Hi folks – you know one thing about writers – they are all readers. All writers begin by reading other people’s writing. That sounds a bit self-evident, but apparently there are many people who do not get pleasure from reading, and especially in this time, one can get entertainment, information, from screens. For myself, I have always been a voracious reader, and I have discovered that sometimes reading stuff you don’t normally go to first off can be the most rewarding. I mean, we tend in life to seek affirmation of our own already ‘on board’ beliefs, set attitudes don’t we? For example, as a hetero male, I tend to mostly read books written by males. Don’t get me wrong, this is not a chauvinist thing. Some books are written for particularly female readership, and there are those written specifically for men - Not to forget the array of gay/lesbian literature. On this last category, years ago I read a brilliant piece of writing by a Marco Vassi: ‘The metasex manfesto’ sometimes printed under ‘Mirth, madness, and metasex’.
There is another category, and that is books written without gender slant. These are admittedly rare, but when you find one, it can be a real eye-opener. A good example for me some years ago was a book by Annie Proulx, ‘The shipping News’. It was a lesson for me; although a man, I hope like Proulx, to engage readers across the spectrum. I must confess, as a writer, that all that macho, quasi fascistic all conquering hero shtick in all it’s guises is not my go. On the other hand, it’s opposite genre, the classic ‘bodice ripper’, as they are known in the trade, ditto. Hey, as they say, there’s no arguing about taste (actually I dispute that egregious expression) The truth is, those two genres mentioned, cover most of what people read. It is understandable; defenders, readers, say they just want to read something comfortable, not too challenging, enjoyable. Literary masturbation, but like most, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to sometimes enjoying a rip-roaring adventure yarn. There, my secret vice is out!
Lately I have been reading the guy someone named ‘the great contrarian’ – that marvellous gad-fly Christopher Hitchens. If you think Hitchens is the great antichrist, perhaps this blog is not for you. The title of the book in question is ‘God is not Great’.
On the other hand, if you do think this, perhaps you specifically should have the courage and intellectual honesty to open this book. Hey, and read it. Whether one agrees with Hitchens – he pulls no punches, writing with great wit and erudition – or not, reading Hitchens will change your way of thinking about religion.
Hichens himself did many lecture tours across America, and expressed surprise in that on the whole, even across the so-called ‘bible belt’, he was received in the main politely, and often to his surprise, have people in the audience getting up and declaring their atheism – often he recalled, to the surprise of their neighbours as well. I am sure to receive some correspondence about this book, but hey, I didn’t write it, so don’t blame me, don’t shoot the messenger ( I just point it out as an intellectually brilliant tour de force) just sayin’
My father spent his boyhood in Papua/New Guinea, at the turn of the 20th century still a land of fierce cannibal warriors. He was reluctantly dragged along by his much older sister and her husband, a Seventh Day Adventist missionary. In later years, my father claimed he got four things from the experience: an abiding hatred of missionaries, their arrogance, their narrow bigoted holier-than-thou approach, there arrogant insistence that only their ideas were right, that the indigenous people were to discard all of their own culture. Secondly, a contempt for all religion as such, third, a marvellous butterfly collection – lost unfortunately during a flood along the Fly River – and endemic malaria. My father’s boyish secret wish that the Papuans should cook and eat the missionaries was only tempered by the unavoidable fact that he would also have gone into the pot.
Much later in life, on being informed by a relative that an ancestor in Scotland had once in an altercation, burnt alive a bishop. My father expressed himself delighted Upon hearing this, calling out to my brother: ‘Henceforth our family motto – A family which roasts bishops can’t be all bad.’
So delighted was he, that after a couple or three glasses of wine, he was wont to call out:
‘Fetch me a leg of a plump young priest.’ He wasn’t really all that bloodthirsty, but I know he would have appreciated Christopher Hitchens.
Okay, beer o’clock…
Quote for the day:
‘Religion is like hair restorer – if there was a good one, there would only be one’
Mark Twain
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