Nothings and triviality

While having breakfast and surfing recklessly through my feed (a bad habit, I know), I noticed a cutsie meme using the old “monster under the bed” trope (on the picture, the person lost his pillow while asleep, the monster gave it back, and they made a warm handshake afterwards).

Which makes me think: was the monster part of my own childhood? There was a little grey wolf who’s supposed to bite your side if you’d be audacious enough and lie at the edge of your bed; there was Baba Yaga who preferred naughty kids as snacks; and, finally, there was Babay, a formless creature from beyond (a Great Old One?) who didn’t approve of your lousy behaviour in the night.

But a monster under the bed? No, I don’t remember him in my childhood folklore.

Из рабочего-текущего (кратко)

Написала рецензию на магистерскую работу студентки о шотландском нуаре, и захотелось его почитать, а потом снова махнуть в Эдинбург, по которому я ужасно соскучилась, признаться.

Все как будто было в другой жизни и теперь воспринимается De Profundis...

The Alan Turing sculpture: pros and cons (En)

As a great admirer of Turing’s legacy, I fully support the idea to install a statue of his in the King’s Front Court (towards the bridge) as he was an alumnus of King’s.

But does my complete rejection of this particular obelisk make me a douche bag? I certainly got the concept to envision Turing as a person linked to the whole “code/Turing machine” thing, but it was executed in a lame and sloppy way. It turned out to be even worse as the sculptor is Antony Gormley, the author of the Angel of the North, and an alumnus of Trinity. He’s an artist of a great talent, and I have no idea what went so completely wrong this time.

To be honest, I am sick and tired of the shitty “artworks” that recently infested Cambridge (at the Astra Zeneca building and the like). It’s not enough to have a strong desire to install “something” on the ground: it has to be skilfully done.

Прекрасный Олег напомнил о др Ходасевича, и я тоже запощу любимое из сборника стихов, купленного в запорожском книжном «Легенда» в школьной еще юности — зеленой книги из серии «Библиотека поэта».

Оно, в общем, обо мне:

***

Адриатические волны!

     О, Брента!..

     Евгений Онегин

Брента, рыжая речонка!

Сколько раз тебя воспели,

Сколько раз к тебе летели

Вдохновенные мечты -

Лишь за то, что имя звонко,

Брента, рыжая речонка,

Лживый образ красоты!

Добрый Рептилоид

На экран глядит:

Чистый лист он видит,

И курсор горит.

За окном закаты,

Розы и сирень,

Но герой невесел,

Погруженный в тень.

«У меня дедлайны,

Хирш просел в ковид,

А земляне лезут

В Ассассины Крид.

World Dracula Day at Whitby Abbey (En)

They did it! They’ve broken the record for the highest number of vampires and vampiresses attending the fabulous Whitby Abbey on this special day! Sincerest congratulations to all involved!

I was going to attend this event which was expected to happen two years in Scarborough with a one-day visit to Whitby Abbey: it should’ve been StokerCon-2020 with the Ann Radcliffe academic conference within it. But then, as we all know, Covid hit, and the organisers desperately tried to stick to their plan (during that time they renamed StokerCon to ChillerCon).

Sadly, it became clear quite soon that all their plans had failed, the conference was cancelled and the event (meaning the ChillerCon part) was postponed. Until now; the organisers sent me the renewed invitation, but this time I wasn’t ready to go, given all the ongoing circumstances. I thank them dearly for their support and now am looking at the event with a bittersweet feeling: yes, I understand that I could’ve been among those lovely folks, but the reason not to go is more important.

Next time I will go to Whitby, that’s for sure. And it will be fabulous. Happy World Dracula Day again, Children of the Night!

(Original photo by English Heritage ©)

В нынешний день филолога не буду постить картинки и мемы, просто пожелаю нам всем сил и по возможности работы — пусть хотя бы и по написанному абзацу и по прочитанной странице в день. И давайте не забывать, что слово — не только оружие, но и утешение, и лекарство, и кому, как не нам, книжникам, об этом знать.

С профессиональным праздником, друзья. Всех обнимаю.

So, tomorrow will be exactly thirty years since the Last Bell* rang for me in my school in Zaporizhzhia: I was a 16 yo teen, shy, secluded, self-centered, egoistic, awfully naïve, bitterly cynical (or so I thought, lol) and a bit pretentious (aren’t we all at that age?).

The path I chose for my future self looked quite unambiguous: Uni, then Academia, yet the rest (the actual academic part) felt pretty obscure. I loved reading and thought that the mere fact of it would eventually make everything clear: philology, I was speculating in my head, will open all the doors for “true knowledge”—I’m feeling a bit sorry for my boisterous entitlement now. Boy oh boy, what a journey that turned out to be!..

Какие тяжелые стоят дни. Отмечаю их здесь, чтобы потом как-то отследить эту хронологию вынужденного немотствования. Все полезные стратегии возвращения к нормальной (ну, насколько это вообще сейчас возможно) жизни пока что не работают, и все судорожные попытки писать и читать очень фрагментарны и не приносят никакого удовлетворения. Поскорее бы преодолеть эту затяжную фазу отчаянного (и отчаявшегося) полубездействия (полу-, поскольку внутренняя работа все равно продолжается, несмотря ни на что).

We’ve finally done it: buried the ashes of our boy in the garden.

After a short deliberation we somewhat changed our minds towards putting him for his final rest at the spot where his favourite chair is: we are constantly walking around there, and it felt a bit wrong.

This place next to the fence was his second favourite, an outpost from which he was in total control of the garden (and the possible invaders, like Mia, the pussycat of our French neighbours): looking from the kitchen window, you could see him there, sleeping in the sun and enjoying himself.

The little stone frog is as old as the garden itself and became a perfect gravestone: he loved to be around it.

Now he’s got eternal peace to be with us forever.