Would You Like to Smell Like Your Favourite Author?

Tags

Anais Nin, Cacharel, Colette, f. scott fitzgerald, Great Gatsby, Jasmine, Marlene Dietrich, Note (perfumery), oscar wilde, Perfume

What were the signature scents of famous authors?

Thanks to a post made at Book Riot, I got to thinking about my two favourite things in life: perfumes and books. I have a prodigiously large collection of both; yet it never occurred to me to find out what type of scents my favourite authors actually wore during their lifetime. Amanda Nelson of the irreverent book blog Dead White Guys came up with some cool concoctions of her own; and it inspired me to have a synesthete moment.

This is a bit of a tough mission, but one that yielded surprising results! Here’s what I have come up with so far…

4. ANAIS NIN

Some authors like Anais Nin have already inspired a perfume, so admired were they in their lifetime. Anais Anais was the first perfume produced by Cacharel in 1978. To me, it evokes the scent-memory of France, my mother and the sweet yet deceptive innocence at the heart of all women. I also adore the fresh green smell and the O’Keefe-inspired artwork that has been used for many decades.

Notes
Top: Bergamot, galbanum, hyacinth, honeysuckle, orange blossom
Middle: Lily, lily of the valley, rose, ylang-ylang, tuberose, carnation
Base: Cedarwood, sandalwood, amber, oakmoss, incense, vetiver

3. OSCAR WILDE

What would a notorious super-dandy and aesthete like Oscar Wilde possibly wear as a perfume? Apparently the now discontinued (yet aptly named) Malmaison of Floris of London. It is described by experts as having a linear smell – that of almost purely red carnations. At first I couldn’t imagine a carnation as being Wilde’s smell, yet there is a certain exotic woodsy, clove-like aroma to carnations that does fit in with Wilde’s character. Red is certainly his colour too! The reintroduction of Malmaison Encore by Floris means people can relive the original fragrance in a more modern version.

NOTES

Top notes: bergamot, black pepper, cardamom
Heart notes: clove, nutmeg, rose, ylang ylang
Base notes : amber, cedarwood, frankincense, heliotrope, tonka bean, vanilla

2. F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

Many famous people including F. Scott Fitzgerald and later Marlene Dietrich wore Lieber Gustav #14. The perfume was created by celebrated nose Albert Kriegler and he states that ‘Perfume #14 was chosen by Fitzgerald because of its depth, and the connection between Berlin and Provence.’ I also find that scents hold geographical memories for me, yet even more interesting is that Lieber Gustav #14 was inspired by a love letter between a young girl and her fiancee… Reminds me of The Great Gatsby!

NOTES

Leather, Black tea, Lavender, Musk and Woody notes.

1. SIDONIE-GABRIELLE COLETTE

Colette is another author who is epitomises sensuality and whose work’s forever obsess with the gratification of the flesh and of the soul. She owned her own beauty salon and being something of a perfumer herself used only the petals of white flowers. However, it has been recorded that she had a particular penchant for Coty’s Jasmin de Corse, which is again very hard to find. A 1925 ad described it as, ‘For the Woman of the Dreamy Elusive Type: Jasmine de Corse, La Jacinthe & Lilas Blanc.’ I can only imagine the closest we can ever get to this perfume with it’s heavy, smoky Jasmine undertones would be Lanvin’s Arpege which was created 20 years after.

So, that’s all I could find on authors and their favourite fragrance’s. Is there any I’ve missed out that should be in the list? Let me know.

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Memorable Quote | ‘Fahrenheit 451’ by Ray Bradbury

Tags

dystopian, fahrenheit 451, quotes, ray bradbury

Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land? I loved to smell them when I was a boy. Lord, there were a lot of lovely books once, before we let them go.

I love finding quotes like this. Bradbury has summed up beautifully that evasive smell of books that we all love so much. Anyone know of any parfumier’s who have succeeded in bottling it?

Books were only one type of receptacle where we stored a lot of things we were afraid we might forget. There is nothing magical in them at all. The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.

Book Review | ‘The Night Circus’ by Erin Morgenstern

Tags

book review, Celia, erin morgenstern, fantasy, fic, Harry Potter, Le Cirque, Marco, Prospero, the night circus, YA

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

“The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not.”

