leaping-in-london

[leaping-in-london]

C'est la vie, London

How can I possibly extrapolate the last three years, let alone the last three weeks into something that is not teeming in cliches? This is finis, el fin, das Ende, the end of my graduate studies. The essay has been submitted, all other posts are complete, and my Capstone has been accepted. All of the work over the last three years is culminating or ending in this last assignment and I cannot possibly pack up this experience with a few paragraphs because the end of London is the same as the end of my studies, they are mutually inclusive.

The idea of London was introduced by the lovely Dr. Rick Taylor in my first semester of studies in the fall of 2019. Over the next few years, my group of graduate buddies and I held onto the hope that we would be able to go to this magical place with Rick; that he would be the lighthouse for our adventure. With him, we were going to peel back the social classes of London and we were going to be introduced to literature that illuminated the immigrant experience in this area. This trip would either be the hill I climbed during my studies or the conclusion of my studies in multicultural literature. Neither of those happened . . . Rick retired and the light in the lighthouse went out.

It is difficult, today, to pack this experience in the suitcase that I had hoped to bring home with me. While I absolutely adore the friends that I made getting here-and finally met here in London-and while I have loved going to the shows, running the races, and exploring the parts of London that make me geek out as an English teacher, the overall experience, for a plethora of reasons-controllable and uncontrollable, was less than I had hoped for and, quite honestly, I am a bit sad about that. That I am just coming out of being in a hotel for three days, where I was isolated in air conditioning (quite triggering with the forced isolation over the last few years), is undoubtedly playing a huge role in the malaise that I currently feel.

I think it is going to take me months to unpack what I will take with me because it is much more than three weeks, it is the end of what feels like an incredibly long journey - Covid makes time feel heavier - and the end of this is not quite the fireworks and excitement that I thought it would be . As we all know, time has a way of softening memories and filtering out unpleasantries. As I physically move away from this chapter in my life, I know I will be left with an array of treasures gracefully placed in a suitcase. A suitcase that I will not only unpack in my own memories, but articles--large and small--will be removed to share with others in the days, months, and years ahead.

The view from the hotel room that I had in order to escape the heat wave. It was a lonely few days.

I am glad on my second trip here, I finally made it to Harrods. I am happy to say that one visit was enough for a lifetime.

This was honestly the best overall meal and dining experience that we have had and it was because of Lauren's wonderful write-up about her time at Fish Central.

Special friends

Slowest half of MY life and I took first place in my AG - a FANTASTIC memory.

Dante's Circle of Hell

#It'saWrap, #LondonisOver, #GradUATE

(Week 3, #9).

[leaping-in-london]

To Miss or Not . . .

What an experience the last two weeks have been. Between the heat and Covid, I am not as sad to leave the "lovely" London as I thought. In fact, I am finding it challenging to come up with the pro/con list. I'm guessing that apathy is from the heat and feeling trapped as a result.

Because this assignment literally asks for a list, here goes:

"Things I will miss about London"

Not having to have a car - the transportation system here is brilliant.

Fresh, delicious, and inexpensive food can be found just about anywhere.

Spending time with my grad school buddies.

The beautiful architecture. The juxtaposition of old and new continues to blow me away. Canterbury was amazing.

The incredible plays. Life of Pi and 2.22 were both incredible.

The super inexpensive races - a half-marathon in the states is usually at least $75. My half here was only 20 pounds.

"Things I will not miss about London

The difficulty in finding an easy place to run.

The length of time you have to factor in to go anywhere - five miles is akin to an hour.

The lack of seltzer water, black cold brew (freaking everything has milk in it), lack of air conditioning (I am writing this from a hotel room because the flat's heat made staying there intolerable)

Not having my own bed, seeing my grandbean, my daughter, and HOMEWORK.

Convenient washer and dryers (I had to wash my clothes in the bathroom sink yesterday and dry them on the HOT window).

Not being able to find a public toilet. I don't understand in a city that depends on physical movement, why they wouldn't have toilets. On several occasions, I ended up dehydrated because I stopped drinking water.

(Week Three, #8)

[leaping-in-london]

Is there a Poltergeist at the Palace?

"Ghosts? Spectral visions? Anomalies in the electricity? Anything?" These are the questions my quintet and a posited to strangers and guides as we made our way through our first week in London. Did I have expectations that I would hear fabulous and frightening stories? Yes, I BELIEVED I would be rifling through a hit list of ghostly wonders. I imagined the categorization of such in my brain and could not wait to pluck out the spookiest and most interesting story in the bunch. Fast forward several days, and the dream of ghostly wonders took its last breath and died. That is not to say that I got nothing, I learned of one story and I am convinced with more time and in a location with locals instead of tourists and busy Londoners, my vision of a ghostly ghoul goulash would have been satisfied.

