K.V. Johansen's Blog, page 10

Canon(fodder) Mark Two

So, I’m on a course. Does this make me Canlit? The course is “Postcolonial Literature in English” at the University of Tokyo. The theme for the course this winter is “displacement, exile and migration”, focusing on “alienation and affiliation; models of community and belonging; and the emergence of utopian aspirations to lyrical redemption” (I like the phrase lyrical redemption) and “ambiguity of racial categorisation in the formulation of a distinctive post-colonial sense of national identity”. This is, I have to say, extremely cool. The Wide Sargasso Sea, Out of Africa, Chinua Achebe’s African Trilogy, works by Doris Lessing, Michael Ondaatje, Rohinton Mistry, Daniel Defoe . . . and there’s Blackdog on the list. Look out, Anne of Green Gables! Canlit’s grown some teeth! (Y’know, Blackdog would make great anime …)

Dispatch from the Desk: the Home Stretch

Suddenly, the end is in sight. A few days’ work, if only life didn’t present all these other demands to get in the way. In the periods when the mind gives out in exhaustion I’ve been browsing in old favourite mysteries and reading wistfully of the days when authors, on the strength of a hundred pounds advance, got married to a fellow-novelist, took a house, and had “a girl” to do the cooking and cleaning. I so, so want a girl to do the cooking and cleaning. Or a boy. I’m not fussy. Equal opportunity in the servant’s hall, that’s what I say.

Dispatch from the Desk: What do you mean, you want a speaking part?

Not only do these last few chapters feel like trying to run up an icy hill, the darn hill keeps getting higher. I’d cut out several secondary characters as more than minor names, in an effort to shorten it all, but they’d had whole chapters (in a couple of the different plot-variants, not the one that ultimately took form) and remained in my head. Now, as things wrap up in the city plot, they come onto the stage again, as supporting cast for the lead actors in this strand. They do need supporting cast. You can’t have a rebellion all on your own. (Remind me to stick to lone heroes and dictatorial warlords and so forth in future, people who can realistically function without a whole mess of ragtag and bobtail trailing after them to fetch and carry and keep an eye on point b. while a. is going up in flames because the heroes would be really stupid if they didn’t have someone to do that, and I object to stupid heroes. Never, never, never again have the heroic leadership of half the action assumed by a committee. No matter how more probable that is. So there.).

Anyhow, two of these scrapped-except-for-walking-silently-across-the-scene-in-the-background types, let us call them Ju. and T., have always been referred to as playing a leading role, offstage, in some of the things going on. Suddenly in the last few chapters it becomes clear that they do have to emerge from the chorus and act. And to do that only in the last few chapters feels a bit contrived. If they’re going to leap onstage and say “Tennis, anyone?” in the final few minutes of the last act (sorry, reading Wodehouse), they need to do more than stand in the wings clutching their rackets beforehand.

So . . . backtracking. I’m going to be sticking them back in, not in the chapters in which they originally starred, as that reality focussed on the original hero, the one I cut ruthlessly from the plot altogether long, long ago. But they do need to be there in small, interwoven scenes, a few paragraphs here, a few there, maybe twice, maybe three times, providing more than chorus commentary. I can see how they can add some illustration of the rising tension in the city.

The Spouse says the writing of the ending of this book is following an asymptotic curve. I’m nearly there. Almost, very, nearly there. About twelve hours of plot left. Half a night and a morning. It’ll all be over by noon. Unfortunately, that’s the city’s noon, not mine. Another week? I now have a history of being overly optimistic with this one.

Canon(fodder)

I was quite excited when an Italian scholar of Germanic philology, Verio Santoro, wrote to me saying he’d like to send me a copy of his book La Ricezione Moderna della Battaglia di Maldon: Tolkien, Borges e gli altri; “The Battle of Maldon” is a work I’ve always been very interested in, since long before my undergraduate attempt to write a translation of it; my first introduction to it was Tolkien’s play “The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth Beorhthelm’s Son”, which I read as a child. I didn’t at first realize that Dr. Santoro was sending it to me because there’s half a chapter in it about my prose-poem “Anno Domini Nine-Hundred and Ninety One: Two Voices”, which is included in The Storyteller.