Erin Morgenstern’s tale of magic and illusion follows in the footsteps of many a famous opening line. For the ‘Cirque des Reves’ is no ordinary circus. Its arrival and departure is a phenomena unto itself, as are its infamous opening hours: from sunset to daybreak. The Night Circus therefore is a strange, beautiful place; a place made up of many stalls that seem to cater to the wildest hopes and dreams of each and every one of its loyal patrons, the ‘Reveurs’.

“You think, as you walk away from Le Cirque des Rêves and into the creeping dawn, that you felt more awake within the confines of the circus.You are no longer quite certain which side of the fence is the dream.” 

However the ‘Cirque des Reves’ is far more than just a venue of wonderous entertainment. It serves a darker purpose as the enchanted battleground to a magicians duel. This unmarked chessboard binds the fate of two young students of magic who through chance or otherwise became pawns in a cruel wager in which they can never escape. Prospero and his long-time friend and rival Alexander have for centuries made a game out of pitting their students against each other. Their latest victims are no other than Celia, Prospero’s own daughter and Marco, an orphaned street urchin.

The bets are placed and the children are bound through a ritualistic ring, and so begins their gruelling instruction of the dark arts. However, the fight ahead of them is a blind fight, in which the opponent they face is unknown as well as the rules to the game. As you may imagine, the venue for the dual showcases the amazing abilities of both competitors. Complex attractions such as the ‘Pool of Tears’ and the ‘Ice Garden’ soon become not tools for fighting the opponent, but rather love tokens, as Celia and Marco eventually discover each other and slowly fall in love. Much to the chagrin of their Prospero and Alexander, the circus changes from a battleground to a star-crossed ode to love.

Set at the turn of the 20th century, ‘The Night Circus’ is a heady clash between late Victorian Romanticism and the opposing ideals of the Enlightenment. It is mechanics meets magic and mystery. The story itself is a delicate clockwork whose narrative feeds off a variety of opposites. The action for instance jumps from one side of the Atlantic to another, then all over the world according to the mysterious whims of the circus proprietors. The characters are also an oxymoron of sorts; as society forces real magicians to carry out their art under the guise of illusion.

“That’s the beauty of it. Have you seen the contraptions these magicians build to accomplish the most mundane feats? They are a bunch of fish covered in feathers trying to convince the public they can fly, I am simply a bird in their midst.”

I particularly enjoyed the sense of ‘battle without action’, which Morgenstern evokes with a quiet dexterity. The cast is varied and full of weird and wonderful people, all of whom have a touch of magic about them. My favourite has to be the arrogant Prospero and the exotic female Contortionist who is more than meets the eye. I also very much liked the way magic was conveyed in ‘The Night Circus’, as it is refreshingly different from the Harry Potter style of conjuring that we are all familiar with (apart from the use of a ‘Hogwart’s Express’ kind of transportation for the circus).

I must state that I do not read YA as much as I should. On the whole I think YA fiction reviews tend to be overhyped and that is unfortunately a turn off for me. However I really enjoyed ‘The Night Circus’ and glad I picked it up. I have seen a number of favourable reviews around the internet and wholeheartedly agree with them all. But this does not mean that the story was perfect, and there are parts that could have been ironed out. My small objections are as follows: The story having got off to an amazing start takes us straight into the harrowing relationship of Prospero and his poor daughter Celia. We see both young students grow up and the suffering (both physical and psychological) they both have to endure to become the best. The momentum up to this point is fantastic and I kept hoping Morgenstern could keep it up, but somewhere after circus is formed and Celia and Marco ‘discover’ each other, the story sort of starts to fall apart.

The poetic magic of Morgenstern’s storyline gives away at the seams and the direction of the novel for me was no longer clear. Now I could say that this could pass as a device that reflects the disillusionment of the main characters, but it didn’t FEEL that way. Two-thirds of the way into the novel there is a dilly-dallying that does mar the overall quality of the book, therefore my 4/5 stars. However, it did end on a strong note and the small hiccup did not put me off at all.

“I am tired of trying to hold things together that cannot be held. Trying to control what cannot be controlled. I am tired of denying myself what I want for fear of breaking things I cannot fix. They will break no matter what we do.” 

