Book review #2: Troy

I have read quite a few books on Troy already - my favourite being Colleen McCullough's Song of Troy - so I had pretty high hopes when a friend recommended David Gemmell's Troy trilogy. Initially, however, I found the first half of Lord of the Silver Bow a struggle as we seemed to spend the entire time flitting between multiple character perspectives heavy on both description and back story, whilst very little seemed to happen in the present. The Great Green (Mediterranean Sea) seemed to be the main setting for the story and Troy itself was barely mentioned, let alone under siege.

However, once I settled into Gemmell's writing style and the story started moving along, I started to believe that the author is actually some kind of genius. The depth he gives to multiple characters across the trilogy, while at first seemed a waste of text, actually means the reader engages far more with each character by understanding their motivation and often tragic pasts. Gemmell made his mark by writing 'heroic fantasy' but I think his true genius is in making these characters flawed. All his 'heroes' do evil things, while many of those on the Mykene side against Troy are perhaps more noble than their 'victims' in the Golden City. I find this reminiscent of George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones where characters routinely fall into that grey area between good and evil, which I believe is a more modern and believable approach to human nature, unlike traditional tales like Tolkein's work, where heroes are always honourable and villains dark to the core.
From the second half of the first book through Shield of Thunder and Fall of Kings, the pace picks up considerably and characters we recognise from the original myth become more prevalent, although the narrative still often focuses on Gemmell's own creations. The beauty here is that, in these novels, everything has been twisted a little from previous adaptations. Odysseus sides with Agammemnon out of necessity not choice, Achilles does not dishonour Hektor but falls with him, and the Trojan Horse ploy refers to a trick with the Trojan cavalry rather than a giant wooden horse. And Helen is barely mentioned, described as 'plain and plump', her last heroic act in life instead giving rise to her legend of beauty.
The third string to Gemmell's (Silver) bow, which I was perhaps most impressed by, is his action sequences of which I have not seen the like before. Both the micro (following one character) and the macro (whole army stratagem) are so detailed yet fast-paced it feels more like you are watching a film as you can visualize every sword swing and cavalry charge in real-time. He also makes sure, even with ongoing themes of honour and glory, that battle and violence are not glorified, describing war as grim and gruesome, whilst contrasting that with dialogue of the soldiers and kings who are so battle-worn they do not see the horror. This helps to root the narrative in the reality of an ancient time that was far bloodier than our own, where the hypocrisy of honour and casual murder ran side by side to create a violent yet proud society.
Overall verdict: From a well-worn myth, Gemmell creates something entirely new with a skill of pen that should itself become legendary.

All Blacks at last!

Starting off the new experiences with the most recent. What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think of New Zealand? For me, its kiwi birds and sheep, but for most people its rugby. Over here in NZ if you utter the words "I'm not really into sport" you are treated to a shocked, semi-disgusted look before being ignored in favour of talking to 'normal' people. I really moved to the wrong country. Maybe I should have gone to somewhere like France where the national love is cheese and wine...
Instead I am in a country where sports stars are the biggest celebrities and the most commonly viewed channel in my house is Sky Sports. It's not that I hate sport - I think it's a good thing - I just don't find it particularly interesting nor do I feel the need to align myself so completely with a particular team that I feel their wins and losses personally. I pay attention to the Olympics because of the variety and its infrequency. Once every four years is enough to get enthusiastic, I cannot maintain that all year every year. I kept under the radar for so long it was over two years before my Kiwi family realised I hadn't witnessed the pinnacle of national pride - an All Black's rugby match. Swiftly, tickets were booked and before you could say Richie McCaw I was sat in a pub surrounded by Welsh and Kiwi supporters stocking up on beer and burgers before the big game at Eden Park stadium. Nursing my hot toddy (yes it is winter here), I surveyed the press of fans all laughing and joking and killing time mostly wearing the official black jersey of the ABs while I'd opted for my thick red coat due to the weather, thinking I was smart. Another look round told me the Welsh supporters were wearing red. Ah, I had arrived in the colour of the enemy. Good start.
Thankfully all thoughts of being ousted as the opposition faded into the atmosphere of the stadium itself. First major sports game in my first proper stadium definitely counted as a new experience, and was especially important because I was cynical and thought I'd get bored after two minutes. How wrong I was. The stadium resounded with both national anthems followed by that spine-tingling haka (the iconic Maori war dance) then it was kick off. Here's where I thought I'd switch off and start eyeing the lady selling donuts. Then both teams scored early tries, causing the crowd to go nuts and the flame throwing things to, well, throw flame on the sideline in celebration. The first half was fast paced with both teams scoring well so it didn't really matter that I didn't understand penalties and scrums etc. Teams switched ends for the second half and we were suddenly thrown right into the action with New Zealand scoring again and again right in front of us. We were so close to the goal posts, even the guy next to us caught a penalty shot. Also worth a mention was the highly impressive Mexican wave which made it all the way round the stadium nearly five times before being lost in a tense crowd on its feet as brutal tackles were made almost on top of the try line. Needless to say the predominantly Kiwi crowd, and indeed the flame throwers, went nuts when the All Blacks bought home an overwhelming victory over the Welsh who did put up a good fight.
I'm still not a sports fan and will still run away from Sky Sport, but the tension, high scores and enthusiastic genial crowd of that first test match means I will definitely be booking tickets when Australia comes to town. New experience:1, Cynicism: 0.

