dimanche 15 mars 2009
So here we are dying with Jade Goody
For those who know nothing about her, Jade Goody is a British woman who reached a particular kind of fame in 2002, the kind associated with reality TV, which emerged in the late Nineties. I remember reading an article (in 1999?) about the uproar caused by a new TV show in Holland, where people were locked together in a house for 90 days, filmed, and the resulting images transformed into entertainment via careful editing and a weekly TV show. I remember when Big Brother arrived in the UK, and then in France, under the slightly dodgy name of Loft Story.
I never followed BB in England but just by living there you had to follow a certain amount just to be allowed to have a conversation at the pub. As a result, my knowledge of Jade Goody is vague, but here is what I know. JG entered BB in 2002, an overweight, loudmouthed, vulgar chav with a ghastly family background and zero knowledge of anything that wasn't binge-drinking-linked. Infamously, she said she thought that Cambridge was in London, and when informed that it was located in East Anglia, deduced that it was abroad (in a country called East Angular in fact).
In BB she was portrayed as a fat, bullying, ignorant cow/pig hybrid, with a basic vocabulary of 30 words (including fuck, fucking, fucked, fuckoff and so on), which to be fair, she completely deserved. Her sophisticated side even led her to the first grope in the BB house, a drunken fumbling with a guy called PJ , which the nation criticised with glee. Othe JG moments include calling an Indian girl Poppadum in a later edition of BB, and getting the trademark Burberry print tattooed on her arse. The Indian episode led to 50000 complaints in England, and Jade made several grovelling public apologies, pleading stupidity over racism which in her case was probably true. In any case, the Indian episode led her to join the cast of the Indian version of BB which is where she learnt, on live TV as the concept of the show would have it, that she had cervical cancer. After repatriation to England, the initial survival rate she had been given, of around 60% was reduced. The cancer then spread to anus, bladder and liver, and it soon became clear she was in terminal mode with only months to live.
Overnight, fat, ignorant, lower class bully Jade, the daughter of handicapped drunk and a heroin addict (her father died after she reached fame, keeling over from an overdose in a public toilet), became the nation's favorite tragedy. The tabloids that had criticised her with malice and joy during the BB years were now running healines like "Brave Jade pledges to wed love" or "Big Brother legend Jade Goody talks of heartbreak". Now that she is dying, Jade is a hero, a brave soldier and loving mother, crippled by the unfairness of life. Humanism demands that we feel very sad about this woman's life, and forthcoming death, but the hypocrisy and voyeurism displayed by the media is breathtaking. Tha satirical newspaper Private Eye ran a "before and after" column, comparing descriptions of Jade in the tabloids before and after the news of cancer. The result is quite shocking.
Though one can hardly blame Jade, who has decided to die in front of the cameras ("I lived in front of them, I will die in front of them") and is milking the media for every penny she can, one can only wonder what the hell the media are up to. Jade got married a month ago the her imprisoned boyfriend and sold the pictures for a million pounds. Until recently she was giving press conferences and being paid for interiews. one TV channel is filming her last days and, a priori her last moments. She justifies this by saying she isn't spending the money on houses or cars, but to ensure her sons' future, which seems rationl enough. The media however can only be accused of profitting from this woman's personal tragedy and the public of morbid fascination. Jade will be dead in a few days, if not hours, and I predict there will be a flood of debates bringing this up. In any case a new media page is being turned. Ten years ago people were saying that the Big Brother concept was too much, crossing the thin line of good taste and what was tolerable. Now someone is dying and the cameras are rolling, and that debate seems pretty tame. The question now is, what next?
[Post scriptum : Jade Goody died, off camera, on Sunday 22nd of March - Mother's day]
So here we are on Friday 13th
In most (western) cultures, Friday 13th is synonymous with bad luck, a superstition that ranks up there with passing under ladders (associated to the hangman's gallows) and crossing black cats (linked to witchcraft). The reason for this could be anything, though the people who are interested in such things seem to agree it could be for two reasons. First, the massacre of the Templar knights was planned for a Friday 13th, and Jesus was crucified on a Friday, after the last supper where the 13th man (Judas, 12 disciples plus Jesus) betrayed him.
