Gillian Polack's Blog, page 239
July 27, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-07-28T05:10:00
Today started off messily. I was a bit fragile, and then I looked for a museum for an hour in the rain and it was shut. That sort of thing. Eventually I gave up and the sun came out, both at once. After that, the day was much better, although I am rather the worse for wear tonight.
I actually managed to check 2 of the three museums I needed and with any luck the third will be open tomorrow. I managed to get information about the fourth- that its Medieval holdings are almost non-existent - that will save me a visit. Also, along with my city card (all my museums gave me free entry, due to it and it doesn't run out until noon tomorrow) I scored a guided tour of the city. How was this such a good thing? Well, it meant I got to see the Medieval mikveh. It was the most peaceful and wonderful place. I have pictures. I don't have pictures of much else, because Montpellier museums are of the 'no camera' variety. Which is fair enough. I think it's fine, because my big surprise was when one of the museums had some of the missing carvings from Saint-Guilhem. That museum was my stroke of luck for the day all round, because the front desk guy really knew his stuff and we chatted for a fair while. He found me the book I didn't know existed (it's very new - and is an exhibition catalogue) and told me stuff about those Saint-Guilhem sculptures and also about Montpellier.
I got a personal (well, nearly - there were three of us) tour of another museum. The front desk person there was a lot of fun, but didn't know her stuff quite so well. We had a great time, all four of us, though, and the archaeologist who was one of the four talked the two of us into the exclusive restaurant (closed) below the museum so that we could check out some of the Medieval remnants therein. There was one capital where someone had been having much fun: a mermaid, men showing their buttocks, etc. I didn't take photos of it because it was worn and I'm running short of photo capacity, but it made me think of marginalia.
On the way home I bought food and etc, because quite obviously going out to eat was just not going to happen (the university ought to be very happy with me - cheap meals! although dinner tonight was galettes and fried quail eggs, with fresh white currants and black currants for dessert - cheap doesn't mean dull) and something happened that has now happened every single time I have been in France. A group of US students were puzzling over packages in the supermarket. Quite obviously they had no French and no cooking. They explained they wanted to make an apple pie. Of course. How could they not. Every single time I have been in France, I have run into US students who want to make apple pies and cannot cook and whose French is insufficient. I talked them through pastry choices and they asked me about their recipe and they were very happy. I'd love to know if their pie came out. I got my comeuppance at the checkout, where I was so tired I couldn't sort out money. The locals here are very patient with me when I become an idiot, is all I can say.
On the leg front, the heat and swelling are now almost gone. It still looks evil, but the triple antibiotics and all the amazing equipment are obviously having the right effect. This is just as well, because Montpellier has such a history of good medicine. It would have been a shame if I had been contrary and proven it wrong.
I actually managed to check 2 of the three museums I needed and with any luck the third will be open tomorrow. I managed to get information about the fourth- that its Medieval holdings are almost non-existent - that will save me a visit. Also, along with my city card (all my museums gave me free entry, due to it and it doesn't run out until noon tomorrow) I scored a guided tour of the city. How was this such a good thing? Well, it meant I got to see the Medieval mikveh. It was the most peaceful and wonderful place. I have pictures. I don't have pictures of much else, because Montpellier museums are of the 'no camera' variety. Which is fair enough. I think it's fine, because my big surprise was when one of the museums had some of the missing carvings from Saint-Guilhem. That museum was my stroke of luck for the day all round, because the front desk guy really knew his stuff and we chatted for a fair while. He found me the book I didn't know existed (it's very new - and is an exhibition catalogue) and told me stuff about those Saint-Guilhem sculptures and also about Montpellier.
I got a personal (well, nearly - there were three of us) tour of another museum. The front desk person there was a lot of fun, but didn't know her stuff quite so well. We had a great time, all four of us, though, and the archaeologist who was one of the four talked the two of us into the exclusive restaurant (closed) below the museum so that we could check out some of the Medieval remnants therein. There was one capital where someone had been having much fun: a mermaid, men showing their buttocks, etc. I didn't take photos of it because it was worn and I'm running short of photo capacity, but it made me think of marginalia.
On the way home I bought food and etc, because quite obviously going out to eat was just not going to happen (the university ought to be very happy with me - cheap meals! although dinner tonight was galettes and fried quail eggs, with fresh white currants and black currants for dessert - cheap doesn't mean dull) and something happened that has now happened every single time I have been in France. A group of US students were puzzling over packages in the supermarket. Quite obviously they had no French and no cooking. They explained they wanted to make an apple pie. Of course. How could they not. Every single time I have been in France, I have run into US students who want to make apple pies and cannot cook and whose French is insufficient. I talked them through pastry choices and they asked me about their recipe and they were very happy. I'd love to know if their pie came out. I got my comeuppance at the checkout, where I was so tired I couldn't sort out money. The locals here are very patient with me when I become an idiot, is all I can say.
