“Do the Sunday newspapers make your feel ignorant?” asked Jimmy in ‘Look Back in Anger.’
This is a question which is of perennial relevance when reading the small libraries which pass for Sunday papers nowadays, especially when they have the intellectual clout of a paper like The Observer. There was a time when the last part of that sentence could be written without irony, but just glance thorough the selection of features in the present incarnation of a once great journal and the intellectual level is not necessarily something to be lauded!
However, never let it be said that I cannot find something to stimulate my capacities in the wealth of newsprint that I have cursorily perused. A burning question was suggested by the tail end thoughts in Rachel Cooke’s column. She made an assumption which triggered thoughts and immediate opinions. I do like it when journalists fulfil their most pressing public obligation and force the reader into a whole wealth of speculation which seems to have an immediate, pressing reality and which uncovers passionate, previously unsuspected, strongly held convictions.
I speak of course of what reading matter might be considered appropriate in the toilet. As someone who demands books in every room in the house, using the ancient dictum (perhaps formulated by me) that “a room without a book is like a person without a soul.” It therefore follows that a small library should be within reach wherever you are in a civilized home. This is not a determination which is shared by Toni who is rather more of the opinion that a small brazier should be on hand in every room into which to throw any printed matter which may have insinuated its way into a visible position anywhere!
There is also the problem of Benthamite utility and Puritan correctness connected with certain rooms. The kitchen of course should have books, but those related to the function of the room itself: recipe books. God knows these days cook books seem to be expanding their remit to include virtually anything connected with the process of living rather than mere functional recipes. My point is that the modern recipe book is much more than a manual; it is almost a philosophical autobiography and searing revealing of psychological angst and therefore has the same enjoyment value as a good novel! The kitchen books then, while retaining a semblance of functionality are, in fact more sweeping in their range and interest.
What then of the bathroom, especially if a bathroom should contain a toilet? I have never managed to read in the bath with any degree of satisfaction: however careful you are you always seem to get water on the pages of the book and I hate the wrinkled appearance of water spotted pages which never seem to dry out to their previously pristine flatness. Even worse is water finding its way onto the top of the pages and leaving a corrugated reminder of the bath experience at the top of pages yet to be read.
I hate anything which reminds me of the physical reality of the page: page numbers in an unorthodox position; eventfully cheap paper with chunky undulations in the paper surface; strange typefaces smudgy ink; poor bindings; superfluous book mark ribbons; impossibility of opening the book fully and print which is too small. I am well aware that all of the above could be used in a post Modernist approach to reading, but in those circumstances I would have a different critical apparatus to cope with such fripperies!
The toilet is a problem. The British and the Europeans have a different approach to the evacuation of the bowels. The French and the Germans seem to have a positively unhealthy interest in the products of the digestive system, with German toilets designed for close inspection of the results! The British have tended to be euphemistic about such things and to want to get them over with as soon as possible. The process of evacuation is seen as an animal necessity and should be completed with disinterested efficiency while maintaining a type of total concentration to get the job (!) done as soon as possible. Reading would therefore be considered as a species of frivolous behaviour when such a serious physical necessity is in progress. In and, as it were, out are the keywords here.
There is, of course, an alternative school of thought which states that time on the toilet is quality time and should be treated as such; so that reading could be seen as a worthwhile activity.
We now come to a consideration of what should be read. Rachel Cooke notes the increase in the number of rude and vulgar toilet books which are being published for Christmas and are designed to live on the cistern and provide jocular amusement to evacuees. At this point I must disagree, I dispute the connection of toilet and rude. I do not think that the vulgarity of the reading matter should match the action. Indeed I feel that the word ‘vulgarity’ linked to a natural process is totally inappropriate: it shows, surely, a depressingly Victorian denial of the details of ordinary human existence.
My own choice of reading in the loo has included such diverse volumes as ‘The City of God’ by Saint Augustine – given the sometimes contemplative nature of excretion the amazingly detailed discussion of theological minutiae is ideal material; books of quotations – which I am sure will come as no surprise to those who know me; ‘A Poem A Day’ – an almost perfect toilet tome, not only short but also day appropriate; An Illustrated History of Christianity; The Penguin Book of Comics, and A history of the World, to name but a few. None of them exactly frivolous, even the book of comics was more of an illustrated history more than a series of pictures. I am considering placing the book I mentioned yesterday (top 500 poems) in the loo replacing the purpose printed book which combines a book of themed quotations together with summaries of great works of literature, lives of famous people and improving manuals. It turns out to be by an American publisher. What a surprise.
Carmen has returned to Catalonia for a short period of rest and recuperation before returning to the fray with reinforcements in the form of her two daughters and young grandson. The only response that I have to this onslaught is to plan the ‘traditional Christmas meal’ that I said that I would provide.
Now I am beginning to worry about what food exactly is suggested by the world ‘traditional’ in that context. I will have an interesting fortnight in considering what to spread on the festive tables for them.
