reaching her shoulder. “They will be the most important person in each other’s lives. They will anchor one another . . .” Yet Daniel from the start finds: “She was too heavy. . . . She was too much for him to bear. This might always be just so.”

Rebellion is in Grace’s background in this quirky fairy tale: Grace’s mother married a large red-haired Irishman, Grace’s father, only to starve to death with him in a Utopia that no longer existed. On the day he meets Grace, Daniel loses his mother, strangled by the red scarf Grace’s aunts have given her. In time, Daniel’s formerly brutal father, as Grace’s financial advisor, tells her of her immense wealth. This frees her to do whatever she wants, and so she goes traveling, never to return to America.

The novel traces Daniel’s and Grace’s brief reunions, cut short by Daniel’s admission that he cannot love her. Because of his cruelty, Grace wants “to be mind alone.” Corset-less, “she was a voluptuous ‘O’ . . . a globe again . . . a world, a planet. She was no man’s moon. She was sufficient unto herself. It must always be just so.” She collects people for their varied information, not great people but intellectuals on the fringe, like Johannes Zorn Nils, who introduces her to Adam’s three wives:

She was intent on knowing all Nils had to tell her. If she could have opened his head, she would have drunk his brain like soup and never been quite sated. The image, as it came to her, appalled and excited her. It was the kind of thought Lilith might have had.

Venice, so different from New York, is the most successful of Grace’s and Daniel’s reunions, yet suggestive of their differences:

They had met first as children in a dream-bright New York, a city on the cusp of new maturity, a city intent on straight lines, a rigid geography, mappable, knowable and cognizant of law. Here, they were in another island city, a soft irregular city, dismissive of straight lines and certain ways, dizzyingly circular. Here space was trimmed but went untamed. It was jumbled and crosshatched. Here all was languorously mortal, in love with its own dying.

Grace moves from reading to writing novels—successfully. With Daniel also writing novels, eventually revelations about each other’s work show the borrowing from life and insights about writing itself:

This, for each of them, is how they make use of life. They unpick and rearrange it. From its jumble, its dense cross-hatchings, they might take one line, and follow that. They will pretend not to know where the line is leading, but the writer always knows. It leads to the reader. The line must loop about the reader, and the reader who accepts the bond becomes a happy prisoner.

The novel’s controlled structure is evident, with the above foreshadowing the end’s risky appeal. And of the would-be lovers: “They must part. Otherwise, there will be no more story. An acceptance now would end the tale. A refusal continues it. This is the account, after all, of a posthumous affair.”

The characters appear real. Yet the book approaches the allegorical, the physical paralleling, the mental in writing, and their approaches to love. There is a surprise at the end—the gothic dark end, in the House of Death, which Daniel must web his way through to find out the truth about Grace Cooper Glass.

This book, a perfect gem where everything fits, is enthralling, poignant, and brimming with meaning.