On the leg front, the heat and swelling are now almost gone. It still looks evil, but the triple antibiotics and all the amazing equipment are obviously having the right effect. This is just as well, because Montpellier has such a history of good medicine. It would have been a shame if I had been contrary and proven it wrong.
July 26, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-07-27T03:51:00
I did two days work today. My brain is stuck partway between English and French and tonight I am going to have to switch it over to French fully, otherwise tomorrow will be very difficult. Tomorrow I have to interact for significant amounts of time with people who won't have English, unlike the nice people in the tourist centre in Saint-Guilhem-le-Desert, who teased me in two languages. My trouble is that when I have to code-switch, I blank out. This afternoon someone asked me about a bus and I had been thinking in English and she didn't give me a fraction of a second before she said to me "Oh, you don't speak French." "I do," I answered. "I'm just very tired and missed your question."
Tonight a bunch of things landed on my desk from people who have forgotten I'm not actually at my desk. Other things landed in my email with "Don't worry, I'm taking care of this." I've had to ask if most people can wait til next week (when jetlag will hit, but I'll be home) because I really have reached the limit of work I can do here. I have done so very much, though! My lists were daunting and I'm working my way thorugh them come thunderstorm, insect bite or language lapse. I'm not there yet, but I'm defintiely well on the way.
Today I did two days work. I know I said that, but I'm having trouble believing it. In addition, I don't have to go to the Departmental Archives (even though I have freed up a day in which I could) because the problem of government of the town is no longer a problem. And the castle is no longer a problem, I think, though if a castle expert wants to look at my pictures and critique my theory, I'll not say no. And I have met much Badasse frutescens in flower and smelled it (pale sweet pea with slightly acrid leaves) and been very happy it exists. And I was caught in a thunderstorm in the garrigue. And the wonderful folks at the Saint-Guilhem-le-Desert tourist information centre stocked my missing books, so I own them and do not have to hunt through all the flea markets and booksales of Montpellier. I shall, of course, go to the big one on Saturday anyway, just in case. There might be stuff that my bibliographies haven't covered, after all.
I changed my dressings this morning and my legs are definitely on the mend. I'm still the worse for wear, however, and am glad that I achieved so much today because it means that tomorrow and Thursday are my last impossibly big days. I may be able to slow down a little (10-6 working days!) for my last two days in France.
Tonight a bunch of things landed on my desk from people who have forgotten I'm not actually at my desk. Other things landed in my email with "Don't worry, I'm taking care of this." I've had to ask if most people can wait til next week (when jetlag will hit, but I'll be home) because I really have reached the limit of work I can do here. I have done so very much, though! My lists were daunting and I'm working my way thorugh them come thunderstorm, insect bite or language lapse. I'm not there yet, but I'm defintiely well on the way.
Today I did two days work. I know I said that, but I'm having trouble believing it. In addition, I don't have to go to the Departmental Archives (even though I have freed up a day in which I could) because the problem of government of the town is no longer a problem. And the castle is no longer a problem, I think, though if a castle expert wants to look at my pictures and critique my theory, I'll not say no. And I have met much Badasse frutescens in flower and smelled it (pale sweet pea with slightly acrid leaves) and been very happy it exists. And I was caught in a thunderstorm in the garrigue. And the wonderful folks at the Saint-Guilhem-le-Desert tourist information centre stocked my missing books, so I own them and do not have to hunt through all the flea markets and booksales of Montpellier. I shall, of course, go to the big one on Saturday anyway, just in case. There might be stuff that my bibliographies haven't covered, after all.
I changed my dressings this morning and my legs are definitely on the mend. I'm still the worse for wear, however, and am glad that I achieved so much today because it means that tomorrow and Thursday are my last impossibly big days. I may be able to slow down a little (10-6 working days!) for my last two days in France.
July 25, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-07-26T05:15:00
My wonderful inner time sense flew out the window today. This is because the antibiotics had not yet kicked in and there was a thunderstorm en route: I was rather a mess. I just looked at the worse leg, and the inflammation is darkening and a little diminished, so things are working and in a couple of days time I'll be laughing. Today, though, I had interesting fever-migraine dreams.
I meant to not work today, since I suspected it might be a little difficult, but my brain kept fretting, so I wrote a bunch of report-backs I had promised concerning the first week of the trip. If I promised you one and it is not in your in-box, it has either gone astray or it failed to make my list and I might need reminding.