For those wanting a good summer read I recommend ‘The Night Circus’ as it really is a wonderful tale with a bit of everything thrown in. It’s one of those stories that you can totally let yourself be enveloped in and not worry about a thing. It reminded me a lot of ‘Howl’s Moving Castle‘ and ‘The Prestige‘, so if you like fantasy books with duelling magician’s then this is definitely one you shouldn’t miss.

Make sure you snap up a copy in the airport lounge before boarding your plane!

View all my reviews

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Book Review | ‘Kitchen’ by Banana Yoshimoto

Tags

banana yoshimoto, book review, Cancer, Grief Loss and Bereavement, japanese, kitchen, Soy sauce

Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

“The place I like best in this world is the kitchen. No matter where it is, no matter what kind, if it’s a kitchen, if it’s a place where they make food, it’s fine with me. Ideally it should be well broken in. Lots of tea towels, dry and immaculate. Where tile catching the light (ting! Ting!)”

Imagine a book that tasted like a drop of vanilla essence floating in dark soy sauce, smelled like clean linen on an unwashed body and felt like a cat purring on your lap during a violent thunderstorm. That is ‘Kitchen‘. It’s so deceptively simple, yet so full of emotion that it had me reeling. Often I would find myself at the end of a sentence, yet like an arrow loosed from a bow the thrust of it would carry and carry, until it travelled straight into my heart. Yoshimoto’s prose is like a time machine that took me back to some very difficult events in my life, and like her protagonists I was surprised that I too found myself in the kitchen when things looked very bleak indeed.

What is it about food that gives us comfort when facing loss on an earth-shattering scale? Following instructions on how to prepare a dish, making a cup of tea or touching the utensils and knowing their individual functions is an odd yet completely rational way of somehow inserting order into a life invaded by chaos. I think Yoshimoto’s idea of the kitchen as a place of domestic healing and love is something I can definitely identify with.

“Me, when I’m utterly exhausted by it all, when my skin breaks out, on those lonely evenings when I call my friends again and again and nobody’s home, then I despise my own life – my birth, my upbringing, everything.” 

There were some really memorable passages that were shockingly accurate about the raw, keening pain of bereavement. Those that have been through it will probably relive that sadness and find comfort in Yoshimoto’s writing, as the only road to recovery is to convince yourself that you are not alone, even though you may feel that way. And so the most heartbroken characters in the book find others who truly know what ‘rock-bottom’ means. For instance, my favourite character Eriko happens to be a transvestite who decides to undergo major surgery and become a woman after losing his wife to terminal cancer. Yoshimoto never once refers to the reasons behind Eriko’s life-altering decision, but it’s extraordinary how she lets us read between the lines and come to conclusions that sometimes the mania of trying to bring a person back may even entail ‘becoming’ that person at all costs. In this edition there is another short story which has a similar character, a high school boy who lost his girlfriend and brother in a car accident, and finds the only way to cope with it is by wearing his girlfriend’s school uniform. All in all, one can make parallel’s between how men and women cope with loss and it seems women are the stronger sex in Yoshimoto’s world.

“At that moment I had a thrilling sharp intuition. I knew it as if I held it in my hands: In the gloom of death that surrounded the two of us, we were just at the point of approaching and negotiating a gentle curve. If we bypassed it, we would split off into different directions. In that case, we would forever remain just friends.” 

‘Kitchen’ therefore is a strange juxtaposition of happiness, grief, laughter and tears that looks at the different ways people cope with carrying on with life despite all the odds. There are those who keep their feelings hidden and smile in the face of adversity while some change gender just to liberate themselves from the pain they feel. From transvestites to high school kids, Yoshimoto’s cast is colourful and varied as we realise that everyone sooner or later, will be touched by death and through it learn to appreciate every day as a blessing.

View all my reviews

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Book Review | ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ by Tennessee Williams

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a streetcar named desire, Blanche, book review, Elia Kazan, marlon brando, Play, Stanley, Stanley Kowalski, tennessee williams

A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

“What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it’s curved like a road through mountains.”

From the master of plays about dysfunctional relationships, this must be the most brutal and best Tennessee Williams ever penned. In ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ the raw masculine brutality of Stanley Kowalski clashes with the paper-thin deluded dreams of his Southern belle sister-in-law Blanche. The sheer incompatibility of these two personalities and the way Williams mercilessly pits them against each other completely floored me. The usual themes of death, life, desire and dubious sexuality are rife in this portrait of imminent physical and psychological undoing.