Other than being used in World War I, Kew Palace, the house of the late King George III and Queen Charlotte, has sat empty for well over 150 years. Because they were the last inhabitants the story that we heard is most likely tied to that of King George III and Queen Charlotte. We learned of the story from one of the trained guides and, as a result of hearing that story, a few of us chose to return for the Hidden Spaces tour later that day.

The Story (as told by the young worker)

Several months ago after I had been working at Kew Palace for quite a bit of time, I heard someone walking on the floor above me. I was on the second floor and the noises were coming from the third floor, the attic space. Believing that nobody was supposed to be up in the attic, I radioed the other staff members to find out who was in the attic and why they were there (we were supposed to let each other know if we were going up to the top floor). A few minutes went by before everyone radioed in to say that they were not upstairs. Knowing that everyone had been accounted for, I knew somebody must have gotten upstairs that wasn't supposed to be there (the footsteps had not stopped, they had continued). I asked my manager to come upstairs to check out the top floor/attic space with me. When we went up there, nobody was there. My manager tried to convince me that I didn't hear what I heard, but like I said, I had been working there for several months by that point. I had long since learned of the old house's normal noises. These noises were not normal. Somebody was walking upstairs and I never found out who it was.

That would have been odd enough, but that same week, something else happened. Many of the heirlooms that are in the house have alarms on them. In the front room, we had a teapot in the center of the table that had an alarm. That particular week, the alarm went off on that teapot three nights in a row at 3:00 a.m. in the morning. The alarm only goes off when the teapot is physically moved.

We never found out why the teapot alarm went off that week for three nights, and I never got an explanation for the footsteps above me. While it hasn't happened again, I don't believe I have heard the last of the noises and the unexplainable alarms.

During the hidden spaces tour, we were able to go upstairs and see the attic. The attic had thick wood planks on the floor and only heavy footsteps would have made a sound. In that same attic, there was a witch carving on a beam as well as some war graffiti from soldiers that had stayed there during the first world war. It should be noted that those soldiers had some real antagonism toward each other. The guide for that tour also shared with us that the room that Queen Charlotte died in has frequently reported orbs and other unexplainable images in pictures that are taken in that room.

Was the ghost one of the soldiers? Was it King George III looking for his wife? While it would be delicious to have an affirmative answer to those questions, I must leave those who read this to spice up their own "meal" to see how it rings on the authenticity meter.

(Week #3, #4)

[leaping-in-london]

A Surprising Lack of Ghosts

Probably the most interesting task of this Study Abroad was to ask locals about ghost stories. Knowing that the sidewalk that we walk on in London is merely the top layer, or roof, covering a foundation of thousands of bodies makes one think there would be a huge proliferation of ghosts and other spectral figures. Sure, you can do a quick search of ghosts in London (I did that) and find a decent variety of spectral dogs, haunted stables, and other such things, but I didn't find a type of ghost. Simply put, there is not enough meat in this gristle to serve a meal of ghostly food groups.

Unlike some of my other classmates, I have read many of these materials that go along with this week's module. I am familiar with Gender and Ghosts, Dr. Kitta's article about the whiteness of ghosts, and I thoroughly enjoyed Queer Ghost Hunter as they tried to track down the lesbian nuns. All of these materials are fantastic and interesting, but, as much as I would like to say otherwise, simply not that applicable to anything that I have read or heard about in London. The only exception, and of course the most popular serial killer that London can brag about, would be Jack the Ripper. Whoever that person was, he was the extreme guy, he took Coventry Patmore's idealized Angel in the House and brutally slaughtered at least five women (potentially up to eleven/twelve) perhaps because they were the antithesis of what the ideal woman was supposed to be. What would have been really interesting would have been to discover that one of those victims turned into that Deviant Femme to seek revenge on men who were similar to the real Jack the Ripper.

In another post, I will share a ghost story that my group and I heard, and in that one the best I can say is that it was a genderless ghost - the noises and movements were unexplained. According to popular legend, Queen Charlotte, King George III's wife, is also said to haunt the room in which she died. Again, this is a loose supposition, but for "funsies," I do want to include an image I took in her room with an odd shadow over the table.

I truly wish that people had been more forthcoming and I would have heard what I know exists: gender bias and extreme prejudice have just as much voice in the world of the dead as they do in the world of the living. Our descriptions of ghosts and their actions are surprisingly adept at upholding gross and ridiculous stereotypes.

(Week 3, #3)

[leaping-in-london]

Ghoulish Graves

Take me to an older city abroad or at home, and I will go on a ghost tour. And, in order to up the "spook meter," the tour MUST take place at night. Other than a Jack the Ripper tour here four years ago, I have yet to visit any of London's truly spooky graveyards in the dead of the night which means one must do a little bit of envisioning when walking betwixt the living and the dead.

Though I'm not sure that the dog lying atop the gravestone qualifies as a ghoul gate, the idea of a forever joining of man and dog reminds me quite a bit of Mrs. Lupescu and how she masqueraded as a dog near the ghoulgate near the "lighting tree" (75). It was an act of extreme loyalty and that loyalty to the grave and the relationship between people, much like the graves above, begins to fade as the caretakers of such graves also die out. I appreciated the connection between the cemetery and The Graveyard Book.

