Yes, we're tired. Why might that be?

When I lived in Germany, people used to talk about "Spring tiredness". The scientific basis for this phenomenon is still up for debate, but experientially it's definitely a thing. I think there's something in it... And massively variable weather, I'm guessing, probably makes it worse.

We have also, of course, been stupidly busy for pretty much six months now. True, we slacked off quite considerably this month. Which wasn't so much a choice (there's still lots to do, after all) as a body-and-soul-enforced imperative. You are NOT going to continue to race around, they said. We will NOT have it. You need to walk more, chill more, read more. And it's true that we still have energy for those things... Just not so much for tackling that list of house jobs that still need attention.

Also energy-sapping is this unprecedented debacle that's unfolding in West Asia. As you see the effects of this monumentally ill-judged action rippling out across the globe, you have to be afraid of what's coming. The appearance of a huge question mark over our plan to return to Sarawak in August is NOTHING compared to the wholesale destruction of lives, livelihoods, property, international norms, and the environment that's unfolding before our eyes. Even if the fighting stops tomorrow (unlikely), this mess will be with us for a long, long time. I can't think of it without anger. And anger is tiring, too.


Whatever the cause of the tiredness, the result is a kind of low-level blueness. We're not very resilient at the moment (when things go wrong, we get disproportionately upset); and, as I said, we're slow to get on with the things we need to do.

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All that notwithstanding, it has not been a BAD month per se. There have been lots of nice things: A trip to Peel to see Mars; lots of local walking (partly courtesy of the bus strike); longer walks to The Strang and Ballafreer; a couple of steam train trips from Port Erin and Castletown; a drone show and a movie; a magnificent choral/orchestral performance called Better Is Peace; and, of course, lots of opportunities to take photos.


I write all that down, and think: Really, I have nothing to complain about. I really don't.

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On The Velvet Cushion, the massive catch-up operation continues. Still not there yet... I recently happened on this comment, by the way, which provides as good a rationale as any for The Velvet Cushion: "Reading books is participating in a conversation: With a younger self who previously read the book; with the self you see reflected in the narrative; with the exegetical self (with whom you debate as you tackle the author’s literary project); with the author; with others who have also read the book; and, perhaps, with some higher being." And if you're doing all that conversing, you might as well write it down...

-- Better Is Peace I have already mentioned. There was also a Book notes post about the novels that influenced us in our twenties. Thought-provoking... What were you devouring in your twenties...?
-- Two posts chart the culmination of very long (one-year-plus) group reads in the company of Henry Eliot's Read the Classics book group: The Old Curiosity Shop, by Charles Dickens (highly entertaining); and Anna Karenina (last read about 50 years ago, and SO much more magnificent this time round...).
-- Also tackled with that group, albeit over shorter periods of time, were The Age of Innocence, by Edith Wharton (a brilliant depiction of a stultifying society), and Dubliners, by James Joyce (rich and intriguing, although I feel I'm far from having unpacked all the layers).


-- The Bee Sting, by Paul Murray, is one of the most powerful contemporary novels I've read in a long while, and a consummate depiction of the way the shit that's never far from family life unfolds and metastasizes. A Single Man, by Christopher Isherwood, was also a poignant read (albeit marred by its occasional bursts of misogyny).
-- Early Mornings at the Laksa Cafe, by Janet Tay, gives us a good story, but made me terribly second-home-sick, especially as I was reading it just as possibilities for our August trip were dimming. Eight Months on Ghazzah Street, by Hilary Mantel, was brilliant in many ways (she withholds information quite masterfully, creating a very suspenseful, spooky story with a big sting in the tail). It was also a little irritating... I guess I just don't do moral absolutes in quite the same way...
-- Strangely disappointing, given the way everyone RAVES about it, was A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles. Pleasant to listen to, but it just didn't ring true for me, somehow...
-- Meanwhile, the prize for the month's most surprising book must go to Fantomina, by Eliza Haywood. Written in the early 18th century, it features a heroine who assumes a series of disguises in order to carry on sleeping with the attractive but obviously brainless Beauplaisir.


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Notable links this month:

-- Chris Arnade on what's really needed to make America great...
-- A poem by Archibald Knox, written at Renshent Keill, about the joy of resting "content / a restless spirit / of this holy hill / with the things of the earth / that are also of Thee"
-- A scary article by Dan Haylett about the way mobility, energy, and independence start to tail off after you're 60, meaning we need to make the subsequent 12 years really count... That's enough to make you feel even more tired...
-- A thought-provoking essay by Carlo Iacono (accessed via Dense Discovery), which offers us a more upbeat take than usual on the dreaded rise of the screen. (Sample: "The civilisations that thrive won’t be the ones that retreat into text or surrender to the feed. They’ll be the ones that understand a simple truth: every idea has a natural form, and wisdom lies in matching the mode to the meaning. Some ideas want to be written. Others need to be seen. Still others must be heard, felt or experienced. The mistake is forcing all ideas through a single channel, whether that channel is a book or a screen. Your great-grandchildren won’t read less than you do. They’ll read differently, as part of a richer symphony of sense-making. Whether that symphony sounds like music or noise depends entirely on the choices we make right now about the shape of our tools, the structure of our schools, and the design of our days.")

Happy Easter to those who celebrate. Happy April to everyone!