In Cold Blood - the killing or the telling?

Written in 1966, In Cold Blood chronicles the murder of the Clutter family in Kansas in 1959 and the investigation and subsequent trial of the perpetrators. It is considered to be one of the first 'True Crime' novels and much of the book focuses on the killers, their lives, relationship and imprisonment.

In Cold Blood grabbed me and I zoomed through it. Not because I cared about the killers, or to be honest the tragic Clutters. The reader knows who committed the crime and that they got caught. As I read I wanted to try and comprehend the dynamic behind the killers, how they had come to the point at which they could commit such a horrible act and why? About half way though I actually stopped and thought about what was enthralling me in this book. Would the story eventually sate a need to know every detail and see into the mind of a killer; to comprehend violence and criminality in some neat equation. Why didn't I care more about the family? Or the killers? In Cold Blood was a forerunner for the media speculation that fills nearly every violent case - the call for gory details.

In Cold Blood does an excellent job of witholding the gory details and maintaining interest. The book is beautifully written and I wish more 'true crime' writers would put such effort into their script. In Cold Blood is also an excellent drawing together of testimonies and stories that attempts to enlighten us about the complex relationship between the killers. When the psychologists are finally involved they recite some of the babble heard on today's cop shows and now considered common knowledge. At the time of the trial of course this is a new idea and isn't given much credence - it also doesn't seem quite accurate and I found myself desperate to hear a modern criminal psychologists opinion.

This is Kansas in the 60s and to a modern British reader the capital punishment at the end of the novel seems barbaric - far more to me than the gunning down of a family for no apparent motive - it seems the plethora of violent detective stories and TV has dulled me to that. The inclusion of simple descriptions of rural Kansas and the very real friends and neighbours the Clutters left behind don't pull the heartstrings as much as modern dramatic storytelling might - they are from a bygone era - one that at times seems too innocent and almost oppressive. The book marks the beginning of a change in America. The Clutter's neighbours started locking their doors and the many people who were enthralled by Capote's book, marked the beginning of public fascination with true crime, one that ended in CNN criminal psychologists, teenagers who can quote random facts about common serial killer traits and eventually an ingrained fear of wondering criminals who kill in cold blood. Capote's 'novel' is therefore a book I strongly recommend. There is an innocence and almost pioneering nature to it, one that only stands out when you notice the comparative lack of (modern) sensationalism, lurid photos and psych reports. When the author doesn't have a degree in criminality, the testimonies included seem more genuine and almost as if he is stumbling about trying to make sense of the situation in the same way as everybody else; he is uniquely sharing rather than lecturing on an academic case. And so he provides a true crime book without the usual bitter voyeuristic aftertaste.

The Woman in White - Or 'Marian Halcombe - star in hiding'

One night Walter Hartwright meets and helps a strange woman in white, this chance meeting leads to a melodrama of intrigues and investigation: The Woman in White has many of the traits of what would become the 'mystery novel' and is widely recognised as a classic.

Several things are bound to annoy me in the average Victorian novel. You can probably guess them; casual racism, anti-semitism and the eternal misogyny. The Woman in White is short on the racism (although the Italians are a somewhat stereotyped) but it's the portrayal of women is an eye opener. I was unsurprised when the genial Walter Hartwright met the mad Woman in White on a dark lane and acted as a gentleman should, with typical Victorian patrony towards the weaker sex. But I was strangely delighted when several pages later, Marian Halcombe was seductively introduced - for the next chapter Marian continued to delight me with her competence, sensibility, resilience, charm and intelligence. Then Laura Fairlie, Marian's sister was introduced. I was instantly aware this was the heroine, she was so perfect, so winsome, so willowy, so utterly and completely without personality, talent or ability (other than loving everyone just too much) What else could she be? And so it proved.

Laura is such a pathetic Victorian Idyll of womanhood it's painful - she is an asexual useless child, incapable of looking after herself. In fact her childishness is disturbing and perplexing to the modern reader. Whilst Marian Hartwright is just awesome.When faced with an angry husband the drip (Laura) faints, sobs and becomes ill. Meanwhile Marian clambers about on a veranda at midnight, wearing her underwear in torrential rain attempting to overhear two men who can destroy her entire life and everyone she loves in a few words. Marian - what a (Victorian) woman! And that (Victorian) is necessary, for she isn't a modern woman, quite frankly if she had acted a little less properly at several points in the book she would have saved everyone a lot of trouble.