This means that I only have to follow-up the university and ACT Government paperwork, plus do all the other follow-up (people and promises) plus get back to at-my-desk work. It's all more achievable.
This afternoon I finished with the medical stuff (I now have seriously cool and rather expensive sticky patch things to put on my legs after I've treated them with all the other stuff - every two days until it's healed) and I did some seriously strange grocery shopping. I also went hunting for Thierry (I have wanted a DVD set of a 60s French TV series for a long time and it's unobtainable in Australia). FNAC didn't have it, but sent me to to Virgin megastore. Virgin said "We can get it in." I said "I'm only here a few days." The guy said he'd order it anyway, and I should come in the day before I left, to see if it had come. So that's what we did. In the interim, I took evil advantage of their sale and bought (for 30E) two whole seasons of a French superhero series. This is what I shall watch in my spare time, when I get home. French superheroes! I didn't actually buy a great deal. Mostly I looked. Still, French superheroes! Anyone who wants may watch with me. There may be popcorn.
I found the first of my markets tonight (the only work-related thing I did after 4 pm) but it had no books. The nice guy at the Hotel Sully in Paris had checked his databases and agreed with me that my best bet of getting the last book I need (since the publishers don't answer their emails and no Australian library possesses a copy) is to check the street markets in Montpellier.
I realised today that the York insects have put paid to me following up the nice neat solution to one of my problems (the one that was suggested by the scholar on the bus, my first day in Leeds). Aliette, on the other hand, has given me another possible way into it. She didn't even know it was a problem, but something she said made me think "This would work."
The historian in me has this vast need to understand everything. Deeply understand, not just have enough information for a setting or the precise amount of telling detail. If a day gets liberated later in the week, that deeper understanding of this single issue may be possible, but if not, Aliette's approach will work (it's understanding from a different direction). In fact, I know exactly *how* it will work - and it may well make for a better novel.
Am I driving you crazy with all this discussion and none of the actual detail of the novel? The reality is quite different to the discussion! A lot of what I'm doing now is what I always do when I'm building my characters and their world - I explore approaches and theory. When I actually write, I don't write from that theoretical place at all, but the academic side of my brain won't be quiet until I have placated it. In other words, I do this even when I look as if I'm writing about someone who lives in my street. My mind is strange and warped...
Speaking of warped, my French amuses me. I keep getting into conversations and there is an inevitable positive comment about my French. I can hear every single mistake I make - it is not the French it used to be. I apparently, however, sound convincing. Given a few more days, I may even sound convincing without a broad Australian accent. Then I shall reach London and shall have forgotten entirely, yet again. Then I shall be home and only speak Canberra English, which is a unique dialect.
I meant to not work today, since I suspected it might be a little difficult, but my brain kept fretting, so I wrote a bunch of report-backs I had promised concerning the first week of the trip. If I promised you one and it is not in your in-box, it has either gone astray or it failed to make my list and I might need reminding.
This means that I only have to follow-up the university and ACT Government paperwork, plus do all the other follow-up (people and promises) plus get back to at-my-desk work. It's all more achievable.
This afternoon I finished with the medical stuff (I now have seriously cool and rather expensive sticky patch things to put on my legs after I've treated them with all the other stuff - every two days until it's healed) and I did some seriously strange grocery shopping. I also went hunting for Thierry (I have wanted a DVD set of a 60s French TV series for a long time and it's unobtainable in Australia). FNAC didn't have it, but sent me to to Virgin megastore. Virgin said "We can get it in." I said "I'm only here a few days." The guy said he'd order it anyway, and I should come in the day before I left, to see if it had come. So that's what we did. In the interim, I took evil advantage of their sale and bought (for 30E) two whole seasons of a French superhero series. This is what I shall watch in my spare time, when I get home. French superheroes! I didn't actually buy a great deal. Mostly I looked. Still, French superheroes! Anyone who wants may watch with me. There may be popcorn.
I found the first of my markets tonight (the only work-related thing I did after 4 pm) but it had no books. The nice guy at the Hotel Sully in Paris had checked his databases and agreed with me that my best bet of getting the last book I need (since the publishers don't answer their emails and no Australian library possesses a copy) is to check the street markets in Montpellier.
I realised today that the York insects have put paid to me following up the nice neat solution to one of my problems (the one that was suggested by the scholar on the bus, my first day in Leeds). Aliette, on the other hand, has given me another possible way into it. She didn't even know it was a problem, but something she said made me think "This would work."
The historian in me has this vast need to understand everything. Deeply understand, not just have enough information for a setting or the precise amount of telling detail. If a day gets liberated later in the week, that deeper understanding of this single issue may be possible, but if not, Aliette's approach will work (it's understanding from a different direction). In fact, I know exactly *how* it will work - and it may well make for a better novel.