My favorite ghoulgate, however, is the one near the bottom as it really captures that ominous "creep" factor that we tend to associate with graveyards. There is just something fabulously creepy about out-of-control vines snaking in and around a building like the one below. Death is often chaotic and unpredictable. The house of the dead should emulate that. This "ghoulgate" is the absolute perfect "deathscape" for a graveyard.

Whether real or not, as I walk through graveyards like this one, the temperature begins to drop and the faded lettering on the broken graves beckons me to come closer to fill in the story of their life. I have often found myself stopping in front of a grave for long periods. I know it's silly, but I want the bones beneath to dance under my feet.

Ominous, eerie, beautiful, sad, heartwarming, broken, chaotic, and forgotten. These are the graveyards of our world.

(Week 3, #3)

[leaping-in-london]

Subjectivity of Spaces & Places

One of the most difficult writing prompts for me to wrap my head around is the idea of natural and unnatural spaces. What makes something natural or unnatural? I think we can all agree that a body of water with land billowing on either side is a natural space. What we might disagree on is the beauty of such a sight and whether or not we would want to be next to such a body of water.

This picture is a beautiful space (to me). The foot sticking out of the right side interrupts the beauty and the purity of the image begins to wane. It is also a wonderful metaphor for how man interrupts and collides with nature (a conversation for another time . . .).

All over London, you see this confluence of purposeful creations with relics and rust - leftovers from time. There's a beautiful symbiosis between the two--again this is my opinion--and each time I see this symbiosis, I am struck by how malleable time is.

In the image immediately above, in one of the side streets in Canterbury, you'll find Victoria Grace Bridal, a rather old building, next to an IT store (you have to zoom in to see it). At Kew Palace, the Mad King George III's house is built on top of another house. If you go underneath, you find a completely different house style. It's all quite bizarre and, in my definition, these can be deemed unnatural spaces. That, again, is a matter of perspective.

The idea of monsters is another subjective concept. Who are the monsters in London? The torturers from several hundred years ago would be near the top of that list, but did you know that the number of people actually tortured to death was a relatively small number? The smallness of the number does not mitigate the horror of what was inflicted on those poor people.

One of the most prolific monsters was Jack the Ripper, but were his crimes really even close to some of America's notorious serial killers? Ever hear of Ed Kemper? What about John Wayne Gacy? These are real monsters AND we have romanticized their crimes. Their victims have become that freaky thing under the microscope that we all feel like we have to look at.

Though we can agree to a large extent on the categorization of weird and freaky spaces and places, outliers will always make questions like this impossible to objectively answer.

(Week 2, #2)

[leaping-in-london]

A London Synthesis

In our latest blog entry, we have been asked to go back through our previous posts and synthesize the top five to eight key learning moments. Being somebody that loves to create something new with each entry, this is a bit difficult. How do I rehash what has already been said in a way that satisfies the assignment without it seeming like a boring regurgitation?

From the outset what concerned me about London, and this was based on my prior trip with students, was that I wouldn't find enough things to do. That has certainly not been the case. There is plenty to do, but, at times, it does still feel like I am acting as my own shepherd and schlepping myself from one place to the next in order to cross off the perfunctory "must see's." In trying to synthesize just one of my five to eight highlights, I have already word vomited a paragraph, so, as much as I find this abhorrent, I will revert to a list.

The Transportation System. When I first got here, I had to find my way to the Harry Potter Studios which involved the underground tube, a train, and a bus. I was overwhelmed. After two weeks, I am in AWE of how efficient the transport system is. Nonetheless, it continues to surprise me that I can run three miles faster than it takes to travel three miles in this city.

The alcohol and the small markets. I know I must have mentioned this before, but good lord there is a LOT of alcohol for sale here and you RARELY see a local drunk.

The juxtaposition of buildings 1,000 years old and modern monstrosities.

The utter lack of toilets and garbage cans. I understand the garbage cans--to some degree--but, it is gross how much garbage is strewn around because there isn't a can. The toilets? That I don't understand. How do you have a city that demands you must be active to navigate (necessitating fluids to avoid dehydration) and not provide handy places to pee? If I were to provide stock tips, I would totally recommend AZO . . .

Just when you think you have seen the most amazing thing imaginable, there is something else to see. The history and museums here are indescribable. Freaking amazing . . .

It would be awful to live in this city and be handicapped or autistic.

At the end of the day, I have realized how much I have to be grateful for because of what I can easily access (green spaces, seltzer water, and black cold brew coffee) and just how freaking amazing this country is. For a place that is so geographically small, it is the centerpiece to the Western world's history (not to mention, the uninvited colonizer to much of the Eastern realm).

(Week #2, Reflection #7).

