At 4, Rudy has moved on. Once he loved Yellow Submarine and then
StrawberryFields. His new love is “Walrus”.It’s a love that’s lasted months
now. (In the light of what follows, whichinvolves Rudy singing enthusiastically
of among-other-things “kicking EdgarAllen Poe”, it should be made clear that,
when asked what he thinks about thewords to Walrus, Rudy simply says“Really
cool”.) Known long-windedly (to squares) as I am the Walrus (You are the
Eggman), in the grown-up world Walrus sounds like childish doggerel. Ina
child’s world, with adults listening, it becomes shockingly adult again.
Itstarts innocently enough. No one blenches as Rudy sings: “I am he…and we
areall together…Sitting on a cornflake, waiting for the van to come…pretty
littlepolicemen in a row…” Rudy rhapsodizes with the high-pitched repeat of
“I’m cry-ing…”and later he will yell “Semolina pilchard!” as if singing for his
supper. But,in hindsight, “Stupid bloody Tuesday” should have been a warning.
Everything begins to change when Rudy spits out, “Yellowmatter custard”, then
snarls “Dripping from a dead dog’s eye” - like he’s JohnLennon’s besht mate
joining a pub sing-a-long (Rudy often tells his teachers,when asked how he
spent his weekend, that he “went to the pub”)*: no one’staught him any of this,
no one even sings along to Walrus or has ever much done so (except maybe the
odd, involuntary “coo-coo-ca-choo”).Though charmed, the adults are alarmed.
They know what’s coming. “Boy you beena naughty girl - you let your knickers
down”. “Expert, sexpert.” And, worse, aphrase inexplicably never noticed before
- “pornographic priestess”. And thatphrase isn’t tucked away quietly in a
corner but declared confidently justbefore the knickers are let down. Tension
rises. Suddenly the song has turned into a series of fences in
verbalshow-jumping, with a pony called Rudy that everyone cares for and doesn’t
wishto see injured. No one wishes Rudy to try to jump the nasty fences. They
wishhim to swerve away. Or not notice they’re there. They want Rudy’s brain, at
thepeak of its linguistic absorbency, to somehow tell him that when we reach
thesewords Lennon has stopped singing – to respond like they’ve been blanked
out (asthey would if we’d opted, more wisely, to sing along to F—k Da Police by
Niggaz With Attitude). The chance of Rudy blankingthese words is now slighter
than finding a Beatle record with a “ParentAdvisory” sticker. Now is the time
we wish we’d distracted Rudy-rock-vocalistby absorbing him in the fine British
art of talking about the weather. Miraculously Rudy doesn’t yet jump the
fences. At most hemumbles around “naughty girl” and “knickers down”, and mostly
maintainsdignified silence. He doesn’t know what an “expert” is and so probably
doesn’tregister that he is missing out on what a “sexpert” is**. His pony
steadfastly refusesat “pornographic priestess”. There is a sense of relief each
time, onlyreplaced by new tension and an anticipatory wince when Rudy says
“Again” orcues the track once more. It’s not just the singing. Given the lyrics
are“really cool” and the amount Rudy can regurgitate, the car is inevitably
thinking“What’s the best answer to “What is‘pornographic priestess’?”” There is
no known Baby Care Manual that helps (andit will be two or three years before
we can pray in aid Popper’s papersdecrying “What is?”-questions). A Rudy who so
casually tells teachers he “wentto the pub” is a Rudy who could casually put
his hand up and ask “What’s‘pornographic priestess’?” And they won’t be able to
make sense of this becausethey won’t 've been listening to Walruson a “stupid
bloody tuesday” loop for weeks on end. This, in the end, is why our parents
were rightly againstThe Beatles, with their cute mop-tops and happy-go-lucky
disguise. Not because,short-sightedly, they feared losing us via some
generation gap. But because, far-sightedly- via a complicated causal chain, we
might eventually lose our own children –their treasured grandchildren - to
social services. Dnlldn *He only goes there when taken by adults to have lunch.
Henever mentions this. *Some sources maintain “sexpert” is mis-hearing
of“textpert”. But with this general levelof filth this is quibbling. And, in
1967, did Lennon really foresee the rise oftexting and the “textpert” (why then
did he not foresee, and warn against,Julian Lennon’s solo career)?
On Friday, 5 June 2015, 18:42, David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>
wrote:
On Jun 5, 2015, at 3:51 AM, epostboxx@xxxxxxxx wrote:
On 04 Jun 2015, at 22:52, David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx> wrote:
Is anyone reading anything he or she might recommend, or did the Lit part of
the list go walkabout?
1) Well, I'm in the middle of - wondering about other list members' reactions
to - Sebastian Faulks' JEEVES AND THE WEDDING BELLS.
I'm still trying to sort out my own feelings about it. I appreciate greatly
Faulks' humility as expressed in his prefatory 'Author's Note'; on the other
hand fear that perhaps the man 'doth protest too much.'
I will say at this point that I am enjoying it.
I enjoyed about half, wondered up to that point at Faulks' mimicry. Then, or
thereabouts, it occurred to me that though it sounds like Wodehouse and moves
forward a little like Wodehouse, the book doesn't give the same satisfaction.
What the book taught me, once again, was how good Plum was.
5) When in search of entertaining literary diversion I continuously work my way
through (most of) the 30+ novels of Ngaio Marsh, Ian Rankin's 'Rebus' series,
and several of P.D. James' books (in which, curiously enough, Murdoch's works -
to say nothing of related themes - make cameo appearances). Wodehouse goes
without saying - well, almost ;-)
Though it's not a satisfactory read--I can't seem to finish it--I recommend
picking up and dipping into Ken Bruen, "The Guards." You'll see why. "In
Ireland they say, 'If you want help, go to the guards--if you don't want help,
go to the guards.' I went."
My other recommendation may surprise the list. Many people I meet dismiss Lee
Child as a writer of popular twaddle. That he is. But I find it interesting
twaddle. The hero is invulnerable. He has no drinking problem, no ex-wife,
none of the things we've come to expect of a fixer. He just wades in and sorts
the bad guys out, an infantry battalion without the usual logistical
difficulties. The other thing I find is that like a retired pro-athlete, now
and then Child will throw in an arresting piece of information or a memorable
sentence, just to remind you he's got the stuff...but doesn't want to show off.
Since I can never hear movies they show on a plane, I like to take one of
Child's books on a long journey; it's a guarantee of time-passing page-turning.
David Ritchie,Portland, Oregon
