Gillian Polack's Blog, page 150
September 22, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-09-23T15:34:00
I'm making pottage. I do this by putting all sorts of things (stock, all the vegies that need finishing, 2 bunches of parsley, lots of herbs and spices, piles and piles of lentils) in a pot and ageing them. It's a bit salty (for it was commercial stock just this once - I had it for emergencies and decided I don't want it for anything and so it needs using) but otherwise terribly delectable. It needs to be, for once I make pottage I eat it until it's gone. I make it in large pots.
This one has purple and orange as well as green speckles, so it's a bit exotic. The background lentilish base has a nice rich tone, for the purple carrots and the pepperberries have turned it so.
I have two articles and half a story and two bibliographies still to accomplish today. One article is completely done, but I keep getting sidetracked by reading for another. I'm very lucky in my current books.
Anyhow, it's all happening...bit by bit. This is one of those days when it feels as if nothing's happening but I plug away at things and then, suddenly, it's all done. Possibly at two in the morning, but all done.
This one has purple and orange as well as green speckles, so it's a bit exotic. The background lentilish base has a nice rich tone, for the purple carrots and the pepperberries have turned it so.
I have two articles and half a story and two bibliographies still to accomplish today. One article is completely done, but I keep getting sidetracked by reading for another. I'm very lucky in my current books.
Anyhow, it's all happening...bit by bit. This is one of those days when it feels as if nothing's happening but I plug away at things and then, suddenly, it's all done. Possibly at two in the morning, but all done.
gillpolack @ 2012-09-22T22:44:00
I was going to write a deeply troubled entry about a book I'm reading, but it transmuted into half of a review. I don't know how it happened, but it's a happy astonishment. Please, folks, write more books that I have unexpected and strong reactions to, that leave me upset and thinking and wanting to explain all at once. I need more books like this in my life.
How to Avoid Gillian at Conflux
This is my annual guide on the avoidance of Gillian at Conflux.
The usual rules apply: if you want chocolate you absolutely don't want to avoid her; if you want to know where to buy specialist foodstuffs, you want to actively seek her out; if you want truly bad jokes, you shouldn't avoid her. If you need coffee late at night, she can be persuaded into making it (and maybe serving home made liqueur alongside) in return for a simple lift home. For all other forms of avoidance and non-avoidance, here is a simple guide* gently expressed in the first person, to make it seem as if Gillian is real and not a figment of chocolate overload:
Friday 28 September 2-4 pm
A two hour workshop on History in your Fiction. There are still places available. I don't know why there are still places available, for this is the stuff I've been researching for the last whatever and I have worked out some amazing shortcuts and easy ways for writers to understand what they're doing. Also, I don't know when I'll be teaching this subject in Canberra again. (I shall be spending summer finally doing solid work on the book on the subject, I suspect, but that is not at all relevant to Conflux). Also, people who go to this workshop get the best chocolate, for I got some specially to celebrate that all my ideas came together so very neatly. (In other words, cutting edge research! With chocolate!)
Saturday 29 September
1-2 pm How to write prophecies. I'm chairing this and plan to do evil things to my poor, innocent panellists.
2-3 pm panel on apocalypses, chaired by Cat Sparks. I want to talk about roosters, I suspect.
4-5 pm Kaffeeklatsche - again with Cat Sparks. Poor Cat - she has to endure me!
7 pm Smiths bookshop - Ms Cellophane relaunched, along with four much better books being launched for the first time.
Sunday 30 September
10 am possibility of readings. CSFG readings will happen, whether they include me or not is still to be decided.
3.15-4.15 Time travel panel!
And I can't remember if I'm in the great debate or not, so avoid it to be safe. Or don't avoid it and just avoid eye contact. Or be brazen about the whole thing and ask me for chocolate, whether I'm in the audience or elsewhere.
*By 'simple' I ought to explain that today is a day for wittering and so this guide is infected with witter and not as pithy as usual.
