I’m always attracted to updates and reimaginings and particularly appreciate those which go to some trouble to explain the rationale for the gap which separates them from their originals – which is probably why I enjoyed Tim Burton’s Alice more than many of the critics. The film is predicated on the idea (just lightly sketched) that Alice, now 19, visited Wonderland as a child but has now all but forgotten the journey and remembers it only in her dreams. When pressured into marriage with an eligible but unappealing suitor she flees after a white rabbit and – naturally – falls down a rabbit hole. We get certain scenes from the Alice we all know – and they inspire a sense of déjà vu in both us and the heroine – but we are also offered much new material. Alice is shown an ‘oraculum’, which clearly depicts her defeating the jabberwocky. Cleverly, the idea – or at least the image – comes straight from Tenniel. Lewis’ bizarre poem and its ambiguous illustration are revealed to be a prophecy.

Memories from the original novel haunt us (and Alice) but so do recollections from many other children’s stories. It’s as though Alice is the archetypal children’s heroine, re-enacting the heroic deeds of other young girls. She is Lucy riding on Aslan (here a surprisingly friendly bandersnatch), and rescuing her friend from a witch’s castle; she is Dorothy, conquering an evil woman, aiding a good one, and finally being presented with the magic talisman which will enable her to return home – or not; she is cross dressing Eowyn, fulfilling a prophecy, and defeating an evil winged beast. The film’s intertexuality is also signalled by the name of this Alice’s dead father – Charles Kingsley. Charles Kingsley was (in a sense) the ‘father’ of the original Alice as his strange and magical Waterbabies was published two years before Carroll’s novel.

After the ‘fable of Narcissus’ (see previous post) I felt like turning my attention to something short and simple. Thomas Hedley’s ‘Judgement of Midas’, a broadsheet printed towards the end of Edward VI’s reign, looked inviting. However it soon became clear that ‘Midas’ was not simply a free adaptation of one Ovidian myth, but an intervention into a long and rather complicated flyting which centred round a heated exchange between the poets Churchyard, Camel and their adherents.

Churchyard subtly hints at problems in the current regime (he didn’t care for Dudley, a powerful figure in the young king’s Privy Council). However he disguises his slightly subversive ideas behind an alliterative persona, Davey Dicar. Today perhaps he’d call himself Lucy Lips. And in fact, as I read the other pieces in the flyting, I noted many of the same moves which antagonists adopt in today’s blogosphere wars.

Both Churchyard and his opponent, the conservative Camel, expend much more energy on personal abuse than on actually discussing politics (supposedly the issue at stake). Here Churchyard anticipates the grievance aired by so many bloggers since – his opponent is failing to engage with his arguments:

You touch not one point whereof that I wrate,
You leap o’er the hedge, and seeth not the gate.

Camel counters with another accusation much favoured by bloggers:

‘Three names are too many for one man alone’

Churchyard is being accused of using sockpuppets, a charge to which he responds by shamelessly penning poems of support by ‘Chapel’ and ‘Steeple’. Churchyard is pretty smug generally. Here he distances himself from Camel’s rants with lofty superiority before advising him to, as it were, take his meds.

I will not answer word for word to you rejoinder yet,
Because I find no matter there, nor yet no point of wit,
But brabbling blasts, and frantic fits, and chiding in the air,
Why do you fret thus with yourself? Fie man, do not despair;
Though that your wits be troubled sore, if you in Bedlam were,
I think you should be right well kept, if you be friended there.

The whole affair ends in a quibble about grammar, and a sneer at Camel’s supposed poor command of the subject. I can’t quite bring myself to explain the full context here.

Note when rex doth reign (and) rule the roost, a conjunction copulative,
Your master taught you not to know, could he such things discrive?

And even here, slightly surprisingly, it’s possible to identify a modern parallel ...

(You have to scroll down to the discussion of the word 'links')

I’m spending (most of) my sabbatical editing an anthology of early modern translations of Ovid. It will include extracts from well known texts (by writers such as Marlowe, Golding and Sandys) and also obscure but engaging poems such as H.A.’s ‘The Scourge of Venus or The Wanton Lady’, a poem about Myrrha’s incestuous passion for her father Cinyras. Despite its tone of Christian censoriousness it’s actually a good deal more racy than Ovid’s original.