Am I driving you crazy with all this discussion and none of the actual detail of the novel? The reality is quite different to the discussion! A lot of what I'm doing now is what I always do when I'm building my characters and their world - I explore approaches and theory. When I actually write, I don't write from that theoretical place at all, but the academic side of my brain won't be quiet until I have placated it. In other words, I do this even when I look as if I'm writing about someone who lives in my street. My mind is strange and warped...
Speaking of warped, my French amuses me. I keep getting into conversations and there is an inevitable positive comment about my French. I can hear every single mistake I make - it is not the French it used to be. I apparently, however, sound convincing. Given a few more days, I may even sound convincing without a broad Australian accent. Then I shall reach London and shall have forgotten entirely, yet again. Then I shall be home and only speak Canberra English, which is a unique dialect.
July 24, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-07-25T02:15:00
Dear Universe, thank you for Montpellier. Thank you for the French medical system. Thank you for warm sunny days and streets named after people I'm writing about. Today could have been entirely dreadful and instead, all is very nice indeed.
For the record, I was ill. I got to Montpellier, checked in and promptly went out again to shop for comestibles. I was a bit teary, so I thought about my legs and looked at them and got a bit of a shock. I went to the tourist people and said "Hi, I need food and possibly a pharmacist." I lost my French, which was fine, because the staff member was from London and recognised me as Australian. She pointed me to everything I needed. I went to the pharmacist first.
I explained to the pharmacist (apologising for my sudden loss of French) that I thought something was wrong and explained it rather badly. She asked, how wrong was it and I lifted my skirt three inches. She had the most fabulous look on her face! At this point I realised why my French was lacking. Anyhow, she said to see a doctor tomorrow because it was beyond her assistance but then she suggested in the most elegant way possible, that there was an emergency clinic within walking distance and that if I hurt (only if I hurt, mind) I could possibly go there. She showed me on the map. It was a mile and a bit, which is when I realised that she was sending me there.
The reception lady at the emergency clinic was nice, but a bit amused when I had no idea what I was covered for or who covered me and hauled out my computer and called up the numbers. I explained that it was for emergencies when my brain didn't work. Like my temporary phone number being stuck on the back of my phone. If anyone steals the phone they will get precisely 2 pounds worth of phonecalls from it...maybe less. My emergency system therefore, works. And it wasn't French I was losing - it was pain I was feeling.
Anyhow, the emergency people saw me within ten minutes. The doctor explained that I had been bitten by a particular insect (not a wasp, which is what I had assumed) and that there were three bites on one leg and one on the other and that I had treated those bites precisely the way I should have, except that the infection was too big for teatree oil and cleaning/draining to cope with. It was washed and dressed by a nurse and I was given copious instructions and they looked Australia up on their computer and were highly amused that I was bitten in York, England, not York, Australia. They were very impressed with my French (which is when I found out that I had not actually lost it, but was just very unwell) and said that tomorrow it (my infection, not my French, though possibly that, too) would have been much worse. So I did the right things. And I have a bandaged leg and a patched other leg and strict instructions about washing. And I finally made my first joke of the day and the nurse thought it was funny (I made a bilingual pun, which just goes to show that medicine saves minds - also that the stress relief and pain relief made a difference).
I then went to the chemist with a huge list on the prescription. I walked out with a bag full of things, including lots of antibiotics and a bottle of oxyenated water. It all cost about the same amount as one of the lots of antibiotics, back home. And I did my shopping (slowly) and found my way back to the hotel, and marvelled at how friendly folks are here and that I'm allowed to smile again and to wear t-shirts and I thought "Montpellier really did come late to France." If Australia were French, Montpellier is what we would have become. And I got back to the hotel room, took my first dose of antibiotic, turned on the TV and am now watching House in French. The universe is in complete harmony.
PS Just to reassure those who need reassurances - I scheduled a day off for recovery in Montpellier, should the last three weeks have caused me problems. Tomorrow is it. The only thing I have scheduled is some light shopping, a block away. If I can do more, i will, but mostly I shall not push things.
PPS The poor receptionist wasn't sure if my surname was Gillian or Polack.
For the record, I was ill. I got to Montpellier, checked in and promptly went out again to shop for comestibles. I was a bit teary, so I thought about my legs and looked at them and got a bit of a shock. I went to the tourist people and said "Hi, I need food and possibly a pharmacist." I lost my French, which was fine, because the staff member was from London and recognised me as Australian. She pointed me to everything I needed. I went to the pharmacist first.