The usual rules apply: if you want chocolate you absolutely don't want to avoid her; if you want to know where to buy specialist foodstuffs, you want to actively seek her out; if you want truly bad jokes, you shouldn't avoid her. If you need coffee late at night, she can be persuaded into making it (and maybe serving home made liqueur alongside) in return for a simple lift home. For all other forms of avoidance and non-avoidance, here is a simple guide* gently expressed in the first person, to make it seem as if Gillian is real and not a figment of chocolate overload:
Friday 28 September 2-4 pm
A two hour workshop on History in your Fiction. There are still places available. I don't know why there are still places available, for this is the stuff I've been researching for the last whatever and I have worked out some amazing shortcuts and easy ways for writers to understand what they're doing. Also, I don't know when I'll be teaching this subject in Canberra again. (I shall be spending summer finally doing solid work on the book on the subject, I suspect, but that is not at all relevant to Conflux). Also, people who go to this workshop get the best chocolate, for I got some specially to celebrate that all my ideas came together so very neatly. (In other words, cutting edge research! With chocolate!)
Saturday 29 September
1-2 pm How to write prophecies. I'm chairing this and plan to do evil things to my poor, innocent panellists.
2-3 pm panel on apocalypses, chaired by Cat Sparks. I want to talk about roosters, I suspect.
4-5 pm Kaffeeklatsche - again with Cat Sparks. Poor Cat - she has to endure me!
7 pm Smiths bookshop - Ms Cellophane relaunched, along with four much better books being launched for the first time.
Sunday 30 September
10 am possibility of readings. CSFG readings will happen, whether they include me or not is still to be decided.
3.15-4.15 Time travel panel!
And I can't remember if I'm in the great debate or not, so avoid it to be safe. Or don't avoid it and just avoid eye contact. Or be brazen about the whole thing and ask me for chocolate, whether I'm in the audience or elsewhere.
*By 'simple' I ought to explain that today is a day for wittering and so this guide is infected with witter and not as pithy as usual.
September 21, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-09-22T08:30:00
When I was a child, I was the one the class prodded to ask the blunt question that needed asking. "Not tactful," my family explained it, "but in a nice way." Apparently it hurts people less when one is charmingly direct than if one hits someone over the head with a sledgehammer. This is all very well when one is eleven.
When I was in my mid-twenties, I worked on matters diplomatic for a full three months*. I learned that the charm helped a great deal and, that to turn bluntness into tact was often a matter of simply formulating a question or thought just slightly differently. That was three months very well spent. I learned how to turn gentleness into prose, to allow for privilege and to write a decent letter.
I was from the wrong background to become a diplomat, it appeared, and I did a bunch of other things with my public service career. But I can write letters. And, most importantly, I can tell the writers of queries precisely why their innocent inquiry will look like a case of cultural imperialism. This happened in an email exchange recently.
There is a way one asks questions in some English-speaking countries and a way one doesn't. The way one doesn't, is to ask about a usage or practice in countries other than one's own while assuming that the usage one knows is the standard. For instance "Does anyone actually drive on the X-side of the road any more?" When everyone says "Actually, that's the standard in your country only, the rest of us do such and such, and, as a matter of fact, we always have" the questioner says "Aha, I thought as much and look, I have more evidence from this person you don't know over the other side of the world to prove it."
What I was taught (and which I bet I get wrong far too often) is that if your conversation even so much as terribly, terribly mildly implies that someone's else's culture is worth less than your own (in this case, by assuming a norm verbally, even when the reality was that the person in question was asking to confirm that the norm was something else entirely) and that what the respondent is telling you is not actually worth that much as evidence, the whole sequence comes across as imperialist/privileged/annoying.
Australia has a problem with imperialism and privilege. We know it. The staff in Foreign Affairs and Trade spend ages teaching graduates to nuance letters so that our we-don't-run-other-countries-really powers don't offend our neighbours on a regular basis. What fascinates me is that the skills are very similar to those one learns as a critic and as a scholar. They are, in fact, precisely the same skill we use with we analyse a novel or discuss politics: it's just framed in terms of "What will this set of words do to the reader's sense of self-worth?" And the assumption is that words communicate privilege and can, with entirely the best intentions, demean the other participants in a conversation.