The characters are a strange mix. The romantic protagonists Walter and Laura are really quite bland but everyone else is wonderfully sketched; especially Fosco, Mr Fairlie and Mrs Catherick. The duel of wits between foreigner Fosco and the woman Marian is far more distracting than the cold war between British Gentlemen Glyde and Hartwright. Irratatingly plot points and assumptions are repeated often and discussed too much, I assumed this related to the book being originally published in sections, but perhaps a Victorian audience was less used to picking up on the little details and intentions than modern thriller readers and needed to be pummelled with the importance of every discovery. The scenes are well set and atmospheric and thankfully pages are not set aside for describing how pretty the countryside is. The Woman in White is action packed, exciting and maintained my interest. If you can get your head around the women's real dilemma (No they can't just hit people with the poker, steal the carriage and get divorced) and care for that ridiculous waif Laura and her suitor it carries even more tension.

The Moonstone is the first proper detective novel and The Woman in White is it's forerunner. But most importantly The Woman in White contains Marian. Glorious strong Marian. Possibly the first Victorian heroine I have ever appreciated*. Marian - I love you! If your creator wasn't dead I'd be demanding you get a sequel.

*Jane Eyre is pretty good but putting out flaming beds only looks impressive if you know that every other woman in the building would've fainted. Marian has Laura to continually make her look good

Bitten again

I'm a Kelley Armstrong fan. Her supernatural books are my easy reading of choice; fast, funny and reasonably exciting. Plus they don't smack of desperate chaste teenage lust like some supernatural books out there. I picked up Frostbitten at an author signing in Manchester. The first I've ever attended. I was mostly facinated by the staff telling me how impressed they were with Kelley's down-to-earth nature. What are these authors normally like? Does Harlan Coben insist on only red smarties?

Frostbitten is a return to Kelley's first (and probably best) protagonist, the werewolf Elena. It's also a return to form, after the 'meh' of Broken. Elena and her wolf pack are doing what they do best; violently dealing with non-pack wolves. I think the improvement is due to the absence of the other supernatural species (witches, necromancers and half-demons) who have filled previous books. The story is purer and wilder without their cosmopolitan influence. Naturally Elena has some emotional turmoil to deal with as well as homicidal mutts, but Elena wouldn't be half as appealling without her issues. Blonde, beautiful, strong, clever, married to the werewolf version of brad Pitt, getting endless amounts of athletic sex, financially secure and blessed with beautiful children with live in baby sitting, she should be very easy to hate. Instead her worries and mistakes make her more accesible.

The book is like a ticklist of fan wishes. The introduction of new werewolves are sketched vaguely enough to wet fan's appetites, Nick finally has something to do other than look suave and Elena is back to silently muttering to herself about not being treated as a threat - but as a lust object (kind of hard when she is the only female of the species). Frostbitten is one of Kelley's best and her style really shines when she writes as Elena. I just wish that half the silly Twilight addled teenagers out there would stop dreaming of being useless Bella and start dreaming of growing their own claws and saving themselves like Elena.

Hats at the museum

I have a passion for obscure museum and there was no possible way I was going to pass up the The Stockport Hat museum. Especially when it's FREE! Well it's free if you don't want a tour of the machines, rather than wandering about yourself. I love hats, people don't wear them enough. So I actually enjoyed the historical hats on display. In paticular the 18th century lilac dandy top hats were truly vile, in every way. I wasn't so sure about all the hats for the kids to try on - my mother's voice was whispering 'nits nits' from the grave, so I passed up on the opportunity.

Who knows where felt comes from? I do! Who knows what invention started the slow decrease in the British tradition of hat wearing? I do! Wonderful museum - look what I learned. And I loved all the machinery - seeing how the felt become a gnome cap and then finally a top hat. The staff were really friendly, the interactive displays were fun and if you are interested in hat factory related family history, there is a lovely study room. Also the cafe is cheap and has the added bonus of being a charitable organisation. When I grow up I'm going to be a milliner, but for the moment I'm just going to wear more hats.

