Tenei Te Tangata Puhuruhuru

On the train to London today, I finished reading “War and Peace”. I should clarify that I did not begin to read it on the same journey. That would have been a very long journey. Or a very fast read. It wasn’t either of those. Oh no.

It is over 35 years since I last read this book. I remember being very impressed with it at that time. This time I have to confess to a sense of disappointment. I rationalise this by having read many more books in the intervening period (at least 3), some of which I judge to be more enjoyable than Mr Tolstoy’s epic. This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy it, rather than I was much less impressed than I had expected to be.

In addition to “W&P” I have read Anna Karenina, most of Dostoevski, and “Fathers and sons”. I read “Crime and Punishment” for the second time a couple of years ago.

Like my comments on the scripture writers, I find the great Russian writers to be a fairly dour lot. There ain’t many belly laughs in “Crime and Punishment”, and Anna Karenina does not live happily ever after. I loved “C&P” both times that I read it (but still didn’t have much occasion to titter). I seem to remember (years ago) that “F&S” had much more warmth than the others.

Anyway, I was particularly unimpressed by Tolstoy’s banging on about the forces determining historical events. Almost as dull as those ubiquitous bloggers about whom we read so much.

In case anyone is wondering what happens in “W&P”, I can tell you that Napoleon loses. This is just as well. Had he not embarked on his campaign to annexe Russia, he would probably have conquered Europe, including Britain, and our culture would be very different today. Our high streets would be populated by shops selling “croissants” and “baguettes”, and “coffee shops”, instead of the traditional English Tea Room – hard to imagine, isn’t it?

*****

I was particularly fortunate to be on the railway network today. Someone had organised a “Guess the Twat” competition. I later found out that most of the competitors were on their way to Ascot, to watch a lot of other twats pretend to have some interest in midgets engaged in bizarre equestrian perversions. Twats. Later in the day I read an account by Alan Davies of visiting Lord’s during the Test match this summer. More twats. I can only think of one sporting tradition that I enjoy.

*****

On the way back, I began reading a book by one of my current favourite authors, James Lee Burke. Try reading the first two paragraphs of one of his books (not you, Tom, you fucking philistine) and see if you can see why.

If any of you had any hopes of becoming a successful author, then reading that will probably put paid to those ambitions. There are very few around who can use language like that. I love it.

I was also listening to Beethoven’s 4^th piano concerto. I recommend this as an antidote to atheism. By the time I got to Brookwood, I wasn’t half a million strong, but the memories of the twats in hats had vanished, to be replaced by much more mellow feelings. I should also mention that I also listened to Janis Joplin, just so that Tom knows where to start reading this little entry again.