I explained to the pharmacist (apologising for my sudden loss of French) that I thought something was wrong and explained it rather badly. She asked, how wrong was it and I lifted my skirt three inches. She had the most fabulous look on her face! At this point I realised why my French was lacking. Anyhow, she said to see a doctor tomorrow because it was beyond her assistance but then she suggested in the most elegant way possible, that there was an emergency clinic within walking distance and that if I hurt (only if I hurt, mind) I could possibly go there. She showed me on the map. It was a mile and a bit, which is when I realised that she was sending me there.
The reception lady at the emergency clinic was nice, but a bit amused when I had no idea what I was covered for or who covered me and hauled out my computer and called up the numbers. I explained that it was for emergencies when my brain didn't work. Like my temporary phone number being stuck on the back of my phone. If anyone steals the phone they will get precisely 2 pounds worth of phonecalls from it...maybe less. My emergency system therefore, works. And it wasn't French I was losing - it was pain I was feeling.
Anyhow, the emergency people saw me within ten minutes. The doctor explained that I had been bitten by a particular insect (not a wasp, which is what I had assumed) and that there were three bites on one leg and one on the other and that I had treated those bites precisely the way I should have, except that the infection was too big for teatree oil and cleaning/draining to cope with. It was washed and dressed by a nurse and I was given copious instructions and they looked Australia up on their computer and were highly amused that I was bitten in York, England, not York, Australia. They were very impressed with my French (which is when I found out that I had not actually lost it, but was just very unwell) and said that tomorrow it (my infection, not my French, though possibly that, too) would have been much worse. So I did the right things. And I have a bandaged leg and a patched other leg and strict instructions about washing. And I finally made my first joke of the day and the nurse thought it was funny (I made a bilingual pun, which just goes to show that medicine saves minds - also that the stress relief and pain relief made a difference).
I then went to the chemist with a huge list on the prescription. I walked out with a bag full of things, including lots of antibiotics and a bottle of oxyenated water. It all cost about the same amount as one of the lots of antibiotics, back home. And I did my shopping (slowly) and found my way back to the hotel, and marvelled at how friendly folks are here and that I'm allowed to smile again and to wear t-shirts and I thought "Montpellier really did come late to France." If Australia were French, Montpellier is what we would have become. And I got back to the hotel room, took my first dose of antibiotic, turned on the TV and am now watching House in French. The universe is in complete harmony.
PS Just to reassure those who need reassurances - I scheduled a day off for recovery in Montpellier, should the last three weeks have caused me problems. Tomorrow is it. The only thing I have scheduled is some light shopping, a block away. If I can do more, i will, but mostly I shall not push things.
PPS The poor receptionist wasn't sure if my surname was Gillian or Polack.
July 23, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-07-24T03:57:00
Connie Willis is no longer stalking me. Australia has now taken her place. The moment I got off the Eurostar, mentions of Australia were everywhere. Casual passers-by chat about it,the news includes it (especially sports) and it appears in odd spaces. Tonight there is an hour=long Australia special on TV. I'm going to watch, just to see what the fuss is all about. I might want to visit that far land, one day. Possibly one day in just a bit over a week.
gillpolack @ 2011-07-24T02:34:00
I'm finishing my last day in Paris. I let my feet dictate what I did and they gave me a lot of work: Medieval arms, historical teas, vast amounts of information for teaching, for writing, for putting into context and understanding the wisdom writers have me these last few weeks. Also, some very evil photos for friends who are in need of such.
My big insight of the day was that one reason historical fiction writers who get the history reasonably right do is, as Elizabeth Chadwick pointed out, because of good gut feels. There are plot arcs everywhere and it makes accuracy much easier if one spots them and work with history as we understand it. (I played spotting plot arcs while engaged in quite a different exercise today and, as a result, can turn my NC novel into a trilogy - not that I will, just that I can.)
And now I must leave you and change, since I kind of got rained on again today. Also, I am not overthinking ailments - if my leg gets bigger then I must see a doctor on Monday. I wrote a bunch about wasp bites, but this is just what started it - I have the same skin problem I had *last* time I was in France. I am allergic to France!!! It went away by itself last time, with some help from an antiseptic cream. I'm treating it as an infection and seeing a chemist on Monday if it spreads. I am provisioned for skin infections, unsurprisingly. And I should have realised it wasn't anything worse when I walked all day and only noticed it occasionally. It's not even bad enough to make me grumpy, though it looks quite impressive.
And now I must work, because I have a ton of notes to make and photos to deal with (by deleting the idiot ones then abcking everything up - I'm running out foofpace on a rather hefty memory card). My long-suffering legs can rest while I work.