Drown the jelly babies!

The ringbearer had been making comments about another chocolatey cake, so I decided to adulterate the Sacher Torte. But what with? My efforts with gummi bears have ultimately been failures, so I decided to move onto the humanoid version-Jelly Babies. The ring bearer believed the Jelly Babies should be placed on top of the chocolate topping. I was forced to draw a line - I have no interest in decorating cakes with sweeties, I want to experiment with sweets as integral ingredients. The only reason I made a gingerbread aircraft carrier was because of the foolishness of the ship-shape, not because I deem decorating with sweets to be in anyway equivalent to baking with them. No-siree, I have standards. That said placing the JBs under the chocolate instead of the usual apricot jam filling seemed a fair sweet-involvement. So here we have it, my report on the jelly-babied Sacher torte.

1. Melt the chocolate in the bain marie. Steal several finger fulls
2. Laugh gleefully as you use the magimix to make (almost) instant breadcrumbs
3. Mix together breadcrumbs, sugar, egg yolks and then ladle in the molten chocolate
4. Prepare for the tricky bit. Fold in the beaten egg whites, stressing with every flollop of the spoon whether you have gone too far or not accounted for the collateral mixing that will occur during transfer to the baking tin.
5. Bake
6. Lovingly arrange jelly babies on top of the cooked tort. Try very hard to not place like coloured JBs together and fail. Ignore urge to check the mathematical reason for this on the internet.
7. Melt more chocolate. Steal yet more fingerfulls
8. Drown the jelly babies in chocolate. Mutter witchy chants to yourself as the little jelly babies disappear. Erroneously leave far too much chocolate in the middle.
9. Leave in the fridge

Personally I don't believe jelly babies go with dark chocolate. Strangely the green ones tasted better than any other flavour (a chocolate lime connection perhaps). I think perhaps the bitter aftertaste was the feeling that I had betrayed my initial mission towards sweetie integration. This was merely Jelly Baby insertion. The ringbearer had other ideas. He believes that the 'Jelly Babies enhanced the flavour of the cake, much like a cherry. Although some colours were better than others, especially black and red Jelly Babies', he has made no comment about the metaphysical requirements of experimental sweetie baking. He was however happy that a recent baked ham didn't come with optional sherbet lemons.

Forgettably nameless

A Nameless Witch by A.Lee Martinez
After the horror of trawling through 600 pages of pretentious Norwegian post-modernism I was delighted to read this book that the ringbearer bought for me at Powell's City of Books. In short a witch with the terrible curse of being beautiful and ageless goes on a quest with her broom, a white knight and her familiar a duck named Newt. The part where I wrote 'a duck named Newt' should give you a hint as to where this book is pitched. Firmly into the fantasy comedy genre that Terry Pratchett presides over.

Its an easy read that rolls nicely along. The world building isn't oppressive and nor thankfully is the humour. (There are just too many Pratchett wannabes out there who feel that every sentence should be crammed with cleverness and include a witty comment). This book however has little original to add to the comedy fantasy genre. The situation isn't unique, nor is the author's voice or the characters (although Newt is fun). The author doesn't take the opportunity to add any depth to the gentle mockery he applies to the fantasy genre and it leaves the book toothless. The plot is very basic and only just holds the book together. However the book has some nice touches that made me smile, like Penelope the broom sweeping the road and the heroines efforts to be 'witchly'.

To be honest I'd recommend this to an adolescent, who needs something easy and enjoyable to ease them into reading. Or alternately someone who is suffering from Wergeland exhaustion. A nameless witch isn't unique, but it's fun and (very) easy on the brain.

Not very seduced

The Seducer by Jan Kjaerstad (English translation)

I ordered this book many months ago in order to take some Norwegian literature with me on a cruise in the Arctic. Sadly the book arrived late and I have been struggling my way through it for nearly 6 months. Essentially the plot is thus: Norwegian TV documentary producer Jonas Wergeland comes home to find his wife murdered. As he responds to this event we hear about the many disjointed events from his past. Circling around, the plot is non-linear; each chapter covers a different stage in Jonas' life and they gently reflect on each other. It's a nice motif and would be fantastic if it didn't last 600 pages.

