In the Corners of Clouds

Dear Sir/Madam It has come to my attention that in your new print run of Roald Dahl books you have deemed it appropriate to make excessive edits in line with what you presumably see as a positive societal direction towards inclusivity. Regardless of the rightness or wrongness of this movement, it seems to me that you have forgotten that you are the distributors of literature, not the creators; a company , not a political, philosophical, educational or religious establishment. Yet here you are, acting as the final arbiters in one of the most important cultural debates of our time. By all means, refresh your covers and layouts, but your assertion that it is not unusual to ‘review the language’ is insidiously vague, reading a little like a literary get-out-of-jail-free card for whatever slavery to the system you engage in. And yes, I use the word slave in full awareness that for many it is an emotional catalyst. Well, good! What respect I must have for these others, to imagine that...

  I know these are usually yoked together as the only two things in life of which we can be certain, but I think they also offer an interesting polarity. I like doing my tax (sorry to those of you on a deadline, but if that’s you, then this is some excellent procrastination). In the focused specifics of a tax return I enjoy, temporarily , the absence of critical thinking, artistic endeavour, metaphorical understanding, and general striving towards Eudaimonia . I like seeing all the little numbers lining up and coming to the expected total. I savour the feeling of being both participant, in the placing of these numbers, and witness to their universal quality. I need only avoid error, and they will reveal themselves in their perfect simplicity. So neat. So pleasing. Of course, I wouldn’t want to do my tax every day. Neatness is the winsome rural scene that makes one smile when passing through but tarry too long and the initial charm leads quickly to existential crisis. And so ind...

This week’s inspirational morsel comes from Goethe, and it’s particularly pithy: Doubt grows with knowledge . Nice. Short, sharp, simple, and, for me at least, one of those quotes to which there is an immediate and excitable response in the affirmative, followed swiftly by a more considered analysis. I often find this, and it irks me; I react to some philosophical or literary quip with child-like glee (or perhaps dog-like in my scrabblings to get to the door of understanding), then the boring adult of the conscious mind rolls up its sleeves and says ‘now then, what is it about that statement that’s got you in such a tizz, and please can you articulate your response so that the rest of the class can understand?’ GAH! Yes, I probably can, but it will take effort and I’d rather keep skipping around the room with the Ghost of Goethe. However, after some musings, a lot of head scratching, and a few diversions into wholly unrelated areas (luckily I am trained in the art of academic writing...

  I’ve been contemplating this little nugget from Nietzsche: “Ultimately, no one can extract from things, books included, more than he already knows. What one has no access to through experience one has no ear for.” I have always based enormous value on my intellect. As a child in a chaotic home, my ability to reason, analyse, and structure my mind was of utmost importance. Fortunately, this way of being is one that our culture celebrates and rewards, in fact demands . Suffice to say, good grades abounded, certificates were granted, academic success was guaranteed. I now place enormous value on my intuition. As an adult in a chaotic world, my ability to imagine, create, and let go of mental structures is of utmost importance. Unfortunately, this way of being is one that our culture denigrates and dismisses, in fact fears.   Suffice to say, arguments abound, points are rejected, social success is not guaranteed. When I say I know something intuitively, this is often argu...