[leaping-in-london]

The London Cacophony

Try and find a corner to yourself in the heart of London and it might involve hiding in a bathroom. There is an endless cacophony of noise and sights that it is almost impossible to get away from. As someone who lives directly across from a ten mile greenway nestled among trees and a small river, this level of activity is difficult to navigate. I love nature and solitude so, for me, while this is a lovely place to visit, I would not want to live here all the time. I cannot imagine how difficult this area would be if I were autistic or neurodiverse or if I had physical handicaps.

Not only is it overwhelming with the noise but it's also difficult to navigate if you have physical disabilities. Most of the tube stations are not wheelchair friendly because of the age of the station. It seems like every third or fourth stop has wheelchair access and the only public transportation that seems to be consistently wheelchair friendly is the bus system. While they have a space carved out on the bus, it doesn't take in the difficulty of getting on the bus or navigating the uneven sidewalks and cobbled surfaces.

We went to one of the cat cafes in London a few days ago. This cafe housed about seventeen cats that had been abandoned or could not acclimate to the family that they had once belonged to. Many of the cats were skittish and had carved out their small space away from the humans that had come to visit. While we yearned to be close to their furry little bodies, they were clearly overstimulated and needed to sketch out a space where they couldn't be touched. Ironically, it made me think of what it would be like here in London and to never be able to carve out the space for yourself and the repercussions from that. Grab a cat that doesn't want to be touched and that cat might hiss or scratch you and most assuredly run away.

Imagine what happens to brains that can't do that? They can't, unlike the cat above, actually bury their head and hide away from what is going on around them.

(Week #2, #3)

[leaping-in-london]

A Minute with Monsters

As a child, a monster is often given birth by the accumulation of artifacts underneath the bed. A seemingly innocuous assimilation of dust mites, forgotten games, random socks, and teddy bears morphs into the Frankenstein of horrors once the sun blinks out on the day and the darkness of the night begins to narrate a tale only possible by the dancing of shadows. This is a child’s perspective. As adults, we too can be afraid of what “literally” lies beneath; however, sometimes what lies beneath is not a tangible external space. It is, instead, the monster of our second self, the belly of our own beast. There is no limitation of plays, books, and articles to address this internal monster. 

Sometimes, in stories such as Pi in Life of Pi, or Conor in A Monster Calls, the monster is the manifestation of either perceived eggregious acts (in the first case, acts committed as a result of survival) or devastating emotions where there is no natural or safe outlet. Because there is no natural outlet, the beast within is “othered�� and a monster is created. While there does seem to be a proliferation of internal monsters in some of our readings, oftentimes when we look at monsters we can trace them back to certain cultures. As Jeffrey Jerome Cohen posits in Thesis I: The Monster’s Body is a Cultural Body tthe “monstrous body is pure culture” (199). It is not just separated by culture, the monster is also delegated to that which we feel is either inferior or misunderstood. Of course, homogenous white males do not get nearly the same monstrous attributes as women in any culture and men in cultures outside of the white male. While I don’t have the statistics on hand, I do know that most of the mass shootings and serial killers have distinguishing characteristics that are remarkably similar to that of that coveted “white male.”

Just a few weeks in London has not given me any type of accurate assessment of the figurative or actual monsters that might be in this reality. Interestingly, while the shadows here are darker, the basements and the levels beneath the surface are much greater, I actually feel safer here. I wish I could synthesize monsters in a neat little package and conclude they are figments of a child's imagination, manifestations of that which we don't culturally understand, or the segments of self that are simply too abhorrent to acknowledge, but the reality is that they are all of those things. Monsters can be a delicious expression of something going bump in the night or they can be a gross caricature of unexpressed prejudice.

(Reflection #6).

[leaping-in-london]

Digging into the Graveyard

Graveyard Book - Quotes with explication

“‘Here,’ said Mrs. Owens. ‘We could give him the Freedom of the Graveyard.’ Mother Slaughter’s mouth became a tiny O. “But,” she said. Then she said, ‘But I never.’ ‘Well, why not? It en’t the first time we’d’ve given the Freedom of the Graveyard to an outsider��” (22).  

The veil between the living and dead has been removed at least when it comes to Bod. This is where the setting is established and we also learn about the difficulties that Bod will have as he grows up. 

“‘It must be good,’ said Silas, ‘to have somewhere that you belong. Somewhere that’s home’” (28).

While this is a generic statement and somewhat trite, it helps create the atmosphere that Bod will not only be protected from the Jack Frost, he will also have security. Silas, like Bod, is able to traverse the two worlds.

“‘I am a Hound of God. I travel my own road, into Hell and out of it.’ And it seemed to Bod as if she ran even faster then” (95). 

Outside of ghosts, Mrs. Lupescu is the first character that has supernatural and mythical properties. She is a shapeshifter as well as a protector of Bod. Mrs. Lupescu, like Bod, weaves in and out two worlds. For her it’s hell which makes her quite capable of looking out and for seeing the potential dangers that Bod faces as he grows up. 

