Sunday, May 20, 2018

The Perils of Pluto

I am a regular quizzer. I love answering questions. I know it's sad, but I get a kick out of knowing something really obscure that few others know. I'll take my thrills where I can get them.

This is a note to quizzers about that pesky solar system object known as ‘Pluto’. Planets come up quite often in quizzes, and there is frequently a discussion about Pluto—planet? dwarf planet? orbiting canine? In 2006 Pluto was demoted to the status of dwarf planet. However, many of us have the notion—but originating where?—that Pluto has been recently reinstated to full planetary status … perhaps on the basis of good behaviour? Actually, the idea that Pluto was reinstated arose because of an APRIL FOOLS day story that came out in 2017, claiming that Pluto had been re-planeted. In fact, it’s still regarded as a dwarf planet—or perhaps we should say ‘planet of small stature’? For those concerned about how this demotion has affected Pluto’s psychological wellbeing, you will be pleased to know that there is a group of astronomers trying to change the definition of planet so that it basically means: sub-stellar object of roughly spherical shape. If this definition is accepted, Pluto will once again join the ranks of the planets. Unfortunately, so would 102 other bodies in the solar system. Good luck remembering all their names, quizzers!

Tuesday, May 1, 2018

New Release!

My new novel, The Woman by the Urn, will be released on 21 June 2018. You can pre-order the Kindle version here.

A young boy in Glasgow.
A young man at theological college.
An aging painter.

Sean Burnett is all of these, viewed through his own eyes and those of the people closest to him. 'Are our lives a single thread,' he asks, 'flowing smoothly from one instant to the next? Or are they composed of a series of discrete temporal packages? Digital lives, rather than analog lives.'

This painting, 'The Woman by the Urn', will be his last great project. Will family tragedy intervene to prevent its completion? Will Sean live long enough to finish the painting. Can a painting ever really be finished? Can a life ever really be completed?

Sunday, November 5, 2017

Poem (2): For Fear

For Fear

As I fear to bend and break
The grass upon which I walk ...
As I touch not the lustrous bubble
For fear of ending its fragile life;
As I fear to tread upon the virgin snow
And savage its perfection ...
As I speak not in the dawn's light
For fear of shattering its calm.

So I fear to touch you with my love
For fear of bending and breaking yours.

(24 September 2017)

Thursday, September 28, 2017

A Little Poetry

I have not posted anything on here for several months now. I thought I might use it to occasionally air some poetry. Like most of my writing, this doesn't come easily to me, so don't expect me to churn the poems out.

Here's one I prepared earlier 😀


Spring’s Demise 

There is, in the breaking of an arm,
In the breaking of an arm of a small boy,
A small boy who falls to the ground laughing,
Laughing until the sound reaches his ears,
His ears, like petals on the side of his head,
His head tipping back as tears flow,
As tears flow down each cheek,
Each cheek now pale and bloodless,
Bloodless like the marble statue against which he lies...

There is, in the breaking of an arm,
The sound of spring’s demise.

2014 © Philip Newey

Thursday, April 13, 2017

The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling (by Henry Fielding): Not quite a review

I've finally finished this. Although it took me a long time, it was surprisingly easy to read. Bear in mind that it was published in 1749, and I expected to have more difficulty with the English. A few words were oddly (and variously) spelt, but otherwise the language was almost entirely modern. Only a few odd words and phrases failed to yield their meaning within the context. 

Of course, the book is written in a style which most modern readers would not particularly like. The author frequently addresses the reader directly, imposing himself upon the narrative, offering opinions and engaging in lengthy digressions from the central narrative. The novel is divided into several books, each of which is subdivided into chapters. The first chapter of each book is presented as a kind of prologue which, rather than progressing the plot, usually involves some kind of philosophical/ethical discourse.

The plot is complex, peppered with larger than life characters and improbable scenarios, with elements that we would recognise as farce. It is, however, of a somewhat more literary character than much of the farce that appears on the stage, particularly in the English theatrical tradition. It is, at times, hilariously funny, occasionally moving, and always insightful. Despite the fashions and styles of the times, the characters and situations are not so very far removed from what we might witness today.

Although many modern readers would struggle with the style in which this novel is written, it is perhaps worth pointing out that what we today consider to be the 'proper' form of the novel is itself but a passing fad. 

I would not presume to give a book which is still being read 268 years after its initial publication a star rating.