My thought-for-the day is that this is very easy to say. It was easy for me to spot the problem in a letter exchange between people of entirely different cultures to myself. The mote in one's own eye is more difficult to spot. still, I'm going to remember what I learned half a lifetime ago, that if I take a little longer and place my instinctive formulation of a question or statement with something a bit gentler and a bit more inclusive, it will reduce the amount of hurt I leave in my wake. Good intentions are seldom enough and the only person who can call this particular kind of privilege consistently is oneself.
What I learned in those three months was a greater gentleness of speech and, most importantly, that the way I spoke as a child is not appropriate to many adult situations.
*Actually, it was longer, but I was only in the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade for a 3 month placement.
When I was in my mid-twenties, I worked on matters diplomatic for a full three months*. I learned that the charm helped a great deal and, that to turn bluntness into tact was often a matter of simply formulating a question or thought just slightly differently. That was three months very well spent. I learned how to turn gentleness into prose, to allow for privilege and to write a decent letter.
I was from the wrong background to become a diplomat, it appeared, and I did a bunch of other things with my public service career. But I can write letters. And, most importantly, I can tell the writers of queries precisely why their innocent inquiry will look like a case of cultural imperialism. This happened in an email exchange recently.
There is a way one asks questions in some English-speaking countries and a way one doesn't. The way one doesn't, is to ask about a usage or practice in countries other than one's own while assuming that the usage one knows is the standard. For instance "Does anyone actually drive on the X-side of the road any more?" When everyone says "Actually, that's the standard in your country only, the rest of us do such and such, and, as a matter of fact, we always have" the questioner says "Aha, I thought as much and look, I have more evidence from this person you don't know over the other side of the world to prove it."
What I was taught (and which I bet I get wrong far too often) is that if your conversation even so much as terribly, terribly mildly implies that someone's else's culture is worth less than your own (in this case, by assuming a norm verbally, even when the reality was that the person in question was asking to confirm that the norm was something else entirely) and that what the respondent is telling you is not actually worth that much as evidence, the whole sequence comes across as imperialist/privileged/annoying.
Australia has a problem with imperialism and privilege. We know it. The staff in Foreign Affairs and Trade spend ages teaching graduates to nuance letters so that our we-don't-run-other-countries-really powers don't offend our neighbours on a regular basis. What fascinates me is that the skills are very similar to those one learns as a critic and as a scholar. They are, in fact, precisely the same skill we use with we analyse a novel or discuss politics: it's just framed in terms of "What will this set of words do to the reader's sense of self-worth?" And the assumption is that words communicate privilege and can, with entirely the best intentions, demean the other participants in a conversation.
My thought-for-the day is that this is very easy to say. It was easy for me to spot the problem in a letter exchange between people of entirely different cultures to myself. The mote in one's own eye is more difficult to spot. still, I'm going to remember what I learned half a lifetime ago, that if I take a little longer and place my instinctive formulation of a question or statement with something a bit gentler and a bit more inclusive, it will reduce the amount of hurt I leave in my wake. Good intentions are seldom enough and the only person who can call this particular kind of privilege consistently is oneself.
What I learned in those three months was a greater gentleness of speech and, most importantly, that the way I spoke as a child is not appropriate to many adult situations.
*Actually, it was longer, but I was only in the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade for a 3 month placement.
gillpolack @ 2012-09-21T23:57:00
I did the sensible thing tonight. I do so hate being sensible.
Elizabeth drove me home from the funeral and I fed her tea and cake. Then I made myself dinner in between phonecalls. It was a drawn-out dinner, but worth it - those phone calls were excellent and cheering. While cooking, I sorted out what to do with recipes that call for bacon or pancetta. I have no idea if my substitute tastes anything the same as bacon or pancetta but it totally made this one recipe rock, and so it does the job. For my next trick, I shall work out a substitute for chicken in this one dish, for that would give me yet another vegetarian dairy-free gluten-free meal I can serve discerning friends. I might have to wait until after Conflux for this next experiment, though. All this got me past the absolute fatigue.
So I thought, "I should work."
Then I thought, "I am an idiot."
I played computer games for a bit and after that I finished "I Shall Wear Midnight."
I'm taking tomorrow morning off, and spending it with Rachel and Mia and friends.