“But they left land unconsecrated beside the sacred ground, Potter’s Fields to bury the criminals and the suicides or those who were not of the faith” (102). 

I appreciated that even in the graveyard there are social classes. This trope of unconsecrated ground shows up frequently in other novels. I feel like Gaiman is reminding us that those that are forgotten are still relevant. It is Liza, the“witch,” that is in the unconsecrated grave who ends up being pivotal in Bod’s life. 

“‘They are. And they are, for the most part, done with the world. You are not. You’re alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything’” (178).

This is a reminder to Bod that even though he lives among the dead, he is not dead. Again, this is somewhat trite, but a reminder that Bod is not meant to make the graveyard his permanent home. 

“‘Of all the organs,’ said Nehemiah Trot, ‘the tongue is the most remarkable. For we use it both to taste our sweet wine and bitter poison, thus also do we utter words both sweet and sour with the same tongue. Go to her!  Talk to her!’” (232).

I really loved this metaphor. The tongue has a duality that we often don’t think about. It’s not necessarily important in the context of the novel, but I appreciated the “life” reminder. 

“Long time ago, one of our people—this was back in Egypt, in pyramid days—he foresaw that one day, there would be a child born who would walk the borderland between the living and the dead. That if this child grew to adulthood it would mean the end of our order and all we stand for” (270).

It is at this point that we finally learn why it was so necessary for Bod to die. This is somewhat of a paradox, however, as Bod never would have “walked among the dead” had Jack not killed the rest of his family. He created the situation where Bod had to be raised by Mr. and Mrs. Owens and the rest of the individuals in the graveyard. 

“SOMETIMES HE COULD NO longer see the dead. It had begun a month or two previously, in April or in May. At first it had only happened occasionally, but now it seemed to be happening more and more. The world was changing” (295).

This is the final shift that Bod will make, he is now safe and no longer needs the protection of the graveyard. Though as readers we know this coming, it is still sad as it signifies the end of childhood. 

Quotes without explication but relevant to the themes of the story

“‘If it happened that we danced the danse macabre with them, the dance of death, then we would not speak of it, and we certainly would not to speak of it to the living.’ ‘But I’m one of you’” (163).

“Bod did not look up. If he had, he would have seen a pair of watery blue eyes watching him intently from a  bedroom window. He stepped into an alley, feeling more comfortable out of the light” (197).

“‘He’s out here, somewhere, and he wants you dead,’ she said. ‘Him as killed your family. Us in the graveyard, we wants you to stay alive. We wants you to surprise us and disappoint us and impress us and amaze us. Come  home, Bod’” (198).

“The man talked with them, in the kitchen, about their lives and their dreams, and by the end of the conversation  Scarlett’s mother had somehow decided that they would be returning to Glasgow: Scarlett would be happy to be near her father, and to see her old friends again” (288). (Week #3, #1)

[leaping-in-london]

Homesick in London

In many respects, it feels as if I have been here for a month. While there are parts of this city that I LOVE, I am incredibly homesick tonight. I miss being around people and places that make me feel comfortable with who I am and what I love. What I would give for one person to run with . . .

It is WEIRD living with other people and ALWAYS being surrounded by people. You can't get away from people here - the tube, the flat, the classroom, and the bus, people are everywhere and as an introvert, who requires isolation in a familiar surrounding to recharge, this experience is obliterating my comfort zone. I knew it would be a challenge going into this, but the magnitude of not having my "escape" route is becoming more pronounced each day. After looking forward to this for the last two years, I am finding myself counting the days until I can go home. Do I think I will feel like this two weeks from now? Absolutely not. I feel like I am having a summer camp drop-off moment ten days after I have been dropped off and fourteen days from now, when I actually will be going home, I will most likely be weeping in the arms of new friends.

This prompt goes beyond just my personal adjustments, it asks what would it be like to not speak the language, to not find comfort in food, religion, culture, and so on. The best way that I can relate to what that must feel like would be like being trapped on an elevator and not being able to get off . . .

[leaping-in-london]

A Peek Into "Familial" Folklore

Go to any new place, it could be a school, a city, a state, or a country, and you will find specific trademarks that reflect that place. Go to my high school and you will be assaulted by club announcements, sports events, and college tours. Go to my city and you will see numerous announcements about greenways. Go to London and you will be inundated with play advertisements, graffiti, and a myriad of peddlers singing, performing tricks, and begging for handouts. Is this drastically different from where I'm from? Not really. Each place, regardless of where it is in the topography of this planet, is a reaction to the people, the culture, the climate, and the geography of that location. No matter how hard I try, I can't possibly understand the customs or folklore of London in just a few days or weeks. To say I could, would be an insult and an untruth.

So what is the "underbelly" folklore that's reflective of London that I can discern in a few days? It is, as I reflected previously, the play advertisements, the houses on houses, the graffiti, and the lack of any green space anywhere in this city.