And Kjaerstad needs 600 pages to even touch on Wergeland's life and his accomplishments. Of Jonas's many achievements he invents the Fosbury flop before Fosbury, he creates peace in the Middle East by moving a small stone, he saves an African country from a school debating podium and scares off a polar bear with his penis. I'm not joking about the last one. Jonas was so unrelentingly marvellous that it set my teeth. To add insult to injury Kjaerstad hammered home just how brilliant Jonas was, how unique and completely at odds with Norwegian conservatism with a frequency usually reserved for 13 year old's writing fanfiction that includes themselves. Jonas Wergeland never has to try to seduce any woman; they just throw themselves at him (they all go on top too). In fact by sleeping with these all incredibly talented women (politicians, lobbyists, composers, artists) Jonas, by some freaky sex-talent-hoover picks up some of their talents, such as fishing or mathematical comprehension. Jonas you see has a 'magic penis', I won't go into the details- something to do with the angle apparently but it's in line with a family fascination , his Aunt Laura's main artistic outlet is keeping a diary of sketches of all the penises she has 'encountered'. The worst that can be said of Jonas is that he isn't well read - managing to get straight As and hoodwink the entire Norwegian educational establishment, politicians, artists and leaders with just 20 quotes written in a little red book. But that's it. The book isn't meant to be a satire on how the untalented can become great ( like Forrest Gump), Jonas is just as fantastic as he seems and he gets everything that he deserves.

Pretentious doesn't quite cover the nature of 'The Seducer'. I'm fine with an intense barrage of references to scientists, quantum mechanics, Shakespeare and even Norwegian writers such as Hamsun and Ibsen. But there was plenty in the deluge I didn't recognise, I only got through several pages of a student baiting a teacher, which was already boring me (I get, he's clever and arrogant) by asking my brother in law what dialectic materialism was. I would like to assume all this is just to remind the reader how unworldly and untravelled they are compared to the Sydney Opera House Organ playing, Communist China visiting, Cruise ship collision surviving Jonas Wergeland. But no, I fear the author is just too enamoured with his talent to trim it. Jonas is made famous (not for all the other incredible feats) but for his famous documentary series, which is is just so orgasmic that people watch it like Brits would watch the royal wedding. It isn't hard to spot that Wergeland's incredible, life affirming (yes really, 'life affirming') documentaries are meant to mimic the book itself. But true to form Kjaerstad felt the need to defend them (and by very obvious extension) himself by filling the final chapters of the book with a televised debate about them.

I enjoyed learning about Norway and it's recent past and the change in small communities as Norwegian oil money flowed in. I also enjoyed hearing about how Norwegians began to alter their world outlook and their role in Europe. The book made me feel that I genuinely had a better picture of Norway and it's interests (even abroad Jonas finds connections to Norway). The Norwegian interest in winter sports, schools, languages and the sea really rang true for me and I wish I had read the book lying on the sun deck on last year's Arctic cruise. But that is why the book is perfect for a very long holiday with a lot of spare time, because the book drags under the weight of it's pretensions and masturbatory enamour with it's protagonist.

The Good-Ship-Gingerbread

Some of you will remember my efforts to come up with an idea for my Christmas gingerbread construction. Sadly events over Christmas left me without the time to bring an idea to fruition. However, I never give up on an idea and sometime in mid-January I set about the mighty gingerbread project. Inspiration proved illusive until walking through the flat I stood on one of the several small, push out and construct plastic aircraft the ringbearer got in his advent calender last year. I finally decided upon my gingerbread project! And somewhere to put those bloody toys. A Gingerbread Aircraft Carrier! Below is my delayed report on how to create your very own gingerbread navy.

Step 1. Carefully follow German Hexenhaus recipe, melting butter, sugar and honey together. All the while cursing the sticky hard to manoeuvre nature of honey.
Step 2. Add gooey warm mixture to dry ingredients (flour, baking powder, cocoa, sugar). Mix and then start to form into a ball Recall some hazy warnings from high school home economics teacher about handling hot molten sugar and burning off nerve endings. Decide lack of pain means that issue isn't relevant. Leave dough to cool in fridge.Step 3. Employ the assistance of the ring bearer (note in pictures he isn't wearing his ring on the grounds that he doesn't want to get gingerbread stuck in it). Get him to roll out the gingerbread.