My big insight of the day was that one reason historical fiction writers who get the history reasonably right do is, as Elizabeth Chadwick pointed out, because of good gut feels. There are plot arcs everywhere and it makes accuracy much easier if one spots them and work with history as we understand it. (I played spotting plot arcs while engaged in quite a different exercise today and, as a result, can turn my NC novel into a trilogy - not that I will, just that I can.)
And now I must leave you and change, since I kind of got rained on again today. Also, I am not overthinking ailments - if my leg gets bigger then I must see a doctor on Monday. I wrote a bunch about wasp bites, but this is just what started it - I have the same skin problem I had *last* time I was in France. I am allergic to France!!! It went away by itself last time, with some help from an antiseptic cream. I'm treating it as an infection and seeing a chemist on Monday if it spreads. I am provisioned for skin infections, unsurprisingly. And I should have realised it wasn't anything worse when I walked all day and only noticed it occasionally. It's not even bad enough to make me grumpy, though it looks quite impressive.
And now I must work, because I have a ton of notes to make and photos to deal with (by deleting the idiot ones then abcking everything up - I'm running out foofpace on a rather hefty memory card). My long-suffering legs can rest while I work.
July 22, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-07-23T06:59:00
I did a lot of work today, especially in the morning, which I spent in the Montparnasse Cemetery. Stuff from the last three weeks came together. I want my site research done *now* so that I can sit down and write. What I can do now is take notes and think things through, to make things easier when I'm actually ready to write. That's two big jumps in two days, and yet I have a case of hypochondria and homesickness. I love so many things about travelling, but I'm really someone who is happier not even going out the front door. It had better be hypochondria - more sickness I do not need.
Because I knew that I'd be working this evening, and because I scolded myself for overwork the day before yesterday, I went to the Marais this afternoon and investigated the Jewish museum. It's got some amazing stuff, but it isn't sure if it's explaining Zola and deportation and the Blois case, or giving an overview of Judaism or showing some amazing treasures. In the end, it did all three, but none perfectly or perfectly comfortably.
What totally overwhelmed me were a dozen Medieval gravestones. It's the first time I've seen more than fragments. I know these societies. I know the Jews in these societies. I've been feeling guilty of disrespect for walking over decorated Christian graves for days. The beautiful letters, the strict formulas and the stern lack of other decoration really hit me. French Judaism was very French, but still not the Middle Ages that I know. My own ancestors, possibly (I say this because I kept seeing very familiar faces in the pictures of the deported) and yet, because people lived parallel lives, I know them not (or maybe just not as well - I do actually teach the Jewish French Middle Ages). This says something about the way we think about the Middle Ages, I think. It's much easier to think about Western Europe as Christian, with odd incidents of otherness. Western Europe has only ever had a single religion in patches, and even that assumes that all forms of Christianity converge, which is something I can't pronounce on. France, in particular, with its Judaism and its Wars of Religion, and its Cathars and its southern Moslems, France in particular has only had one religion in name most of its life. The graves reminded me that there are real people who were like me, trying to sort themselves out against a society that was really not that interested on a good day. On a bad day, it's like the moment someone saw me and spat today, but in spades.
I sat on the beach today and drank lemonade (the stuff with lemons, not the Australian sort) because I was dehydrated and had walked too far and it was just too irresistible to sit near a palm tree, on a boardwalk, and watch the Seine. I was also interrupted in my peregrinations by some Tour de France stuff (viz cyclists, but not the main game) outside Notre Dame. Wherever I go, the surreal follows me. One day I'm going to look it in the face and follow it.
I spent more of my birthday money on a nice top (note: I am extra large by French measurements - I had forgotten this and why I do not buy clothes here - I do not know how anyone larger than size 16 manages) and bought three books on the Ballets Russes. I was just walking past a Russian-French bookshop and saw one and asked about it and lo, there were more and they all take a quite different approach to Australian books and I may need them in 2 years time and...yes, my luggage isn't as light as it was. Also, I have no idea where to put all these books. This is possibly why my normal state of impoverishedness is good for me.
I'm behind on emails. Sorry everyone! I'll try to do a catch-up tomorrow.
Because I knew that I'd be working this evening, and because I scolded myself for overwork the day before yesterday, I went to the Marais this afternoon and investigated the Jewish museum. It's got some amazing stuff, but it isn't sure if it's explaining Zola and deportation and the Blois case, or giving an overview of Judaism or showing some amazing treasures. In the end, it did all three, but none perfectly or perfectly comfortably.