In France however, Friday 13th is considered by many as a day of luck. This is partly due to a brilliant marketing ploy launched in the early 90s by the boss of the française des jeux, the national company that runs the lottery. On this day, lottery gains are humoungous and tens of millions of people play, and ads for the loto play with the luck/bad luck associations people have with this day.
And in case you were wondering, the power of Friday 13th is not just about getting people to gamble. There are also severe pathologies linked to a phobia of this day, as real as clautrophobia, arachnophobia or others.
And yes, it does have a name: paraskevidekatriaphobia, from the Greek for Friday, 13 and fear!
dimanche 8 mars 2009
So here we are protesting in Guadeloupe
Guadeloupe is a butterly shaped paradise island located in the Carribean and holiday destination of well-off French people as it is officially part of France. Like Martinique its island neighbour, French Guyana - a small territory in the north-east of South America- and la Réunion, in the Indian ocean, Guadeloupe benefits from DOM status, that's département d'outre mer, and on paper is just another bit of France. For more than forty days and nights, until last thursday, the Guadeloupéens were on strike (told you they were French). The reason? A combination of being fed up with exorbitant prices, especially those of petrol and basic necessities, low salaries and the amplification of these with la crise, all tinted with a feeling of modern colonialism.
Elie Domota has emerged as the natural leader of the strike, which blocked the country for a total of 44 days and turned a little sour when a trade unionist was shot dead a couple of weeks ago by the police. The son of a carpenter and a cleaning lady, he is at the head of LKP, the "collective against profiteers", and represents the black population- the vast majority- of the island, who are denouncing a neo-colonialist system where the békés, the white descendants of the slavers, own and exploit the island's wealth, tourism and trade leaving only the menial jobs in the banana plantations and the factories for the blacks who are, of course, French citizens in equal right. There was a whiff of independence in the air as Domota talked of the "foreign press" to describe the journalists from Paris and as tens of thousands of Guadeloupeans sang "Guadeloupe is ours not yours" day after day outside official buildings.
It's true that they have something to complain about. As the island is part of France, it has the same wages and laws as metropolitan France. That said, prices are much higher : a quick comparaison showed that for the same goods, sugar was 98% more expensive, and milk and pasta 50% more. Petrol was also much higher and despite Guadeloupe being an island with a huge fishing industry, fish in the Caribbean markets costs the same as in Paris supermarkets. Those who own supermarkets and so on say that it is down to import costs and taxes, but for many it is simply exploitation of the ethnic population native to the island by the béké oligarchy. Oil was further poured on the fire when a prominent, rich béké said on TV that there had been no interbreeding in the last 250 years to preserve "the race". Ouch.
The population of Guadeoupe is just over 400 000, and had the same proportion of metropolitan French demonstrated, there would have been 15 million people in the streets. It took Sarkozy a while to realise there was a problem (I draw a parallel to bumbling George W. who took a good week or so to realise that Katrina was a bit worse than just a few blacks in trouble). He memorably didn't mention it at all in his TV speech on the crisis, despite the troubles having started a week before.
After many negotiations with the French business lobby and the government have decided to grant those with the lowest salries (up to 1400 euros a month) a 200 euro pay rise. Is that really enough though. It may help Gualdeloupeans feed their children a bit more and has crucially stopped the strike, which had schools, offices, factories, distilleries, supermarkets, post offices and so on shut for 6 weeks, but given the cries against exploitation and the white elite, it may not be enough. The crisis has spread to Martinique, where they seem to be more radical, and la Réunion, and Elie Domota has been accused of "incitement to racial hatred" since this morning.
rance has always prided itself on the DOM's management; a successful decolonisation where the colonised became equal french citizens. What the last six weeks have shown is that this is a myth and that the black population of the island is fed up. With the crisis, France's help is no longer seen as useful, and 200 euros seems too little for people to forget this.
So here we are celebrating the Millenium (II)
In a nutshell: A couple is found shot in a Stockholm flat and Lisbeth Salander is accused of murder. We follow the investigations of the police, the journalists and those close to her to reveal the mystery and find those really responsable, and their relationship to the main protagonists.
The blurb: this second part of the Millenium trilogy is set around a year after its prequel, the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (read review here). We follow the investigations into the murders of a journalist/researcher couple, who were set to denounce the Swedish sex trafficking industry and incriminate high-placed public figures. Like the previous book, what caracterises volume II is the intricate weaving of many storylines around the central plot, namely the diappearance of Lisbeth Salander who is now public enemy number 1. We follow the investigations from several points of view, the various police officers involved, Mikael Blomkvist, journalist and friend of Salander's, the bad guys, Salander herself and so on. As the inquiries develop, we discover more about Salander's history and a story of corruption, violence and political deceit unfolds.