Then it's back to normal until Kol Nidre. I feel much more pragmatic about 'normal' than I did nine hours ago. I may have to get mountains of work done by Kol Nidre, but it all looks within the realms of possibility at this moment. (Although in a very Gillianish way, I will do a half hour now, because I forgot to take my medicine earlier and it's better not just before bed. And I want to do some work now - it's a happiness thing, like finding substitutes for forbidden ingredients.)
Elizabeth drove me home from the funeral and I fed her tea and cake. Then I made myself dinner in between phonecalls. It was a drawn-out dinner, but worth it - those phone calls were excellent and cheering. While cooking, I sorted out what to do with recipes that call for bacon or pancetta. I have no idea if my substitute tastes anything the same as bacon or pancetta but it totally made this one recipe rock, and so it does the job. For my next trick, I shall work out a substitute for chicken in this one dish, for that would give me yet another vegetarian dairy-free gluten-free meal I can serve discerning friends. I might have to wait until after Conflux for this next experiment, though. All this got me past the absolute fatigue.
So I thought, "I should work."
Then I thought, "I am an idiot."
I played computer games for a bit and after that I finished "I Shall Wear Midnight."
I'm taking tomorrow morning off, and spending it with Rachel and Mia and friends.
Then it's back to normal until Kol Nidre. I feel much more pragmatic about 'normal' than I did nine hours ago. I may have to get mountains of work done by Kol Nidre, but it all looks within the realms of possibility at this moment. (Although in a very Gillianish way, I will do a half hour now, because I forgot to take my medicine earlier and it's better not just before bed. And I want to do some work now - it's a happiness thing, like finding substitutes for forbidden ingredients.)
September 20, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-09-21T10:38:00
Unsurprisingly, I'm having a bit of trouble focussing this morning. Funerals are seldom happy.* Andrea did her best to make sure that her funeral won't be too hard, but it still is. It still will be. Even for me, who was a friend but not an intimate friend.
Suicide reminds us that we're different, I think, that some people make choices other people can't ever understand. When a friend commits suicide, I am reminded of this and that one of the things that makes life tolerable for most of us is finding similarities. Our acculturation and aptitude pushes us towards people like us. We're not trained to be good at celebrating difference - in fact, a lot of the time we're trained to distrust difference and to hate people who are not like us. A choice like this says outright "I am different." in a way that's impossible to argue.
This is what makes today so tough. This and several unfinished conversations and her recipe for beans and the tour of Jimmy's books she was going to give. I didn't follow up quickly on these things because this year has been a bit challenging. Now I never can.
That's the third problem with today. Unfinished business that cannot ever be done. This is not a novel. For some things, there is no completion. There is only farewell.
* I won't say 'never' because I've been to one that was joyous, because the person who died made it so and we were all trying very hard - I would like mine to be celebrational, please, and maybe a little funny. I want stories and I want my friends to make friends with each other and go out for drinks together afterwards.
Suicide reminds us that we're different, I think, that some people make choices other people can't ever understand. When a friend commits suicide, I am reminded of this and that one of the things that makes life tolerable for most of us is finding similarities. Our acculturation and aptitude pushes us towards people like us. We're not trained to be good at celebrating difference - in fact, a lot of the time we're trained to distrust difference and to hate people who are not like us. A choice like this says outright "I am different." in a way that's impossible to argue.
This is what makes today so tough. This and several unfinished conversations and her recipe for beans and the tour of Jimmy's books she was going to give. I didn't follow up quickly on these things because this year has been a bit challenging. Now I never can.
That's the third problem with today. Unfinished business that cannot ever be done. This is not a novel. For some things, there is no completion. There is only farewell.
* I won't say 'never' because I've been to one that was joyous, because the person who died made it so and we were all trying very hard - I would like mine to be celebrational, please, and maybe a little funny. I want stories and I want my friends to make friends with each other and go out for drinks together afterwards.
September 19, 2012
gillpolack @ 2012-09-20T15:23:00
I'm frustrated in my bibliographical endeavours. This is because I have a lot of works in French and I have to capitalise them according to English-language requirements (in this case, that all key words in a title have initial capitals - this is the rule and I cannot dispute it). This is a problem because the rules I was taught about which accents need to be maintained in capitalisation and which need to be dropped appear to have changed. The sources I've seen argue that all accents should be dropped (apparently happening in many places) or that none of them should be dropped (from the French Academy).