Williams is known for his generous stage directions and scene set ups, which makes it a joy to read on the page. This is a play full of very high contrast scenes and takes you from soft, gentle moments to earth-shattering ones. The battle of the sexes has never been so clearly presented as Stanley is the ultimate symbol of unyielding masculine sexuality, whereas Blanche represents the fragility of womankind. It is an unflinching looks at the pressure’s of womanhood and how compromises such as making excuses for other people’s shortcomings, glossing over major faults and ‘normalising’ domestic brutality was commonplace and expected of them.

“I don’t want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic! I try to give that to people. I misrepresent things to them. I don’t tell the truth, I tell what ought to be the truth. And it that’s sinful, then let me be damned for it!” 

I have heard a lot about this play, on how Blanche is the only character who doesn’t belong in Williams red-blooded multicultural world, but I beg to differ. Blanche is a women severely wounded by life, but who always tries to cover up the cracks that have come about in her personality as a result of her disillusionment with reality. Stanley on the other hand may seem like the realist, but his final act of brutality (the one that pushes Blanche to the edge of sanity) is more sinister than Blanche’s desire to live in a make-believe world. She may be the one lying to people willy-nilly in order to make up for her shortcomings, but Stanley is far more dangerous and displays a very feminine trait of trapping people into his web, that of sexual promise.

“I don’t want realism. I want magic! Yes, yes, magic. I try to give that to people. I do misrepresent things. I don’t tell truths. I tell what ought to be truth.” 

It was fascinating to see how Williams linked one event to another and at one point allowed us to see into the head of Blanche just when she was breaking up. This is no mean feat, but nothing is too hard for Williams and the subtle effects of music and lighting for me were innovative and eye-opening. ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ is one to be read first and then seen on the stage. Shame that the late, great Marlon Brando is no longer with us, as I would love to have seen him perform this live as Stanley Kowalski. But heigh-ho, at least we have the film by Elia Kazan as consolation.

View all my reviews

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Book Review | ‘Shadow Dance’ by Angela Carter

Tags

angela carter, Annunciation, Bloody Chamber, book review, Evelyn, gothic fiction, literary fiction, Morris, Nights at the Circus, Passion of New Eve, shadow dance, violence

Shadow Dance by Angela Carter

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

“She was a beautiful girl, a white and golden girl, like moonlight on daisies, a month ago. So he stared at her shattered beauty… ‘She is a burning child, a fiery bud’ said Honeybuzzard, before he knifed her.'”

This is a very strange story about a ghastly nymphet called Ghislaine whose beauty verges on the grotesque even before her face gets slashed to pieces by the equally beautiful and androgynous villain Honeybuzzard. I am beginning to see a common theme in Carter’s particular stance on the nature of feminine beauty in that she loves to concoct her characters as a delirious mix of sexual depravity in virginal garbs.

‘Shadow Dance’ is a complex novel where the sexuality of characters are always suspect. The medusa-like Ghislaine (even her name is a monstrosity that smacks of the absinthe-odoured Lautrec ladies) is presented as an insatiable young woman who is forever scarred after a violent sexual attack cruelly orchestrated by two men; Morris, a nondescript antique-dealer who beneath the thin gloss is basically a failure in life and his flamboyant and dangerous sidekick Honeybuzzard.

“In the flickering blue light, Honey’s long, pale hair and high-held, androgynous face was hard and fine and inhuman; Medusa, marble, terrible… She gaped up, baffled, wondering, like the Virgin in Florentine pictures meeting the beautiful, terrible Angel of the Annunciation.” 

The two men are very unlikely friends and partners in crime, however the thing drawing the two together is the very thing that makes them incompatible: total incongruity of character. Morris is the total opposite of Honeybuzzard. Where he is all shy and retiring, Honeybuzzard is all knives and sharp corners. Like the title suggests, there is a very subtle shadow dance that occurs between these two men, they are both too much of one thing and not enough of another and it is through this need that they come into close proximity and tolerate each others intolerable acts. Even more subtle is the sexual tension between the two and the sense of how they can never truly enact the forbidden sexual desire for one another because they are, in a symbolic sense, each other.