(Week #1, #3)

[leaping-in-london]

Juxtaposing Pan

Peter Pan is an odd character. Having been exposed to Peter Pan when I was young, I found the idea of Peter Pan enduring and whimsical. As a child, who wouldn't want a mischievous playmate offering to catapult you from your typical and monotonous childhood into grand and "swashbuckling" adventures? Peter seemingly does this for generation after generation. The statue in Kensington Gardens captures the innocence of childhood while it also includes all the joyful adventures accompanying Peter Pan will afford you. That statue tells a slanted story, much like that of Peter Pan. It glorifies childhood and pays homage to a boy that is, for lack of a better term, a young misogynist that is the grand puppeteer for all those around him.

Conversely, the statue of Peter Pan in the Great Ormond Children's Hospital seems much more ominous. Gone are the multitude of people fawning over his adventures, gone is the arrogant pose, and gone is the pedestal to adore him. Instead, we have an image of someone that looks a bit angrier, a bit sketchier, and less of a hero.

Ironically, neither of these statues correlates to what I pictured Peter to be in my head. He is neither the innocent God that is rendered in Kensington Gardens nor is he the urchin immortalized at the hospital. Peter Pan, though static, is like much of what we encounter: he shapeshifts according to where we are in life.

(Week #1; #2)

[leaping-in-london]

When A Monster Calls and Nobody Wants to Listen

I've read when A Monster Calls twice and both times have been equally devastating. Unexpected and devastating losses, while not abnormal, are crushing and even more so when it comes to children. In this particular book, Conor is unable to deal with the loss of his mother and so he creates a mythical and external monster in order to process what he is incapable of processing. Not so ironically, the monster comes from a yew tree. A yew tree, as we learn in the novel, is something that is said to have healing properties.

Important Tidbits from the novel with commentary . . .

“But Conor didn’t run. In fact, he found he wasn’t even frightened. All he could feel, all he had felt since the monster revealed itself, was a growing disappointment. Because this wasn’t the monster he was expecting” (loc. 71).

We know almost from the start that the monster is a metaphor for the grief that Conor is unable to express. Instead of allowing his despair over the impending death of his mother to manifest, he creates an alternative receptacle for his grief, thus “othering” it so that he can deal with the multitude of emotions. 

“This change hadn’t come when everything started with Conor’s mum. No, it had come later, when Conor started having the nightmare, the real nightmare, not the stupid tree, the nightmare with the screaming and the falling, the nightmare he would never tell another living soul about” (loc. 167).

This quote is interesting because it addresses the chaos of grief and how difficult it is to express grief. Instead of being able to process his feelings with another adult-his grandma is angry like Conor is and his father is worthless-it finds an outlet in his dreams. The screaming is the rage that he wants to express and the falling is the lack of control that he has with respect to his mother’s cancer.

“Stories are wild creatures, the monster said. When you let them loose, who knows what havoc they might wreak? The monster looked up, and Conor followed its gaze. It was looking at Conor’s bedroom window. The room where his grandma now slept. Let me tell you a story of when I went walking, the monster said. Let me tell you of the end of a wicked queen and how I made sure she was never seen” (loc. 463).

Each of the stories mimics what Conor is unable to deal with in real life. The wicked queen, his grandmother, needs to disappear from Conor’s world. He associates the disappearance of his grandmother with the disappearance of his mother’s illness.

“It was only a moment before it would bong bong bong its way to nine o’clock. Conor stood there until the second hand glided around and reached the twelve. The instant the bongs were about to start, he grabbed the pendulum, holding it at the high point of its swing” (loc. 896)

I like this particular section because it is one of the first “literal” symbols of the "time" that Conor wants to stop. 

“The parson refused to believe the Apothecary could help, said the monster. When times were easy, the parson nearly destroyed the Apothecary, but when the going grew tough, he was willing to throw aside his every belief if it would save his daughters”  (loc. 1004).

This addresses how hypocritical and weak people are - they hide behind their “faith” because it’s easy. When the “rubber meets the road,” people will do almost anything to save themselves. 

“Never invisible again, the monster kept saying as he pummeled Harry. Never invisible again. There came a point when Harry stopped trying to fight back, when the blows from the monster were too strong, too many, too fast, and when he began begging the monster to stop” (loc. 1395).

People are often “afraid” of people who have had to endure devastating losses. There is a window of time where grief is “allowed” and then, as a general rule, people expect that person to return to who they used to be. Since that is often impossible, that person tends to become invisible. We are so uncomfortable with “catching it” that people will often avoid the person who is grieving. Conor, acting as the “monster,” wants to be seen. He wants to be treated as if he were still there. He wants to be punished for his behavior. He wants some normalcy. 

“I did not come to heal her, the monster said. I came to heal you” (loc. 1580).

There isn’t a lot to say beyond the obvious in this line. Conor manufactured the monster to detach himself from the parts of himself that were simply incapable of processing what was going on. The monster disappears when Conor begins to accept the reality of who he is and the reality of those around him.  