It’s a book I’m quite eager to read, and not just for the discussion of my reinterpretation of “Maldon”; the whole subject is something I’m interested in. As I don’t read Italian, though, my progress is slow, using Latin and a huge Cambridge Italian dictionary (which for some reason is the second-largest dictionary in this dictionary-filled household, outweighed only by the Oxford Universal).

Dispatches from the Desk: Adding a New Character at the End

I’m going to stop numbering these dispatches; I can’t keep track. But here I am in the home stretch of the book, galloping (well, in fits and starts; there’s also a lot of standing about looking at the roadside ditches, contemplating the sky, lying down for a nap and so forth) towards the conclusion of the second plot strand (the book has two parallel plots and one is done), and I suddenly realize, there’s a great gaping crack where a character should be.

I did, in one of the many scrapped chunks, have a character of this type introduced. But that all came out as I refined and streamlined, aiming for efficient elegance in a story that is awfully complicated and convoluted, what with the two plots and characters whose actions in one affect the other without them ever actually meeting people from the other stand in person. (I didn’t intend for this to happen; it just did, so soon as A. and G. wandered in and decided they like the look of this book, they were taking over now, thank you. KV saying, “But … but … you’re supposed to be minor, you’re a catalyst, that’s all.” To which A. responds, “Shows what you know, doesn’t it?”) But now, at the very end, I see that although the new guy/old scrapped guy shouldn’t have been in that place with those particular characters, a person of his type is necessary. He is the final dash of something or other out of the spice cupboard that brings other vital ingredients to the fore. There’s a place for him, and right now it’s empty. He needs to be there, so, in he goes. Again. With a new name, as I can’t remember what his old name was and can’t be bothered hunting through all the scrapped drafts for it. It was probably an alias, anyway.

I think I’ll put him in now at the end, and go back after and weave him into an earlier existence. He only needs one or two appearances on stage, to establish his presence.

Mind you, the wisdom of six in the morning, like the last-minute-before-bed scrawl in the notebook once the computer is shut down, is sometimes revealed as folly after tea and contemplation. But not, I think, in this case.

We shall see.

Dispatches from the desk # 17: Progress Report

I was having a bit of trouble finding my way around my file now that I’m down to the last few chapters, which aren’t all conveniently located at the end (I write all in one file), so I made a navigation file which has “Chapter” plus the number if it has one, followed by the first sentence or two of each chapter. Works better than the number, because those keep changing; these last few chapters keep undergoing mitosis. (Which is why it’s taking me so darned long to finish, sorry guys.) It means I can now easily find where I need to be when weaving things in, and it gives a really interesting and impressionistic scan over the book. I was surprised to find that one sentence, two at most, is enough to tell whose chapter it is and where they are, but that’s probably a good thing, with a double plot spread over hundreds of miles.

The Adventures of Mr Wicked: Rocket Dog and Fox

See the happy Wicked Dog, sleeping nicely in the tent.

See the happy writer, whose sleep-deprived mind has kicked into high gear at last after a mostly-wasted day, sitting in the tent, writing, writing, writing.

See the happy fox, trotting along the edge of the field, thinking about all the adolescent mice the kindly humans have been catching in slippers and vases and Kongs, and taking out to have a happy afternoon eating seeds on the sunny stone steps of the barn, before nature takes its brutal course.

See the Wicked Rocket Dog go from zero to sixty in the quiver of a nostril, without, so far as any evidence can attest, bothering to wake up. Straight through the side of the unhappy writer’s hard-earned screen tent.

See the fox, slightly taken aback at this rude interruption to its reveries, vanish.

See the Wicked Rocket Dog emerge from the woods blinking and confused and smelling somewhat skunky, as foxes do. Wait! What happened? Wasn’t I in the tent just now?

See the very, very unhappy writer, words all scattered and gone and only to be laboriously and ploddingly groped for and regathered later, sewing up the huge rip in the side of the tent. And sewing and sewing, and sewing.