Honeybuzzard and Ghislaine were the most interesting characters and I find Carter is at her best when creating the most outrageous personalities. She really does shine as she makes the most incredible habits credible. Ghislaine’s magnificent entrance at the beginning of the novel and Carters exquisite description of her will stay with me for a long while. It was nice to see the initial workings of ‘The Passion of New Eve‘ in this, her first novel; as I think Ghislaine and Honeybuzzard may have been test versions of the Tristesse and Evelyn to come.

Carter is also a master of jerking sympathy out of her readership for the most absurd of reasons. As poisonous as Ghislaine is, we cannot help feeling horror and shock at her attack by the hands of Morris, who was the one who planted the demonic seed of thought into the impressionable mind of Honeybuzzard. In roundabout ways we can decide for ourselves who was more or less to blame for the events of that night and how the aftermath affects not just the victim, but many other innocent bystanders who have no more than a fleeting acquaintance with the main people involved.

The most amazing thing about ‘Shadow Dance’ has to be the detailed descriptions of various degrees of depravity, whether this be in the state of a house or a relationship. Things are always a little bit tainted in Carter’s world and that’s what gives this a very gothic flavour. Everything is in a certain stage of its’ own undoing and even those who think they have finally captured a rag of relative happiness soon have it cruelly torn from them.

I adore authors who are not afraid to put their characters through their paces, who are brutal and precise if the story demands it. Carter cares very much for her characters, which is why she is so careless with them. They are not wrapped in cotton and protected by events, they live them out for us and brings us ‘the taste of pennies’ on our tongue. It’s always a pleasure to read Carter, for she belongs in the rare gallery of women writers such as du Maurier, Atwood and Morrison, who boldly go where no others have been and eke out new, savage pastures for readers to lose themselves in. They bring with them their own brand of femininity, one that tries to cleanse itself of the barbie-coloured optimism, and allows us to glance at the depths of our forbidden selves for a few therapeutic minutes – at the overwhelming burden of our dark ‘life-giving’ gifts and what this means in its terrifying totality.

View all my reviews

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Book Review | ‘A Room With A View’ by E.M. Forster

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a room with a view, E M Forster, em forster, Florence, Italy, romance

A Room with a View by E.M. Forster

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

“It isn’t possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.”

EM Forster, where have you been all my life? I tell you where; mouldering unassumingly on the shelf buried in anonymity, that’s what. I, the one who gags at the mere mention of romance novels may possibly, possibly have been won over with ‘A Room With A View’. But how? What sets this novel apart from others of its’ kind?

First off, it is wonderfully absent of the dewy-eyed, sugary prose that is the staple of romance novels and which ultimately makes my stomach churn. No ‘Tess of the d’Urbervilles’ for me, thank you very much (two words: strawberry picking). There are no embarrassing outpourings of love, one-dimensional suitors or fainting maidens (okay, there is one, but for good reason!) Neither does it flog around the familiar, old-fashioned clichés commonly associated with the genre. It looks at love from an angle of improbability and tries at least to keep up with the kind of love we might experience in our day-to-day lives; the type that is fought for and jealousy guarded BECAUSE it is so hard-won.

“When I think of what life is, and how seldom love is answered by love; it is one of the moments for which the world was made.”

The characters are flawed and unconventional, because Forster is a wonderful analyst of personalities and knows exactly what combinations produce the most interesting chemistry. His grouping of characters therefore is delightfully uncanny and quirky, which reflects precisely what we all come to know and love about the ‘quintessential’ Edwardian era. This social comedy has its’ fair share of stiff-upper lips in the form of Charlotte Bartlett (a spinster cousin), Cecil Vyse (the socially appropriate suitor) and his awful mother Lady Vyse. However Lucy, our heroine, is a sensible lass and despite having been brought up in this inbred atmosphere of social rights and wrongs, realises that sometimes rules must be broken and that the real folly is to live one’s life according to what society expects from you.