I don't know which extreme to choose. I know which is easier and I know which has the French Academy imprimatur and they're not the same. What I don't know is the scholarly standard, for all the citations I had carefully avoided accented capitals wherever they could - this option isn't open to me. I wish it were!
PS This is the rule I learned, that apparently is no longer applicable: "Les « A, I, O, U » furent rarement accentués par les graveurs de caractères — ces « accents » n’existaient pas dans les fontes de labeur —, mais les « É, È, Ê » furent toujours respectés" http://www.orthotypographie.fr/volume-I/academie-accentuation.html By 'rarement' I was taught to add the accent when there was a possibility of confusing the meaning, which applied especially to A.
PPS I might just accent everything and be done. I don't really like accents on capitals, though: they're ugly.
I don't know which extreme to choose. I know which is easier and I know which has the French Academy imprimatur and they're not the same. What I don't know is the scholarly standard, for all the citations I had carefully avoided accented capitals wherever they could - this option isn't open to me. I wish it were!
PS This is the rule I learned, that apparently is no longer applicable: "Les « A, I, O, U » furent rarement accentués par les graveurs de caractères — ces « accents » n’existaient pas dans les fontes de labeur —, mais les « É, È, Ê » furent toujours respectés" http://www.orthotypographie.fr/volume-I/academie-accentuation.html By 'rarement' I was taught to add the accent when there was a possibility of confusing the meaning, which applied especially to A.
PPS I might just accent everything and be done. I don't really like accents on capitals, though: they're ugly.
gillpolack @ 2012-09-20T13:49:00
We're very much into Spring weather. Canberra is also worried about the bushfire season and so is burning off bush all over the place. I understand the worry, since I have friends who lost everything when the big fires raced through. I wish there was a non-burning method of reducing fire risk, however. Between pollens and smoke, every single asthmatic I know is in a bad way. I was one of the luckier ones last night, for I got a full eight hours sleep: I just slept in 3 hours bursts, each burst punctuated by asthma medication. This is why I was online at unholy hours - I couldn't lie down until I could breathe again. It's much harder for friends who have early starts for work. This was me yesterday and meant I got significantly less than eight hours sleep then. Someone told me "the trick to sleeping at night is not to nap during the day" but I'm afraid I ignored this and had a nap yesterday afternoon. This got me through work and meeting and meant that today I'm almost OK. I've washed linen and dishes and read review book and done urgent emails and all sorts of small things.
Just now I also realised that I have enough brain (for breath equals brain) to do big things. It's bibliography time! My PhD goal for the day is to finish with the next draft of that bibliography. I have to admit that the day I realised (many years ago) that asthma attacks don't mean doing nothing - they mean doing different things - was a big breakthrough for me.
Tonight is the last night of the novel class. Except for the excursion next Wednesday and the workshop I'm giving at Conflux, I'm then in non-teaching mode. This is known to others as 'holidays.' These other people keep asking me what I'm doing during the holidays.
So, what am I doing during my holidays? PhD and article and fiction and sorting out where I'm up to on what. Also Conflux. Also editing. In other words, life as usual, but with not many people to see. This means I'll probably do it all in a state of disreputable undress. Except for Conflux and working with Yaritji: I shall wear more clothes for both of those and the clothes will not be entirely tatty.
The Conflux chocolate is burning a hole in my pantry...
Just now I also realised that I have enough brain (for breath equals brain) to do big things. It's bibliography time! My PhD goal for the day is to finish with the next draft of that bibliography. I have to admit that the day I realised (many years ago) that asthma attacks don't mean doing nothing - they mean doing different things - was a big breakthrough for me.
Tonight is the last night of the novel class. Except for the excursion next Wednesday and the workshop I'm giving at Conflux, I'm then in non-teaching mode. This is known to others as 'holidays.' These other people keep asking me what I'm doing during the holidays.
So, what am I doing during my holidays? PhD and article and fiction and sorting out where I'm up to on what. Also Conflux. Also editing. In other words, life as usual, but with not many people to see. This means I'll probably do it all in a state of disreputable undress. Except for Conflux and working with Yaritji: I shall wear more clothes for both of those and the clothes will not be entirely tatty.
