Book Review - Reynard the Fox by Anne Louise Avery

This is a most scholarly work. The level of research shines from it. Anne Louise Avery certainly knows her subject and their world, it is a tour de force. I felt totally immersed in the world.

That's not to say that it is dull and worthy, far from it. This is a brilliant story, told by a real scholar. I was drawn into the world of Reynard's Flanders, I felt the sun on my back and the dust under my feet as I joined the characters on their travels. The descriptions of food were magnificent, my mouth watered and I could almost taste the soft white bread and the thick cream.

I particularly liked the female characters - Gente, who would have made a much better ruler than Noble; Hermeline, who keeps Reyanrd from his worst excesses; and Rukenawe, who is the wisest of all and reminded me of a cross between Margaret Rutherford and Alistair Simm in the St Trinian films! 

The best thing for me is the use of language. Anne Louise Avery has a beautiful turn of phrase which is bewitching and breathtaking. I can only aspire to write a fraction as well as her.

All in all, a real joy. Highly recommended.

To Those Men

 To those men who think it's a laugh to catcall women as they walk down the road.

To those men who brush ever so casually against your breast as they reach for the rail on the tube.

To those men who walk too close to women on a dark street.

To those men who tell you to smile, cheer up, be pretty.

To those men who drunkenly tell you you're beautiful and leer close to you as you back away.

To those men who try to steal a kiss when being pushed firmly away.

To those men who comment on your legs or breasts or arse.

To those men who sit too close on the bus pressing their leg against yours.

To those men who grab women, who touch women, who fondle women in crowded places.

To those men who pull women in tight, who push women into dark corners, who force their bodies against women.

To those men who put their hands on women, who put their hands under your clothes, who pull at your clothing.

You are part of the problem.

It's not a laugh, it's not banter, it's not ok.

It's threatening.

It's frightening.

It's abuse.

I call it out, all women call it out.

It's not ok to make women feel scared, threatened, intimidated.

It's not ok to be that man, that bully, that predator.

And until you accept that we will continue to live in fear of you, to walk in fear, to see you all as predatory.

To hold our keys in our clenched fists, to avoid going out in the dark, to plan our route home carefully.

To teach our daughters to fear men, to be small and quiet so the men won't see them.

To mourn and fight and fear at each new attack, each tragic murder, each case of coercive control.

Written in sadness, in memory of all the abused, scared and murdered women.

In hope we can change this narrative.

What a dream can tell me.

 I often have vivid dreams, mostly things that are fantastic or just plain weird. But sometime my dreams tell me exactly what I need to hear. Last night was one of those occasions.

I dreamt that I was at a resort, somewhere with a large coach park which reminded me of school parking duties - dust, stones and aching boredom! I was collected by a floating pod which whisked me away up an outcrop which reminded me of The Lost World. There were openings off to the side to various environments - forest, jungle, city and so forth. I was taken to a beautiful estuary, very Devon/Cornwall. There was a wooden structure, like a shed, overlooking the estuary and with one side open to the water. It was a cozy version of Dylan Thomas' writing hut with a comfy day bed, an antique desk and a kitchen to make tea. There was a deck with creaky wicker chairs and cake on a low table. Bliss.

On the desk was an old typewriter and a pile of smooth creamy paper just asking to be written on. Muscle memory is a wonderful thing and I threaded the paper into the typewriter, pushed the carriage return and began to type. When I read what I had typed I saw that the letter 'e' was missing. The arm and key were there but there was nothing to print the letter on the paper. Suddenly I saw an old fashioned intercom on the desk and I pressed a button. A machine-like voice answered and I explained my problem. A replacement typewriter would be provided. I made tea and sat outside. I then realised that when I had spoken to the machine we had used words without using a single letter 'e'!

The new typewriter had a working 'e' but as I typed I saw that the 's' was missing. This continued as more typewriters were brought in and more letters were missing. At no point before I woke up did I have a machine with all the keys functioning at the same time. Very frustrating. Yet when I woke I realised that what my subconscious was telling me was that I was failing to get on with my writing because I kept finding excuses not to do it. I have all the resources I need, all the time I need and yet I find more and more reasons not to sit down and write. 

Self sabotage. I recognise this well, it's something I've been guilty of at various points in my life. I have something deep seated within me which doesn't want me to succeed. I seem to be scared of success, of accomplishment. And I'm not sure it's not too late to do something about it. But I will keep trying, even though it scares me that I may get there one day.

What's holding you back?