But let’s talk a little of the story itself and how this odd romance begins in the best of all possible places; an Italian pensione. It is here that Lucy Honeychurch and her chaperone Miss Bartlett enter the scene and promptly bemoan that they have been denied their promised ‘room with a view’. It is also here that they meet the elderly socialist Mr. Emerson and his morose son George, who in a moment of rash chivalry offer their rooms to the ladies instead. This offer seen as gross lack of manners is kindly but firmly rejected. But after much insistence the ladies get their ‘rooms’ and begin their exploration of Florence thanks to a trusty Baedeker.

After this encounter Lucy gets to know the Emerson’s a bit better and decides that poor Mr. Emerson is a misunderstood soul whose heart is in the right place. His quiet, sullen son however is enigmatic in a way that both intrigues and repels her. Yet fate has it that their paths should collide at the plaza where a terrible, random tragedy unfolds. The event jars and awakens both of them to emotions that had hitherto lain dormant. Yet before Lucy can be sure of her feelings another event takes place; one where George makes it very obvious how he feels. This ultimately causes a small crisis that is resolved by a speedy escape to Rome.

There Lucy meets Cecil and his mother Lady Vyse; influential family friends who below to the upper echelons of English society. Needless to say Cecil falls for Lucy, deeming her a worthy mate (even though she is socially beneath him, but never mind, his mother says he can bring her over to ‘their side’), and begins to pursue her persistently. After they return from Italy his determination is rewarded with an eventual ‘yes’ and everyone deems it a very good match.

However betrothed bliss is short-lived, as Lucy’s nervous cousin Miss Bartlett intrudes into her life once more, bringing with it the scandalous ‘incident’ that caused her to run from Florence in the first place. In the wake of this bad luck harbinger, comes the shocking news that Cecil (out of subtle cruelty or irony) has brought the Emerson’s to Lucy’s neck of the woods. Of all the places! Tension surmounts as Lucy tries to keep a cool head, yet fate has a way of uncovering the truth and one of those is the obvious fact that Cecil simply is not and cannot ever be husband material.

And so the story goes, of which I will NOT talk, for fear of giving away too much. But before I end the review I just want to say how much I liked Lucy. This is probably because our heroine is far more able than her previous counterparts. Lucy Honeychurch is NOT dumb, she is not some silly lopsided caricature of femininity. Lucy has her own thoughts and feelings, can make decisions for herself and is aware that she needs to expand her horizons. She’s tough and once she makes a decision she tries to follow it through. In fact, Lucy might be said to have her own code which comes about after her fateful trip to Florence and Rome, where the hot-blooded continental spark for life fires her imagination and imparts the gift of transforming her into a ‘thinking woman’.

“This desire to govern a woman — it lies very deep, and men and women must fight it together…. But I do love you surely in a better way then he does.” He thought. “Yes — really in a better way. I want you to have your own thoughts even when I hold you in my arms.”

As George puts it, love is not about controlling anyone, it’s about loving them just the way they are. I think this will always be the case, as George and Lucy do love each other completely; warts and all. Cecil’s sneering attitude grated on my nerves and the way he looked down on everyone was just bad manners even though he was supposed to be the most well-bred out of the lot of them.

Through reading this novel I have discovered that I can definitely do this kind of earthy love story, that has its’ share of ups and down and is tempered by well-timed comedy. If you are like me too in that you can’t stand most romance novels, give this one a try. You might be surprised!

View all my reviews

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Literary Songs A-Z | D is for ‘Diamonds are Forever’ by Ian Fleming

Tags

Casino Royale, diamonds are forever, ian fleming, James Bond in film, Roger Moore, Sean Connery, Shirley Bassey, Spy Who Loved Me

Yup, it was bound to happen sometime soon. I couldn’t resist it; there had to be a Shirley Bassey in the line-up and it’s in at the letter ‘D’. ‘Diamonds are Forever’ is the fourth Fleming novel in the 007 series and it just oozes charisma and glamour. Without a doubt it epitomises the very essence of the novels. In fact, if the Bond movie franchise got one thing right again and again, it’s the quality of their opening music and Shirley Bassey is the undisputed queen of that particular success.