The Conflux chocolate is burning a hole in my pantry...
Diana's ice cream
I have many friends who can't have gluten, so I thought you'd like one of the recipes my family serves this time of year. I have a couple of cake recipes, too, but I love this icecream and it's free of gluten and dairy and Diana's been ill recently. All good reasons for sharing her icecream.
1 punnet soft fruit (if you use blueberries, it’s best to freeze them first)
up to 1 cup sugar (depending on how sweet your tooth is)
1 egg white
Beat everything together for 8-20 minutes (less time if you use a more powerful mixer, 20 minutes with a hand-held electric beater). Freeze for 24 hours.
1 punnet soft fruit (if you use blueberries, it’s best to freeze them first)
up to 1 cup sugar (depending on how sweet your tooth is)
1 egg white
Beat everything together for 8-20 minutes (less time if you use a more powerful mixer, 20 minutes with a hand-held electric beater). Freeze for 24 hours.
Grandma Black's Honeycake
Note: This is not the way I make honeycake, but it's the way I was taught to make it. I spice it differently and use muscat or some other fortified wine instead of the brandy which is instead of some of the orange juice. I use real coffee (not instant and boiling water) and a lot more fine cocoa or grated chocolate. I use whatever essence I feel like that day and all my personal favourites for fruit and nut, in fairly large quantities. My cake really needs two tins when I make the very best version, which just shows that I must do other things to the recipe as well and that I make this cake by instinct, not by recipe. People still like Grandma's cake (when I follow the recipe, as I did for one version this year), but they like my version of it better. Every year someone says, "Best cake I've ever had." Every year I want to know what cakes they've been missing...
Note2: Quality of honey counts. This year I used Beechworth, and most years I use a good local honey or a distinctive Tasmanian one. Orangeblossom honey is even better, but is hard to find these days.
Note3: All measurements are Australian.
Ingredients:
500 g honey (or a bit less)
1 cup sugar
1 ½ cups plain flour
1 ½ cups SR flour
juice and rind of one orange (a nice big one - but you can replace some of the juice with brandy or other alcohol)
at least two heaped tbs. good, rich cooking chocolate
1 dessertspoon instant coffee)
approx. 1 cup oil (a salad oil is best, but not olive)
3-4 extra large eggs
½ tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. bicarbonate of soda
1 cup boiling water
about a cup of your favourite dried fruits and nuts (chopped)
1 tsp. of cinnamon, ginger, allspice, nutmeg and a taste of cloves (NOT 1 tsp. of each)
Method:
Beat eggs, sugar, oil and honey. Add orange rind and juice. Add spices. Sift both flours with soda. Add to liquids. Add chocolate, coffee, vanilla, fruit and nuts. Mix well. Add boiling water.
Pre-heat oven to 500°F. When you put the cake in, reduce heat to 350°F. After and hour, reduce heat again, to 300°F until the cake is done (normally another 15-20 minutes).
Note2: Quality of honey counts. This year I used Beechworth, and most years I use a good local honey or a distinctive Tasmanian one. Orangeblossom honey is even better, but is hard to find these days.
Note3: All measurements are Australian.
Ingredients:
500 g honey (or a bit less)
1 cup sugar
1 ½ cups plain flour
1 ½ cups SR flour
juice and rind of one orange (a nice big one - but you can replace some of the juice with brandy or other alcohol)
at least two heaped tbs. good, rich cooking chocolate
1 dessertspoon instant coffee)
approx. 1 cup oil (a salad oil is best, but not olive)
3-4 extra large eggs
½ tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. bicarbonate of soda
1 cup boiling water
about a cup of your favourite dried fruits and nuts (chopped)
1 tsp. of cinnamon, ginger, allspice, nutmeg and a taste of cloves (NOT 1 tsp. of each)
Method:
Beat eggs, sugar, oil and honey. Add orange rind and juice. Add spices. Sift both flours with soda. Add to liquids. Add chocolate, coffee, vanilla, fruit and nuts. Mix well. Add boiling water.
Pre-heat oven to 500°F. When you put the cake in, reduce heat to 350°F. After and hour, reduce heat again, to 300°F until the cake is done (normally another 15-20 minutes).