Book review #1: The Dalai Lama's Cat

Consider your brain a sponge, and words the water you absorb in order to expand. We all read for different reasons, whether to learn or escape or simply to pass the time. But whatever the reason, books have the potential to affect us, even change us, by influencing our knowledge base, inspiring new ideas and persuading us to different opinions.This is why I have chosen to include book reviews as part of this blog as a new book is in itself a new experience with the potential to surprise. As an experiment I asked friends and family to make me a list of 50+ of their favourite books. In came all sorts of genres from fantasy to spiritual, humour to political. All are welcome as a challenge because I only read action thrillers with the occasional chick lit thrown in for good measure. And by thrillers I mean one author. Who only brings out one or two books a year. So for about 50 weeks a year I have nothing to read. This particular author of mine writes books so fast-paced I have tended to find anything else slow and boring in comparison. Or perhaps I haven't tried hard enough. So on with my own personal experiment. Can I broaden my horizons, open my eyes to different writing styles and maybe even learn to like something I never thought to seek out let alone enjoy?
 
Well if the first book's anything to go by, then next 49 will be a treat! First up was The Dalai Lama's Cat series by David Michie and I completely fell in love with it. Think Buddhism through the eyes of everyone's favourite moggy. (I can see your raising your eyebrows, stick with me here). You may not think you have much in common with a cat, yet the one who narrates this novel is personable and flawed just like the rest of us. The cat in question shares her home with His Holiness and as such is most often in contact with Buddhist monks whose spirituality seems almost unattainable, but as well with the local people of the town who have their own - more ordinary - struggles for peace and happiness.
The first book is mostly a series of overheard conversations or incidents, each of which leads our narrator to learn a Buddhist principle or see how that idea may be put into practice in normal life. There was the unhappy millionaire to show us how we think about our circumstances influences our mood far more than the circumstances themselves, and the furballs (remember this is a cat) to show us how we can sometimes focus on ourselves so much it can make us sick.
The following two novels - The Power of Meow and The Art of Purring - continue the tales of the goings on in the temple complex and local cafe, with the residents and our feline narrator discovering the importance of living in the present and the benefits of mediation, and how to find true happiness through focusing less on ourselves and more on the happiness of others.
These books are in no way seeking to convert anyone to Buddhism as that is not the nature of the religion or the author, but instead offer us a very accessible, almost conversational and often humourous approach to introducing ideas and practices anyone could try out that might just make us more mindful both of those around us and of own own behavioural and thought patterns. There are no promises, no rules, but if a cat can give it a go, surely we can too?

Why new?

