Aw Diddums

Mood: Normal - bored with the nittier-grittier things of life
Listening to: Ghostly song in my head: 'Where Do You Go To, My Lovely?'

I finished George Mackay Brown's biography quite quickly - the one by Maggie Fergusson. It's shorter than it looks, because of all the references at the back. I enjoyed it very much and it was more informative than GMB's autobiography (From the Islands I Sing) but I did find it fairly dry in the middle, around the period when GMB was spending a lot of time with the other poets... I started to wonder whose biography it was - GMB's, Edwin Muir's, Norman McCaig's or Sidney Goodsir Smith's?

I suppose each person's life is bound up with others and you really can't separate them too much. These other people supported, chivvied, influenced etc.

In his serious writing, GMB did have a taste for the very dark things of human existence (such as what happened to the local witches). But he also had his lighter, chattier moments.

GMB suffered from periodic depression as well as... (and I didn't know this!)... agoraphobia. I wonder if many of the reviewers and critics really understood how that would impact on GMB. I was reading a review by someone who has read Maggie Fergusson's book - the reviewer kept saying "but it was hard to understand why GMB [this, that or the other]". In turn, I couldn't understand how they could read that book (or know anything about him) and not understand.

It's true that some people still think in very black and white terms. They would imagine that if you have agoraphobia, you never leave the house. And if you leave the house regularly (like GMB going to the shops), you don't have it any more. But as GMB found, it hangs around... sometimes it's bad, and sometimes it's barely even present. He stared at the island of Hoy and wondered how he ever found the energy and courage to go out there. I do that too - think about places I've been and things I've done, and been amazed. But it doesn't mean I would never be able to do them again - I would just feel currently unable.

I was muttering out loud about the party of poets taking over, and Mum's just told me I was taught English (for a while) by Sidney Goodsir Smith's widow! I didn't realize that. There's mention of a wife called Hazel in the biography. Small world.

Mum said one of my English teachers said I had exceptional ability (typical 'proud mother' flashback!), but she can't remember if it was Mrs Smith or someone else. The name rings a bell but I don't really remember her. Most of my attention was focused on a young English teacher I got on very well with (though of course I got on with all my English teachers, except for one solitary primary school teacher I couldn't stand...) Anyway, the one I liked was very fresh and charming and invited me to an after-school literature club. That didn't last long because I found when the school bell rang I just wanted to go home. That's all I wanted to do. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy the club... I just wasn't particularly outgoing, I suppose, and home to me was the best place on earth.

Well, now that book is finished, I've begun reading a different autobiography - about Terry Wogan! I'm not sure I'll bend your ear about it, though it's good reading... but we'll see.

Mood: Enthralled
Listening to: Ghostly song in my head: 'A Wandering Minstrel, I' from The Mikado

I spent an old book token on George Mackay Brown: The Life by Maggie Fergusson. I've had that token two years by now and could never bring myself to spend it on anything - but today I spotted 'GMB' along with 'signed by the author', and that old book token was gone without a second glance. I like signed copies, and I like GMB, though I still haven't read enough of his books. I feel very guilty about it - it's on my to-do list. I was interrupted halfway through one by having to take it back to the library - and the library wouldn't let me renew it online (presumably because it was overdue, but it's not as if I'm a chronic offender - I don't often borrow library books). That annoyed me so much I didn't ask to renew at the desk, though I suspect they would have allowed it.

However, I digress...

While we were waiting for the men to come and fit the new hall lino at my house, I started reading the GMB biography as it was the only one I had with me. It was a mistake. Not because I didn't like the book - but because I liked it too much. I've had my nose in it ever since then. I was annoyed that Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason was on, as I wanted to watch that too (not seen it before) and so was torn between the film and the book.

(Looks hunted).

I ended up reading during commercial breaks. So much for all those ads about... well I wasn't watching, was I?

I've not finished the biography yet and wasn't going to talk about it till I did finish, but I've tried that before with other books, and it never works. I have to talk about things 'hot off the press', otherwise the experience cools and slips silently away. And right now I'm enthused about this. I'm sure the gift token was waiting in my trolley all this time for this very moment.

I don't wish to say much about it - I've been realizing that most reviews are to be avoided if you don't want the surprise spoiled. If you're curious, read it! It's given me a chuckle or two already, and some thoughtful, even shocked silences. The things you never quite realize about other people's lives... or about things that are just familiar words like 'The Royal Oak at Scapa Flow'. All I want to say is that when I read For the Islands I Sing (GMB's autobiography) some time ago, I was disappointed. It was indeed about his life, but in an odd way it was out of context - as though we were reading about a bubble called GMB and nothing else. The biography by Maggie Fergusson fills out the surrounding space and everything seems much more grounded. Some of what she says also makes me realize that if I'd read more of his books I might not have been so surprised.

A while ago, Mum bought a catalogue of first editions among books. It listed authors and titles with their possible values, and I was shocked that GMB wasn't included. His name was the first I looked up. Dick Francis? Check. Enid Blyton? Check. GMB? Errr... I told Mum and she said "I know - I looked him up too. He's not there - seems very strange to me."

A bad omission.

A wandering minstrel, I
A thing of shreds and patches
Of ballads, songs and snatches
And dreamy lullaby...

From The Mikado by Gilbert and Sullivan