IMHO, this book more than lives up to volume 1. Again we are skillfully plunged into each character's world, following the revelations subtly and gradually as we shift from protagonist to protagonist (without it ever being obvious, as we are always in the third person) and are sucked into the world of media frenzy, political corruption and journalistic investigations. Unlike the prequel it is not a book that takes time to warm up and the suspense makes it very diffuclt to put down. Excellent, sophisticated, intelligent reading. Be warned though, volume 3 of this wonderful trilogy has yet to be translated into English, and GPF ends on a real cliff hanger.
samedi 28 février 2009
So here we are reading the Poisonwood Bible
In a nutshell : an American baptist minister, his wife and their four daughters leave 1960s USA to live in the Congolese jungle in an attempt to convert the locals. This poignant history of a dysfunctional family is set against the background of 30 years of Congo's history and politics and its terrible fight for independence.
The blurb : written from the point of view of the mother and the four daughters, it starts as the day to day description of life in the Congolese jungle. The father's fanatical views become increasingly damaging to the family and their attempts to "settle in" and the hardship of the everyday gives way slowly to an incredible analysis of Congolese politics and culture. About halfway through the book time speeds up and twenty years of Congolese history and its bloody fight for independence are told through the eyes o those living it, whether they are part of the action or seing it from afar. Beautiful pace, incredible descriptions and real food for thought as it throws all our western references out of the window to describe the hardships of life out there.
IMHO this is one of the best books ever written. Good anytime any place, it is a heartbreaking story of a family but also a lesson in tolerance and politics. It covers religious fanatism, cultural racism, ethnocentrism, and is a mix of anthropology, history and fiction. Must be read !So here we are at Mudbound
In a nutshell: In 1946, the McAllan family move to an isolated farm in the muddy fields of Mississippi, where the "Negroes" are violently discriminated against and life is hard for everyone. In parallel, two young men linked to the McAllans, one white, one black, return from the Second World War.
The blurb: This book is written in first person narrative from various points of view- the wife who hates the muddy farm, the husband who loves it, the charming brother-in-law who has difficulty coping with his memories of the war, the black sharecropper/midwife, the black soldier who, having liberated Europe, is still just a "nigger" when he returns, and so on. We follow love and betrayal, friendship and injustice, and see a damning account of how black men and women were treated at this time.
IMHO this is simply yet well-written book that reads easily and deals with several themes: rural life in 1940s rural Mississippi, the treatment of black farmers, racism, and the power and risks of certain friendships in such a context. The most interesting part of the book deals with the treatment of the young black war hero who returns home and the bigotry of the locals. There are in fact many subplots that culminate to a violent and somewhat predictable denouement and the book seems a little too short for one to be able to appreciate it. Though we get good portraits of the characters, and follow several paths, it all seems a little light and rushed with a change of narrator every ten pages or less. As a result it reads like a cross between the Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver (read review here) and Little House on the Prairie. A good book, but a little short.
mercredi 18 février 2009
So here we are celebrating the Millenium (I)
In a nutshell: Mikael Blomkvist, disgraced journalist, goes to a small Swedish village to work for Henrik Vanger, a rich industrialist and patriarch of the bizarre Vanger family, who is obsessed with the disappearance of his niece forty years earlier. Blomkvist investigates, helped by Lisbeth Salander, a delinquent hacker who follows no rules but her own...
The blurb: This is a very intricate book, and many storylines are neatly entwined around the main plot, which is the strange case of 16 year-old Harriet Vanger, who disappeared 40 years previously from an isolated island. Around this are many distinct, yet connecting, characters and stories, such as Blomkvist's career, families, financial corruption or physical abuse, which are thought-provoking and gripping. Salander's caracter is especially fascinating and complex.
IMHO this is a intelligent, addictive and multi-layered book that sucks you in gradually like a intricate game of chess. It is actually quite "slow" for about two hundred pages, but suddenly the characters and the settings click and the thriller part of the book begins. Part sophisticated thriller, part whodunnit, part exploration of a darker side of society, highly recommended.