This is a question which is of perennial relevance when reading the small libraries which pass for Sunday papers nowadays, especially when they have the intellectual clout of a paper like The Observer. There was a time when the last part of that sentence could be written without irony, but just glance thorough the selection of features in the present incarnation of a once great journal and the intellectual level is not necessarily something to be lauded!
However, never let it be said that I cannot find something to stimulate my capacities in the wealth of newsprint that I have cursorily perused. A burning question was suggested by the tail end thoughts in Rachel Cooke’s column. She made an assumption which triggered thoughts and immediate opinions. I do like it when journalists fulfil their most pressing public obligation and force the reader into a whole wealth of speculation which seems to have an immediate, pressing reality and which uncovers passionate, previously unsuspected, strongly held convictions.
I speak of course of what reading matter might be considered appropriate in the toilet. As someone who demands books in every room in the house, using the ancient dictum (perhaps formulated by me) that “a room without a book is like a person without a soul.” It therefore follows that a small library should be within reach wherever you are in a civilized home. This is not a determination which is shared by Toni who is rather more of the opinion that a small brazier should be on hand in every room into which to throw any printed matter which may have insinuated its way into a visible position anywhere!
There is also the problem of Benthamite utility and Puritan correctness connected with certain rooms. The kitchen of course should have books, but those related to the function of the room itself: recipe books. God knows these days cook books seem to be expanding their remit to include virtually anything connected with the process of living rather than mere functional recipes. My point is that the modern recipe book is much more than a manual; it is almost a philosophical autobiography and searing revealing of psychological angst and therefore has the same enjoyment value as a good novel! The kitchen books then, while retaining a semblance of functionality are, in fact more sweeping in their range and interest.
What then of the bathroom, especially if a bathroom should contain a toilet? I have never managed to read in the bath with any degree of satisfaction: however careful you are you always seem to get water on the pages of the book and I hate the wrinkled appearance of water spotted pages which never seem to dry out to their previously pristine flatness. Even worse is water finding its way onto the top of the pages and leaving a corrugated reminder of the bath experience at the top of pages yet to be read.
I hate anything which reminds me of the physical reality of the page: page numbers in an unorthodox position; eventfully cheap paper with chunky undulations in the paper surface; strange typefaces smudgy ink; poor bindings; superfluous book mark ribbons; impossibility of opening the book fully and print which is too small. I am well aware that all of the above could be used in a post Modernist approach to reading, but in those circumstances I would have a different critical apparatus to cope with such fripperies!
The toilet is a problem. The British and the Europeans have a different approach to the evacuation of the bowels. The French and the Germans seem to have a positively unhealthy interest in the products of the digestive system, with German toilets designed for close inspection of the results! The British have tended to be euphemistic about such things and to want to get them over with as soon as possible. The process of evacuation is seen as an animal necessity and should be completed with disinterested efficiency while maintaining a type of total concentration to get the job (!) done as soon as possible. Reading would therefore be considered as a species of frivolous behaviour when such a serious physical necessity is in progress. In and, as it were, out are the keywords here.
There is, of course, an alternative school of thought which states that time on the toilet is quality time and should be treated as such; so that reading could be seen as a worthwhile activity.
We now come to a consideration of what should be read. Rachel Cooke notes the increase in the number of rude and vulgar toilet books which are being published for Christmas and are designed to live on the cistern and provide jocular amusement to evacuees. At this point I must disagree, I dispute the connection of toilet and rude. I do not think that the vulgarity of the reading matter should match the action. Indeed I feel that the word ‘vulgarity’ linked to a natural process is totally inappropriate: it shows, surely, a depressingly Victorian denial of the details of ordinary human existence.
My own choice of reading in the loo has included such diverse volumes as ‘The City of God’ by Saint Augustine – given the sometimes contemplative nature of excretion the amazingly detailed discussion of theological minutiae is ideal material; books of quotations – which I am sure will come as no surprise to those who know me; ‘A Poem A Day’ – an almost perfect toilet tome, not only short but also day appropriate; An Illustrated History of Christianity; The Penguin Book of Comics, and A history of the World, to name but a few. None of them exactly frivolous, even the book of comics was more of an illustrated history more than a series of pictures. I am considering placing the book I mentioned yesterday (top 500 poems) in the loo replacing the purpose printed book which combines a book of themed quotations together with summaries of great works of literature, lives of famous people and improving manuals. It turns out to be by an American publisher. What a surprise.
Carmen has returned to Catalonia for a short period of rest and recuperation before returning to the fray with reinforcements in the form of her two daughters and young grandson. The only response that I have to this onslaught is to plan the ‘traditional Christmas meal’ that I said that I would provide.
Now I am beginning to worry about what food exactly is suggested by the world ‘traditional’ in that context. I will have an interesting fortnight in considering what to spread on the festive tables for them.
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