However, I feel the last few Bond movies have not lived up to this expectation. The music just wasn’t up to scratch, it being somewhat lacklustre and forgettable (I confess, I can’t even remember the last two Bond songs!). Even worse is the sad fact that there really IS no one good enough to take over from Bassey. Lord knows they have tried, but it just hasn’t worked. Her voice is the auditory hallmark of the 007 films and to be honest the only person who could have come close to stepping into her shoes was the late, great Amy Winehouse. But alas, that was not to be. It’s a shame that Winehouse was so self-destructive and her death is a great loss to the music world. But I believe there is still hope. There is yet some other singer out there with the special vocal chemistry that will make my skin tingle when those opening chords play and the naked ladies grace the screen in their psychedelic glory (all seen through a very suggestive ‘peeping-tom-like’ tunnel!)

I have only read two Fleming books so far: ‘Octopussy and the Living Daylights’ and ‘The Spy Who Loved Me’ and found them to be entertaining in their own way, although I have it on good authority that ‘Casino Royale‘ is by far the best out the bunch. The only difference between the Bond in the novels and the Bond we are accustomed to seeing on screen is that the books don’t take the whole thing so seriously. It’s very tongue-in-cheek and quite clearly just a bit of fun. This was quite surprising after the cool, cunning and calculating Bond that Sean Connery and Roger Moore have built up over the years. I would recommend the Bond novels to anyone looking for a break from their usual genres.  If you’re not sure check out my reviews above.

But I digress; here is the opening title screen to the film. Lyrics are below, enjoy!

Diamonds are forever,
They are all I need to please me,
They can stimulate and tease me,
They won’t leave in the night,
I’ve no fear that they might desert me.

Diamonds are forever,
Hold one up and then caress it,
Touch it, stroke it and undress it,
I can see every part,
Nothing hides in the heart to hurt me.

I don’t need love,
For what good will love do me?
Diamonds never lie to me,
For when love’s gone,
They’ll luster on.

Diamonds are forever,
Sparkling round my little finger.
Unlike men, the diamonds linger;
Men are mere mortals who
Are not worth going to your grave for.

I don’t need love,
For what good will love do me?
Diamonds never lie to me,
For when love’s gone,
They’ll luster on.
Diamonds are forever, forever, forever.
Diamonds are forever, forever, forever.
Forever and ever.

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• James Bond: Diamonds Are Forever script full of Fleming’s handwritten corrections emerges for auction with estimate of £80,000 (dailymail.co.uk)
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Book Review | ‘Hell Screen’ by Ryunosuke Akutagawa

Tags

book review, hell screen, in a grove, japanese horror story, Lotus Pond, rashoumon, ryunosuke akutagawa, Samuel Beckett, the spiders thread, truman capote, Vladimir Nabokov

Hell Screen by Ryūnosuke Akutagawa

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

In celebration of their 50th birthday, Penguin Modern Classics launched a series of 50 mini books to honour and bring to light the lesser known works of famous authors like Samuel Beckett, Truman Capote and Vladimir Nabokov.

These pocket-sized books may be very quick reads, but the stories in them certainly pack a punch and are guaranteed to stay with you for a long time. By chance I picked up ‘Hell Screen’ by Akutagawa, which is the first in the series, and was completely blown away by the brilliance of the prose.

In this slim volume the reader gets to know the more spiritual side of Akutagawa through the short stories ‘Hell Screen’ and ‘The Spider Thread’, the latter of which is more like a parable. Both stories are told in a conversational tone, bringing us closer to Akutagawa as ‘story-teller’ rather than author. They are also cautionary tales that show us how our actions (whether good or bad) will be rewarded in like regardless of whether we are in the land of the living or the dead.

‘Hell Screen’ is the macabre tale of the nefarious yet gifted painter Yoshihide, who is notorious for his obsession with his art, so much so that he will do anything to be the best. The repellent nature of the man is constantly mentioned, his cruelty, borderline insanity and unorthodox ways of approaching his craft is also illustrated with examples. He will stop at nothing to create the most realistic portrayals of beauty and suffering and claims he can only paint what he has seen. Therefore when his Imperial Majesty orders him to paint a screen depicting the sufferings of hell, Yoshihide shuts himself up in his atelier and commences to produce the most terrifying images conceivable – to the great suffering of his apprentices.

“Being attacked by the owl however was not what frightened the lad. What really made his flesh crawl was the way master Yoshihide followed the commotion with his cold stare, taking his time to spread out a piece of paper, lick his brush, and then set about capturing the terrible image of a delicate boy being tormented by a hideous bird.”