The volume will also include the snappily titled ‘The fable of Ovid treating of Narcissus, translated out of Latin into English metre with a moral thereunto, very pleasant to read’. It is thought that the same man, Thomas Hackett, both wrote and printed this 1560 work. That might explain the final four words of the title.

The ‘moral’ T.H. refers to is in fact a 9500 word commentary in which the poet summarises the interpretations of Narcissus’ story offered by other writers, such as Boccaccio, and offers (at length) his own reflections on the tale. His is a cafeteria approach to commentary – he offers you various options and allows you to pick and choose. Thus Echo may represent either flattery or good advice.

The text’s syntax is complex and sometimes bizarre. The poet often seems to forget how a sentence began some time before reaching its end. He seems unnecessarily fond of words which have several different meanings split between two or three parts of speech. His failure to distinguish between ‘to’ and ‘too’ adds to the confusion as does the fact that the text is almost completely lacking in punctuation. Because there are so many variables in play, working out what he’s trying to say is a bit like doing a sodoku puzzle.

Here’s a stanza (particularly the italicised bit) I was finding tricky yesterday – although in fact (looking at it again after a good night’s sleep) I think I get it now. ‘It is now so easy for self-love to propagate itself as long as one has a little bit to start with’.

Whereto he straight consents by judgement blind,
And grants to have as much as seemeth, and more;
So easy, lo, self love is now to kind,
So some is had, so sweet a grievous sore,
So glad he is to keep his harms in store,
And much desirous for to abide his woe,
And eke so loth his mischief to forgo.

I’ve just come across a reference to Gordon Braden describing the text as ‘almost literally unreadable’. I’m glad it’s not just me.

I happened to notice this story about how Men at Work had been successfully sued for plagiarism by Larrikin Music. They claimed the band had ‘stolen’ the flute riff from the 1981 hit ‘Down Under’ from ‘Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree’, written by Marion Sinclair in 1934.

This seemed an odd decision – not because I don’t think there was a borrowing but because it’s so obvious that ‘Down Under’ alludes to (or perhaps quotes from) the song. It’s a bit like saying T.S. Eliot plagiarised Hamlet when he inserted Ophelia’s ‘good night, sweet ladies’ into The Waste Land (or indeed that Lou Reed plagiarised Eliot).

The riff is separated from the song as a discrete element – it’s not being used as a substitute for composing something new. It seems to me that this is a deliberate and apt hommage to a folksy children’s song about Australia in a satirical pop song about the experience of Australian backpackers which invokes lots of Aussie stereotypes.

I was intrigued by discussions amongst colleagues about the (possible) unfairness of the fact that the BFWG offers funding only to female graduate students so I blogged about the issue here. I would always describe myself as a feminist. Certain issues concerning women's rights are so stark that it's hard to find any room for argument or debate. By comparison, any concerns feminists might feel about UK issues are likely to seem less pressing. The ’double shift' is one possible area which still leaves room for improvement and there are other contexts in which women may be discriminated against, perhaps at an unconscious level. Discourse, particularly in the blogosphere, is often irritatingly sexist - hardly a life and death issue but it can become wearing.

But there are some areas where both women and men may, in different ways, feel disadvantaged. The assumption that women are more suited to childcare, for example, may work against the interests of both sexes. On Harry’s Place someone suggests that women may prefer to remain unpromoted, focusing on teaching rather than bureaucracy. One might respond by arguing that society encourages women not to push themselves, not to aspire to the kind of job which is both more lucrative and more demanding. But this argument can be turned round. Both my father and my father- in-law felt they had to give up their preferred poorly paid (but very interesting) career ambitions in order to go into business and support their families.

Going back to academia, even if it can be demonstrated that there are systemic biases or barriers facing women, targeting money at postgraduates just because they happen to be female might not be the most nuanced solution. It might be better to ‘drill down’ to work out exactly why and when women fall behind and address the proximate cause – perhaps childcare.

UPDATE

Here's a little example of discrimination against men. If female parents seem to get a raw deal in the work place sometimes - male parents appear to be far more blatantly discriminated against when it come to parenting/childcare. Scroll down to the sleeping arrangements bit.