See the happy Wicked Dog, sleeping in the sun, dreaming of rocket-powered fox pursuits. His paws twitch. His nostrils quiver. This time, he is tied up.* Take that, Wicked Rocket Dog!

*With his nice safe shoulder harness, to an anchor he can in fact drag a fair distance when he really feels inspired.

The Adventures of Mr Wicked: Mr Wicked and the Groundhog

“There is a groundhog in the car,” said Mr Wicked. [With apologies to Mo Willems, whom Number Two Nephew loves because he can read Elephant and Piggie all by himself.]

“What?” said the humans. They looked at the car. “What are you barking at? Bad dog. Do not scratch the car. Do not jump up and down on the hood.”

“But there is a groundhog in the car,” said Mr Wicked.

The humans looked under the car. They opened the hood and looked into the car. “There is nothing in the car,” they said. “It was just a squirrel. It ran under the car and out the other side. Silly dog.”

“But there is a groundhog in the car!” said Mr Wicked.

The humans went back into the house.

Mr Wicked sat down to watch the car. Mr Wicked had a special bark he used to ask for things. It was, “Woof!”

“Woof!” he said, and he waggled just the base of his tail, which was also a good way to ask for things. “Woof!” He waggled just the base of his tail again. Usually his humans, who were clever humans, knew that that meant he wanted something he could not reach. This was how he asked for his ball, when it had rolled far away under the couch. This was how he asked for his supper, when the humans put it on the washing machine to cool and forgot it was there. This was how he said, “You have thumbs. I don’t. Please use your cunning primate hands and get me that thing!”

Now he said, “There is a groundhog in the car. Please make it come out.” Woof! Waggle.

A human came outside again. “I am trying to write,” she said. “Do not bark outside my window.”

“Woof!”

“Mr Wicked, there is nothing in the car. Look, I will show you.” The human looked under the car. She opened the hood again.

CHEEP!

The human jumped back.

“Good dog!” she said. “There is something in the car!”

“Woof!” said Mr Wicked. Silly humans!

The human peered into the car. Was it a bird that had flown up into the engine? Was it a squirrel? It sounded much too loud for a squirrel. She looked here. She looked there. She got her hair full of black gungy rustproofing stuff. Mr Wicked stood up to look too.

“Do not stick your head under the hood,” said the human, who was sticking her head under the hood, and she put Mr Wicked on his leash. “Where is the thing?” she said.

Mr Wicked used his super nose. He ran around and around the car. He tried to crawl under it, but he was too big.

CHEEP!

He tried to dig. If he dug a hole, perhaps he could fit under it then. Dig, dig, dig!

“This is supposed to be a paved driveway,” said the human. “Even though it’s very crumbly, I don’t think that will work. And now you are all covered in black gunk.”

She put Mr Wicked in the car, where things could not fall on him or bite him. That was silly. The groundhog was not inside on the seats! How could he help if he was inside the car?

The human stuck her head into the engine again.

SSSSSSSssss.

The human looked up.

“There is a groundhog in my car!” she said.

Mr Wicked waggled his tail. “That is what I said. There is a groundhog in your car.”

The human squirted the groundhog with the plant mister. The groundhog glowered at the human with its beady rodent eyes. It shuffled back and forth on the axle. The human hooted the horn. The groundhog squinched its ears. The human poked the groundhog with a bamboo garden stake. The groundhog chattered its teeth and squirmed into its cozy place under the cylinders.

Mr Wicked could see it was going to be a long morning.

The human got a hairdryer and a long cardboard tube out of the wrapping paper. Perhaps Mr Wicked would get to chew on the tube! He hadn’t done that since Christmas. No, the human used the tube to blow hot air at the groundhog.

Aha! First she had washed the groundhog. Now she was drying the groundhog. That was better than washing Mr Wicked, but it was not getting the groundhog out of the car.

The groundhog chattered its teeth some more.