However, one image, the crowning glory of the screen, is to be of a beautiful woman crashing down a cliff in a horse-drawn carriage enveloped in flames. This being beyond Yoshihide’s means, he decides to request a true-life re-enactment from the Imperial Majesty himself. To the horror of the townsfolk, his request is granted, and what follows is the beginning of Yoshihide’s undoing.

‘The Spider Thread’ also deals with visions of heaven and hell, but is much shorter and more vivid in its description. It starts with one of the most elegant descriptions of paradise I have ever come across and ends in much the same way:

“And now, children, let me tell you a story about the Lord Buddha Shakyamuni.
           It begins one day as He was strolling along in Paradise by the banks of the Lotus Pond. The blossoms on the pond were like perfect white pearls, and from their golden centers wafted forth a never-ending fragrance wonderful beyond description. I think it must have been morning in Paradise.”

The beauty of this last story actually surpasses ‘Hell Screen’, the execution of it being absolutely masterful. Again the focus is on the merits of mercy and cruelty and how a single act of kindness no matter how small, can give a sinner the slimmest of chance to enter the grace of heaven.

I fully intend to read the next 49 in this series. If you have not read Akutagawa yet, then these two stories are an excellent introduction to him. ‘In a Grove‘ and ‘Rashoumon’ might be his most famous works, but I feel ‘Hell Screen’ and ‘The Spider’s Thread‘ are far superior when it comes to literary merit.

View all my reviews

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Book Review | ‘Salome’ by Oscar Wilde

Tags

Art Nouveau, aubrey beardsley, book revi, Dance, John the Baptist, oscar wilde, salome, the house of pomegranates, the model millionaire

Salome by Oscar Wilde

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

“Salomé, Salomé, dance for me. I pray thee dance for me. I am sad to-night. Yes, I am passing sad to-night. When I came hither I slipped in blood, which is an evil omen; and I heard, I am sure I heard in the air a beating of wings, a beating of giant wings. I cannot tell what they mean …. I am sad to-night. Therefore dance for me. Dance for me, Salomé, I beseech you. If you dance for me you may ask of me what you will, and I will give it you, even unto the half of my kingdom.”

‘Salome’ is probably the most notorious femme fatale in literature. But through no fault of the historical or biblical accounts mind you; but rather because of Aubrey Beardsley‘s grotesque ink panels that were inspired by Wilde’s play. Like most people, I became aware of the play through these oriental drawings, yet had a devil of a time finding a translated English version (Wilde originally wrote it in French) anywhere on the web. However, thanks to pinkmonkey.com I have finally sated my curiosity. But…

Yes, big but. I’m not sure why, but this one didn’t really come across as particularly good. I’m holding the quality of the translation to blame, as I’m sad to say that this is very different to Wilde’s other plays. To start with, the brilliance of language that we are used to is totally lacking. The dialogue between the characters are monotonous and annoyingly repetitive which is NOT a Wilde trademark. It could possibly be that Wilde’s prose may have been butchered through bad translation. Until I learn to read French fluently, this is what I am hoping it is. If it is not the case and the translation is faithful, then this play exposes a very different side to Wilde.

The ending was also quite abrupt, hurried and somewhat ‘missing’. However what I did like about it was the inclusion of many characters from different religions. I really got a sense of cultural mix and tolerance of difference (even though John the Baptist gets killed because of his heretical beliefs!) King Herod had many people in his court and this is clearly illustrated that. But beauty of language was what I was looking for. Hell, scrap that, I was expecting Art Nouveau decadence, a poisonous, deadly grace. But that wasn’t to be. All that is left is for me to gaze on the ink panels and dream serpentine thoughts of how good it would have been if things had gotten a bit more… ‘Macbeth-ish’. And how it possibly could have done with a few more scenes/acts.

A prose version of ‘Salome’ could have been more interesting interspersed with some of Aubrey Beardsley’s fantastic drawings. Having said that, I’d give anything to see this on stage. The choreography of the ‘seven veils’ would be wonderful to watch!

A generous 3/5 stars.

To read the version I have, please go to: http://pinkmonkey.com/dl/library1/salome…

For more reviews on Oscar Wilde see: ‘House of Pomegranates’  and ‘The Model Millionaire’.

View all my reviews

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