What totally overwhelmed me were a dozen Medieval gravestones. It's the first time I've seen more than fragments. I know these societies. I know the Jews in these societies. I've been feeling guilty of disrespect for walking over decorated Christian graves for days. The beautiful letters, the strict formulas and the stern lack of other decoration really hit me. French Judaism was very French, but still not the Middle Ages that I know. My own ancestors, possibly (I say this because I kept seeing very familiar faces in the pictures of the deported) and yet, because people lived parallel lives, I know them not (or maybe just not as well - I do actually teach the Jewish French Middle Ages). This says something about the way we think about the Middle Ages, I think. It's much easier to think about Western Europe as Christian, with odd incidents of otherness. Western Europe has only ever had a single religion in patches, and even that assumes that all forms of Christianity converge, which is something I can't pronounce on. France, in particular, with its Judaism and its Wars of Religion, and its Cathars and its southern Moslems, France in particular has only had one religion in name most of its life. The graves reminded me that there are real people who were like me, trying to sort themselves out against a society that was really not that interested on a good day. On a bad day, it's like the moment someone saw me and spat today, but in spades.
I sat on the beach today and drank lemonade (the stuff with lemons, not the Australian sort) because I was dehydrated and had walked too far and it was just too irresistible to sit near a palm tree, on a boardwalk, and watch the Seine. I was also interrupted in my peregrinations by some Tour de France stuff (viz cyclists, but not the main game) outside Notre Dame. Wherever I go, the surreal follows me. One day I'm going to look it in the face and follow it.
I spent more of my birthday money on a nice top (note: I am extra large by French measurements - I had forgotten this and why I do not buy clothes here - I do not know how anyone larger than size 16 manages) and bought three books on the Ballets Russes. I was just walking past a Russian-French bookshop and saw one and asked about it and lo, there were more and they all take a quite different approach to Australian books and I may need them in 2 years time and...yes, my luggage isn't as light as it was. Also, I have no idea where to put all these books. This is possibly why my normal state of impoverishedness is good for me.
I'm behind on emails. Sorry everyone! I'll try to do a catch-up tomorrow.
July 21, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-07-22T06:44:00
Aliette de Bodard brought some clarity to my thoughts and we had a lovely couscous dinner. She's the only person I'm meeting in France (unless things change drastically) and she was wonderful. Thank you, Cheryl, for putting us in touch with each other. We talked very intensely for a long time, about many things.
I've been more than fortunate with the people I've spent time with this trip. It's a somewhat different journey from here on in. At least, I have progressed past the sticking point in my dissertation. I've worked how to allow for Chaz being Chaz and Elizabeth being Elizabeth by simply asking Aliette how she was Aliette. She explained, and light dawned and everything now makes sense. If you want to know how it precisely makes sense, you'll have to wait until I write it up at home, I'm afraid, because it needs to be aligned with other things. Anyhow, I have a thesis and can defend it, which is what dissertations are all about. This means that if I can sort my character issue, I have every chance of finishing this doctorate. Aliette couldn't solve my character issue because she handles things quite differently. Very cleverly, but not in a way I can emulate.
What I particularly love about speculative fiction is how very interesting the writers and artists and critics are, as people. They think and then then think some more. Good people in a whole bunch of ways.
And now I must spend the last bit of my evening rethinking the next two days, to allow for shifts in the project. Also watching more French TV.
I've been more than fortunate with the people I've spent time with this trip. It's a somewhat different journey from here on in. At least, I have progressed past the sticking point in my dissertation. I've worked how to allow for Chaz being Chaz and Elizabeth being Elizabeth by simply asking Aliette how she was Aliette. She explained, and light dawned and everything now makes sense. If you want to know how it precisely makes sense, you'll have to wait until I write it up at home, I'm afraid, because it needs to be aligned with other things. Anyhow, I have a thesis and can defend it, which is what dissertations are all about. This means that if I can sort my character issue, I have every chance of finishing this doctorate. Aliette couldn't solve my character issue because she handles things quite differently. Very cleverly, but not in a way I can emulate.
What I particularly love about speculative fiction is how very interesting the writers and artists and critics are, as people. They think and then then think some more. Good people in a whole bunch of ways.
And now I must spend the last bit of my evening rethinking the next two days, to allow for shifts in the project. Also watching more French TV.
gillpolack @ 2011-07-22T02:40:00
Good stuff and bad stuff today. I may not even bother going to the Louvre- with queues that long, it's a luxury to go there to check out so few items. I'll maybe see tomorrow, but only after I've rethought, because today a bunch of stuff consolidated concerning how writers can and do use history and some of it was not pretty. It means I really don't need to see so much in Paris. I shall do some of what I planned and see.
I had an interesting discussion with one of the booksellers on the Seine. She was reluctant to admit at first that she knew anything about SF, but soon told me the exact spot the most fannish Seine bookseller was and we got into a lively discussion of the golden age for French and US spec fic.