Other important tidbits from the novel . . .

“‘And if, one day,’ she said, really crying now, ‘you look back and you feel bad for being so angry, if you feel bad for being so angry at me that you couldn’t even speak to me, then you have to know, Conor, you have to know that it was okay. It was okay. That I knew. I know, okay? I know everything you need to tell me without you having to say it out loud. All right?’ He still couldn’t look at her” (loc. 1531).

“He spoke the truth. He told the rest of the fourth tale. ‘I can’t stand it anymore!’ he cried out as the fire raged around him. ‘I can’t stand knowing that she’ll go! I just want it to be over! I want it to be finished!’” (loc. 1706).

“The answer is that it does not matter what you think, the monster said, because your mind will contradict itself a  hundred times each day. You wanted her to go at the same time you were desperate for me to save her” (loc. 1740).

(Week 2, #1)

[leaping-in-london]

Tubes of Antithesis

The Tube? How can one possibly umbrella a kaleidoscope of people, sounds, and destinations? Neverwhere, a place between and below; a word that celebrates both antithesis and oxymoron. Never is "without" and where is "destination." Is there a more perfect word for the Tube? It's below, hence unseen from the surface, but it is definitely where, as it quite literally transports one from a multitude of destinations, a sleek bullet capable of bending around dark corners, one on top of another separated by ancient trails and unseen layers in the ground.

I have taken very few photos of my travels on the Northern, Central, Circle, and other lines. I am too busy unobtrusively gawking at the myriad sights, smells, and sounds that assault me each time I enter the underground den of fetid smells and, too often, balmy humid air. Reading that description one would think I despise this experience, yet I have loved it. Much like Richard Mayhew initially finds himself an alien in the underground realm governed--quite unbelievably-- by rats with an expected beatific and heavenly angel acting as the antagonist, I too initially found the Tube alien and awkward, and also intimidating. There are a set of unsaid and unspoken rules that one learns to follow after a crash course in London navigation. Once those are learned, we return, just as Mayhew returns to the place below with all of the complicated and messy rules, a place he will never truly fit (just as he found himself in real life). While I will never quite fit either, I have enjoyed bending myself into this new mode of transportation.

As the picture above indicates, "staring," is offensive and punishable, but by God, it is hard not to stare sometimes. In the six days that I have been traversing the London transport system, I have seen some very odd behaviors that seem to have zero impact on what I assume are seasoned Tube transporters. During one particular stunning episode of Tube "Not" Watching, a lovely young girl, with drooping and bleeding ear gauges, lovingly serenaded a young man from one stop to the next. That he was not interested and clearly hiding his face, did not faze her at all. She proceeded with gusto, and, in fact, upped her musical marvel to levels so that all those in a twenty-foot radius were able to appreciate her determination. It was readily apparent to most of us in the "viewing audience" that her bravery might have been artificially induced but, like any effective mood altering substance, it gave her a sense of courage that was really quite astounding. Honestly, not one of us felt like we could mimic that brilliant solo. While she gave it her all, he never acquiesced or responded to her performance and, like any good book, our stop required our little quintet to leave the episode in the middle of the cliffhanger. Did he turn his head and let his eyes speak to his feelings on her fearless gesture? Was it eternal love? Methinks not . . .

[leaping-in-london]

Symbiotic Collisions

One of the most interesting things about London is its age. At any time, you might be walking over a place where someone died, a battle occurred, or something amazing transpired. There is a symbiotic collision of past and present and natural and supernatural that threads what is normally disparate into something remarkably cohesive. Kensington Gardens, a lush landscape of trees, birds, and flowers houses one of the creepiest trees that I have ever seen, and, as seen below, death and life somehow work together (though the tree could also be easily cast as the "monster tree" in A Monster Calls). The branches, perfectly and deliciously brittle, are jutting out like skeletal fingers ready to attack without warning. The juxtaposition of teeming life with literal death is symbolic of many of the intersections in the city as it both grows in progress and dies in its antiquities.

Throughout any park as old as Kensignton, you would expect to find a collage of new growth and old, but that is certainly not the only spot where a random image, person, or place will make one consider what it means to be a city this old or, simply because of the setting, something ordinary morphs into something ominous. On the Tube, for example, there was a man last night that seemed as if he walked off the set of Fringe as an Observer or was Vandemar plucked from the pages of Neverwhere. Had I seen him outside of this city, I would have undoubtedly thought him normal, but in this city, his strange gestures (unseeable in the photo below) immediately made me think there was something unnatural going on.

Shadows in the daylight are perhaps more ominous than those at night and during my run this afternoon along Regent's Canal, I was mesmerized (and a bit frightened) by an old tunnel. The tunnel mouth, dark and foreboding, ready to swallow unsuspecting joggers and digest them into the many layered levels of London.

As my time in London continues, I know I will continue to find the creepy in the ordinary and continue to scope out ghosts and goblins whether real or not. #4

[leaping-in-london]

Processing Peter Pan

Great quotes with some brief personal analysis . . .