The human bounced the car up and down. Mr Wicked hoped he did not get carsick. She prodded the groundhog with the bamboo garden stake some more.

Mr Wicked sighed. This, he felt, was what an educated dog such as himself would refer to as an impasse, should anyone ask his opinion.

Nobody did.

The human got some small sticks from Mr Wicked’s stick collection and used them like chopsticks to remove rather a lot of chaff and fluff that was nestled into some bits of her engine to make a cozy groundhog pillow. The groundhog grumbled and chattered its teeth.

The other human came out and made hooting noises through the tube at the groundhog. He stood on the bumper and bounced the car up and down some more. Mr Wicked thought this was amusing, but the groundhog was not impressed.

They poked the groundhog again, but both they and the groundhog were getting bored of this. When they let Mr Wicked out of the car, he stuck his head into the wheel-well, because the groundhog was looking out through a hole there.

The groundhog hissed. Mr Wicked jumped backwards ten feet. This was not a friendly groundhog!

Finally the humans phoned their friends.

“Help, help, help!” they said. “There is a groundhog in our car.”

“What?” said their friends. “We cannot hear you. We are in PEI!”

“There is a groundhog in our car!”

“There is a groundhog in your car?”

“There is a groundhog in our car! May we borrow your machine that sounds like unhappy rats?”

Then the humans went away to someone else’s house and ate ice-cream, to console themselves. Mr Wicked did not get any ice-cream, because it had chocolate in it and was Bad For Dogs. He did not think that was fair.

While they were away, the groundhog got out of the car.

When their friends came back from PEI, they brought over the machine that sounds like unhappy rats. They also brought their small boy, who was a great friend of Mr Wicked’s. This cheered up Mr Wicked, who had had to have his head washed with bath oil to get the oil off his face, which had made him feel Gloomy, and also smelly. The small boy tried to feed him rose petals.

They plugged in the machine that sounds like unhappy rats and left it squealing at the car, to make sure the groundhog did not come back.

The groundhog decided to go and live under the shed. At least until the next time it rained. He could always move back into the car when his hole flooded again.

Arts East Interview

After the 2012 Sunburst Awards shortlist was announced, Arts East did an interview with me, about Blackdog and my writing in general. You can find it here.

Blackdog. The great cover’s by Raymond Swanland.

Chocolate Tofu Mousse

Since a few people have asked for this, here is a recipe I made up recently. For various reasons, I was trying to make an ersatz mousse that wouldn’t involve cream or eggs. This turned out edible and tasty!

Break up a package of medium-firm or firm tofu (a pound / 454 g.) and put it in the blender along with four tablespoons of sugar (or more to taste) and some vanilla. I had also added lemon juice, based on a recipe for a tofu ersatz whipped cream, but I think for chocolate this should be left out. (However, if making a fruit mousse, do put it in.) Add a pinch of salt. Blend. You’ll probably have to stop frequently and poke the chunks down to the blades, if your blender is like mine. Blend it until it’s an even consistency. I used medium-firm; next time I’ll try firm, I think.

In a saucepan over a copper heat diffuser, or in a double boiler, heat one cup of skim milk with four ounces of semi-sweet baking chocolate in it, and a generous dash of whatever spice you like with chocolate, such as cinnamon, nutmeg, or cardamon, stirring frequently, until the chocolate is melted and blended into the milk and the milk is steaming.

As the milk gets close to being done, sprinkle two packages of gelatine over a third of a cup of cold water and stir. Once that’s dissolved and the milk is heated, pour it over the milk, stir in, and add that to the tofu in the blender. Blend some more, then pour into a nice serving dish and chill until set.

I want to try a fruit one, too. For that, I would use the blender to blend up mangoes, peaches, strawberries or whatever with the tofu, until smooth, then put two or three packages of gelatine in the cold water (probably three, since the fruit would add more volume to the dish that would have to be set), add to maybe half a cup of hot orange juice to dissolve, then add fruit and gelatine/juice to the blender-slurry.

It’s tasty, it’s nearly cholesterol-free, and it’s not entirely unlike something involving lots of whipped cream.