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

The New Normal

Last year was a fascinating year in many respects, especially politically around the world. I haven’t commented about much of it. Plenty of others have done that. To be honest, I’m not sure what any of it means, or what the long term consequences might be.

I am aware, though, that human beings have an incredible (and not always helpful) capacity to adapt. It does not take long for us to ‘get used’ to things, to accept things as the new ‘normal’. This can take truly extreme forms. People can ‘get used’ to living in prisons or detention camps; or living under constant bombardment. This adaptability is useful in one sense: it is necessary for survival, at least in the short term. In the longer term, though, it means that we cease to fight. That’s understandable. Fighting is exhausting.

This, of course, is what oppressive regimes (whether they be oppressive governments, oppressive government agencies, or oppressive private corporations) depend on: that we will tire of the fight; that we will not, in fact, be able to maintain our rage.

And few of us can, for any length of time. Life goes on. It all becomes ‘normal’, all too quickly.

I’m feeling some of this tiredness myself. Apart from anything else, the ‘enemy’ is difficult to pin down. There are conservative and reactionary forces pummelling us from every direction. Unfortunately, they distract us from what are probably the most important issues facing us today.

The most important issue facing us is climate change, but it remains difficult to convince people of that. It is very difficult to maintain this fight because, to be honest, I think the battle is already largely lost. Even if we were to stop introducing CO2, methane and other greenhouse gases into the atmosphere today, mean global temperatures would now likely continue to increase for decades; and that does not even take into account any critical cascade events that may be precipitated. There is next to no chance of keeping the increase below 2 °C. The consequences of this are unimaginable. And perhaps that is the problem. It does not seem real to us. It will be real enough to our children and grandchildren.

Unfortunately, we will probably get used to this too.

Anything we do now is probably far too little, far too late. This will no doubt be the next argument of the forces that oppose action again climate change: it’s too late to do much, so why bother doing anything?

But I won’t buy that. Everything we can do, we must do.

Let’s do our best to maintain the fight, to maintain our rage. Let’s not get used to the new ‘normal’.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Review: 'Defenestration' by Matthew W McFarland

Almost four years ago now I reviewed a collection of short stories by Matthew W McFarland entitled Fifty/Fifty and Other Stories. Among those stories was what is now (more or less) the opening chapter of this novella. It was also called ‘Defenestration’, and I gave it 4.5 stars. The question is, does this novella measure up to its namesake?

The short answer is: almost. There was a simplicity and elegance to the prose of the short story which made it a pleasure to read. For the most part, that quality of writing is maintained here. The events of the short story remained largely unexplained. The reader simply experiences the defenestration [for those unfamiliar with the term, it is the act of being thrown from a window] from the first person point of view of the defenestratee (a word I have probably just invented). The absence of a context or explanation for this event is no shortcoming at all for this short, elegant piece.

This novella provides the background, context and sequel to this event.

The plot emerges slowly from the narrative as characters are introduced and stories told. I was very impressed with the way the different streams of the narrative and the characters they featured were gradually woven together into a very pleasing tapestry. I would urge those who prefer stories with a faster pace and more action to exercise patience here. It is not a long book, and if you put in the effort and spare the time I hope you will appreciate the skill of the weave and the elegance of the prose.

As interesting as the plot is, as much as anything this is a series of character studies of a number of mildly to extremely dysfunctional people living in present-day Belfast. Each of the characters is well drawn, although it did take me a little while to sort among the different female characters. Melanie is as delightfully twisted a character as I have encountered anywhere.

The central male character, Adam, who is ostensibly the narrator of this tale, is lacking in detail until well past the middle of the book. We know nothing about him: his age, family relationships or profession. Large sections of the book are virtually a third person narrative and, although we are aware that Adam is the narrator, he is not really present in the story at those times. I remained somewhat confused about his age. At one point, reference is made to his ‘old age’, yet he elsewhere appears as a potentially suitable match for one of the young women in the story.

The author uses a clever device to enable the narrator to relate events at which he is not (ostensibly) present—I don’t want to give away the plot by being more specific. However, this device breaks down in at least one scene towards the end of the story where it can no longer operate. It involves a prison visit of which the narrator cannot be a witness.

The only other misgiving I have about this novella is that the author has a tendency at times to slip into a somewhat didactic and self-conscious philosophical/social commentary. This was a little too direct and obvious for my taste.

A sharper eye for editing would have picked up a few obvious errors here and there.

McFarland is an excellent writer, with a facility both for writing elegant prose and weaving together a good story. I hope to hear more from him in the future.