As a self-confessed creature of habit, it may come as a surprise that my chosen blog topic is advocating all things new. If you ask anyone who knows me well, they will say what I hate most is change. And spiders. One is an irrational fear shared by many, and the other? I'll leave you to answer that. I tried once to cure my self of that panicky, spine tingling reaction to all things eight-legged by holding a tarantula at a wildlife park. Even at the age of 21, I still made my mum go first hoping that she'd chicken out. She didn't and I practically sobbed in front of a bunch of kids much younger than myself as the spider walked sedately across my hand. Fear cured? Not a jot.
But two very important questions arise from this instance. Firstly, were all the kids present that day, super kids with no fear? Of course not, they just jumped on an opportunity to try something new. How many of their peers at school the next day could boast such brave exploits? And yet the same reaction could not be said of their parents, dutifully taking photos of their little heroes whilst studiously avoiding the hairy beast themselves...
Secondly, if we treat 'common' fears like snakes, spiders, heights etc. as something to be overcome, why do we often lack the same approach to fear of the unknown?
I believe the two are inextricably tied. As children, all we hear from our caregivers is "Don't say you don't like it til you try it." We are encouraged to try all sorts of things (vegetables aside), and our childish curiosity embraces the new as exciting, sometimes scary, but definitely worth a go. Yet as we age, our routines grow with us as safe comfortable bubble as we navigate through such milestones as changing schools, moving house, first jobs etc. The 'New' suddenly becomes this dark shadow, always looming over us threatening the familiar which we have come to rely on like a pair of cosy well-worn slippers. They do their job, keeping our feet warm day after day, but they will only ever be one thing. The same can be said of life - you cannot expect it to be anything other than it has always been unless you do something different to change that.
I have seen first hand how powerful an effect stepping outside of your comfort zone can be. Sometimes you discover things you love, like new food, new friends, a TV show or even new places or hobbies. Sometimes you discover new things to hate. Like kumara, aka the potato's evil twin. Either way, you are learning more about yourself than simply likes and dislikes: how you react to new experiences may be the most important. You may discover you can cope far better in a novel situation than you thought - I discovered that once I'd gotten over the fact that I wasn't going to die, I quite enjoyed white water rafting. You may also learn aspects of your character you thought you knew could turn round and surprise you - I believed myself to be very trusting until an acro-yoga workshop revealed it was harder than I thought to trust strangers to quite literally support your 'flight'.
So this is where this blog comes in. Not to preach but merely to serve as an example of how doing something different, reading something new or traveling into the unknown can have a profound effect on our character and how we see the world. And just maybe, start to realize the shadow of change is something we can befriend after all. So come, my fellow creatures of habit, allow me to introduce you to the Power of New...

New beginnings

It was mid 2014 when the bombshell dropped.
And I don't mean little bombshell like, "What, no ice cream left?!" Although to be fair, that is a tragedy.
No folks, I mean BIG, life changing, world upending, you name it.
Let me set the scene. I was in my final year at university, I had a job I enjoyed, great people around me with my love life getting better by the day. I was happy. Or was I just comfortable?
Well anyway, I settling down for bed in my family home when my boyfriend rings. Nothing unusual there, except his tone tells me somethings up. After much sighing and mumbling, 'Bad news love, when my visa runs out I can't apply for a new one straight away like we thought.'
Hmm, minor setback, I think. So what, he can just fly home to New Zealand, get a new one and be back with me in England in a few weeks? 'Erm no, immigration says I have to be away from England for two years before I can apply again.'
Sorry, what?
So this was the bombshell. We hadn't been dating long enough to consider a long-distance relationship, let alone one spanning the entire globe. I had two choices. Go our separate ways perhaps wondering what could of been, or maybe we'd just go back to 'life before' and be happy. Or I could leave everything behind and follow him to New Zealand.
My mother cried. Can I just point out here that before this I couldn't even make it from London to Brighton without getting lost. Apart from the worry of losing her daughter abroad, I think there was a genuine worry that I would actually get lost and spend the rest of my days stuck in an airport. Knowing me, I probably wouldn't make it out of Gatwick alone. As it happens I made it to Dubai before getting lost, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
For a while I genuinely didn't know what to do. I am a creature of habit, the worst thing you could do to me was introduce change and stick me in a room full of strangers. Yet something in me wondered, what if?
I was happy with my life but I was restless. Through no fault of anyone, I actually wanted something different. I didn't know what, but I knew I didn't just want more of the same, even if I was putting my happiness, relationships and possibly sanity on the line for it.
I don't remember when it was that I decided to go but I knew I was scared. Scared to do what I needed. What if I hated it, what if his family an friends didn't like me, what would I miss out on at home?
Then that little voice in our heads that so many of us ignore said, 'F*** it, you're going!'

So I did.

New Zealand here I come!