I silenced myself when I told her that the golden age for Australian SF was right now. I realised that my French-speaking brain had said something my English-speaking brain couldn't conceive of. Australia is not supposed to *have* a golden age. That's something other people do. And we're especially not supposed to known anyone who might possibly be part of it. This would be being up onself. I bought some Jimmy Guiet to prove that I'm not up myself (also to read, since my life is such a bookless desert).
My feet know more about my research than I do. They also know more about Paris. This would be because I walked everywhere 25 years ago. I'm no good in Montparnasse (only visited it once back then) but my feet sorted me out most other places. My favourite second hand bookshops are all closed, but the cheap student bookshop is still round and still has an appalling selection. The best pizza place in the world has been replaced by rampant tourist garbage. And the Seine is currently lined with fake beaches. These things my feet showed me while helping me think my way through some knotty problems. I'm not through the problems yet, so I suspect there is walking in my tomorrow.
I had an interesting discussion with one of the booksellers on the Seine. She was reluctant to admit at first that she knew anything about SF, but soon told me the exact spot the most fannish Seine bookseller was and we got into a lively discussion of the golden age for French and US spec fic.
I silenced myself when I told her that the golden age for Australian SF was right now. I realised that my French-speaking brain had said something my English-speaking brain couldn't conceive of. Australia is not supposed to *have* a golden age. That's something other people do. And we're especially not supposed to known anyone who might possibly be part of it. This would be being up onself. I bought some Jimmy Guiet to prove that I'm not up myself (also to read, since my life is such a bookless desert).
My feet know more about my research than I do. They also know more about Paris. This would be because I walked everywhere 25 years ago. I'm no good in Montparnasse (only visited it once back then) but my feet sorted me out most other places. My favourite second hand bookshops are all closed, but the cheap student bookshop is still round and still has an appalling selection. The best pizza place in the world has been replaced by rampant tourist garbage. And the Seine is currently lined with fake beaches. These things my feet showed me while helping me think my way through some knotty problems. I'm not through the problems yet, so I suspect there is walking in my tomorrow.
July 20, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-07-21T05:28:00
Je suis en France. I was so tired after the hefting of suitcase across York and to Paris that I spent some of my birthday money on a taxi. It took the same time as the Metro, but I didn't have to further damage my shoulder and I got to chat with a flirty taxi driver who told me many stories. Would you believe it's the first taxi I've ever taken in France? I've been scared by horror stories and, since this is the voyage for facing fears, I have one more reason to be glad for birthday money.My nic aaxi driver carefully analysed my French when I complained it was insufficent. Apparently I'm only ungrammatical when i stop and worry - apart from that I'm still fine. My accent faded as we chatted, which amused him intensely. He used to help out in a wine bar in the Latin Quarter and befriended a British writer, who would order a bottle of red to help him work. Said writer has since died and my driver moved on and we mourned for a moment.
Paris is a lot warmer than York, but still wet. Eurostar was sardinelike and border formalities were almost non-existent. I bought a sandwich at the station to eat here, since I knew i wouldn't want to go out tonight. I'm watching French TV and pondering the work I ought to do ut have not yet done. I did manage to read one of the new Angry Robot books while being sardined on Eurostar, so there are comments on that to be blogged in my near future. I chunnelled while reading about a zombie detective who was shifting worlds: it was quite appropriate.
Rien de plus. I have made a mess of my room and need to do a little tidying if I want to sleep tonight. This would be because I entirely mucked up my packing in York and lost sight of basics such as clothes. I unpacked all over my nice double bed. It's a very colourful mess, but it *is* a mess. (Hotel Ariane has wifi, in case you hadn't worked that out from me blogging. I'll check in every evening and mornings when I remember.)
Paris is a lot warmer than York, but still wet. Eurostar was sardinelike and border formalities were almost non-existent. I bought a sandwich at the station to eat here, since I knew i wouldn't want to go out tonight. I'm watching French TV and pondering the work I ought to do ut have not yet done. I did manage to read one of the new Angry Robot books while being sardined on Eurostar, so there are comments on that to be blogged in my near future. I chunnelled while reading about a zombie detective who was shifting worlds: it was quite appropriate.
Rien de plus. I have made a mess of my room and need to do a little tidying if I want to sleep tonight. This would be because I entirely mucked up my packing in York and lost sight of basics such as clothes. I unpacked all over my nice double bed. It's a very colourful mess, but it *is* a mess. (Hotel Ariane has wifi, in case you hadn't worked that out from me blogging. I'll check in every evening and mornings when I remember.)