"Mrs. Darling first heard of Peter when she was tidying up her children's minds. It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for next morning, repacking into their proper places the many articles that have wandered during the day" (loc 65).

This particular quote stands out for me because it really illustrates how pliable this experience is for Wendy and the other characters. To think someone could go in and pluck out the unpleasant things and reformat the brain really sets up the fantastical elements of the book. 

"At first Mrs. Darling did not know, but after thinking back into her childhood she just remembered a Peter Pan who was said to live with the fairies . . . . She had believed in him at the time, but now that she was married and full of sense she quite doubted whether there was any such person" (loc 92-92).

We see very early on that “Peter Pan” is a recurring player. This is confirmed at the end when Wendy grows up and her children begin experiencing the same dream sequences/kidnappings. Whether or not she experienced the same adventures can only be inferred, but it does promote the theme that imagination and innocence fade away as we grow up.

'Ever so much nastier, 'Mr. Darling said bravely, 'and I would take it now as an example to you, Michael, if I  hadn't lost the bottle.' He had not exactly lost it; he had climbed in the dead of night to the top of the wardrobe and hidden it there" (loc 191).

This particular part illustrates the normalcy of the nightly family traditions as well as it illustrating the “do as we say and do as we do” mentality. Mr. Darling, just like a child, pretends to take his medicine. (this also relates to the theme of pretense).

"Then Wendy saw the shadow on the floor, looking so draggled, and she was frightfully sorry for Peter. 'How awful!' she said, but she could not help smiling when she saw that he had been trying to stick it on with soap.  How exactly like a boy!" (loc 271).

This is one of those very obvious moments of gender bias where she has differentiated the behavior of boys and girls and treats his inability to hang on to his “shadow” with affection. 

"Presently Wendy took the hat, because John said it struck against his knee as he flew; and this, as we shall see, led to mischief, for Tinker Bell hated to be under an obligation to Wendy" (loc 491).

Tinker Bell clearly despises Wendy because of Peter’s affection for her. While this doesn’t illustrate that specifically, it does foreshadow what Tinker Bell will do to Wendy.

"No sooner did Peter remember it than he heard the ticking. At first he thought the sound did come from the crocodile, and he looked behind him swiftly. Then he realised that he was doing it himself, and in a flash he understood the situation. 'How clever of me,' he thought at once, and signed to the boys not to burst into applause" (loc 1471).

Peter is his own biggest fan - establishes how clearly narcissistic he is. It's an effective balance of ridiculous hyperbole while subtly reminding the reader that this entire adventure is about Peter and for Peter. Everyone else is clearly a player in the drama that fuels him.

"Then he burst into tears, and the truth came out. He was as glad to have them as she was, he said, but he thought they should have asked his consent as well as hers, instead of treating him as a cypher in his own house" (loc 1698).

For once, Peter is being ostracized for his ridiculous behavior - he does not know how to process being excluded. 

"Of course in the end Wendy let them fly away together. Our last glimpse of her shows her at the window,  watching them receding into the sky until they were as small as stars" (loc 1813).

Wendy has now allowed her own children to become part of Peter’s adventures. She’s grown and lost the ability to participate in the adventures thus confirming that idea that play and imagination is reserved for children.

Wonderful little Peter Pan tidbits without explanation ...

"Wendy was now almost overhead, and they could hear her plaintive cry. But more distinct came the shrill voice of Tinker Bell. The jealous fairy had now cast off all disguise of friendship, and was darting at her victim from every direction, pinching savagely each time she touched" (loc 640).

"The difference between him and the other boys at such a time was that they knew it was made–believe, while to him make-believe and true were exactly the same thing. This sometimes troubled them, as when they had to make–believe that they had had their dinners" (loc 701).

"'The game's up,' he cried, 'those boys have found a mother.' Affrighted though she was, Wendy swelled with pride. 'O evil day,' cried Starkey" (loc 904).

"Against such fearful evidence it was not their belief in him that he needed, it was his own. He felt his ego slipping from him. 'Don't desert me, bully,' he whispered hoarsely to it. In his dark nature there was a touch of the feminine, as in all the great pirates, and it sometimes gave him intuitions. Suddenly he tried the guessing game" (loc 931).

"Off we skip like the most heartless things in the world, which is what children are, but so attractive; and we have an entirely selfish time; and then when we have need of special attention we nobly return for it, confident that we shall be embraced instead of smacked. So great indeed was their faith in a mother's love that they felt they could afford to be callous for a bit longer" (loc 1132).

"However, as we are here we may as well stay and look on. That is all we are, lookers–on. Nobody really wants us. So let us watch and say jaggy things, in the hope that some of them will hurt" (loc 1613).

"Of course in the end Wendy let them fly away together. Our last glimpse of her shows her at the window,  watching them receding into the sky until they were as small as stars" (loc 1813).