Step 4. Measure rolled out gingerbread against cunningly developed battleship net. Realise you have too little gingerbread and get Ringbearer to roll it thinner whilst feverishly chopping down the template to make it fit. Bank very heavily on the gingerbread rising a bit to ensure the air craft carrier doesn't have a dangerously thin hull. (I know that no hull could really withstand a short range gingerbread torpedo, but that's no excuse.)
Step 5. Cut out net and arrange pieces of gingerbread on numerous baking sheets and bake. Realise that whilst manoeuvring pieces to the baking tray the gingerbread stretches under its own weight. Reform shapes on baking sheet. Watch in amusement as ringbearer becomes enthusiastic with remnants and starts to form gingerbread anchors and fish.
Step 6.Remove gingerbread from oven and worry about the slightly deformed shape of the hull. Resolve to plug any holes with excess icing. Plan for excess icing meets instant ringbearer approval.
Step 7. Liberally cheat and make royal icing from ready made powder and arm the syringey icing thing. After realising that the ship's hull will not hold together whilst icing sets brilliantly come up with the idea of using glasses as structural support during icing. Forget that lighting is poor on this side of the kitchen and ice most of the ship together with minimal lighting. However decide that this is probably the authentic feeling of welding aircraft carriers whilst under blackout conditions and embrace the darkness.
Step 8.Having completed the hull add the deck and the bridge. Congratulate oneself a great deal when the deck fits on the hull and doesn't break during manoeuvring.
Step 9.Break out the sweets for decoration. Agree to ringbearer's notion that pink shrimp sweets should surround the hull like barnacles. (Ignoring the fact that they are a completely different species to barnacles and would if kept to scale with the aircraft carrier, be incredibly scary giant killer shrimps).

Step 10. Try and apply dollymixtures as portholes, wrestling with the futility of icing one single dolly mixture and making a great deal of mess. Start a small discussion with the ringbearer about where the red and green dolly mixtures should go to represent the ship's navigation lights. Send ringbearer off for emergency google check (green for starboard btw). The ship might lack propulsion, have impossible killer shrimp attachments and technically dissolve in water, but my god she'll obey International Regulations For Preventing Collisions at Sea!
Step 11. Unsure of how to include the jelly worms in the aircraft masterpiece place them everywhere, deciding they are either landing strip lights or the ship represents a little known sea battle called 'Jelly Worms on an Aircraft Carrier'. Draw the line at trying to make a gingerbread Samuel L. Jackson. Decorate aircraft carrier with mini planes.

The Gingerbread Aircraft Carrier lasted about a week. Most of the sweets were picked of within a few days. Structural integrity was maintained even when large sections were torn off and the mighty good-ship-gingerbread looked a very proud and noble vessel as she withstood her slow demolition and consumption. Sadly tearing off a chunk meant showering the floor in icing bits which was annoying. Perhaps the good-ship-gingerbread's final revenge upon us, her creators and destroyers.

Need care? Give us your house!

In the UK a person is entitled to free NHS medical care. Should a person then require 'long term care' at home, in sheltered housing or in a nursing home a person must pay for their care (often between £600-£1000 a week for those needing nursing care) until their assets fall below £23000, when the council will help pay, (they won't actually pay for everything until you own less than £14000). In short you must sell all your assets (i.e your house unless a dependent is living in it) to pay for your long term care until nearly bankrupt. The local council will 'help' by only assessing you based on assets excluding home for the first 12 weeks of your care. After that, you had better have your house sold because they will charge you like you own it's value in ready cash. 12 weeks to sell a house. 12 weeks - would anyone get a good price for it? Of course if you were clever you'd have split your assets, changed the deeds to your house or moved your elderly sister in to avoid your full assets being assessed and allowing you to keep your home.

24 hr care costs about £600-£1000 a week (in a council supported residence). So with £103 nursing allowance, £70.35 attendance allowance and £95 pension a week, that leaves a pensioner with about £300-£700 to pay a week. How many private pensions cover that? And that's not accounting for if the pensioner should maybe want some *nice* food, to go out, a birthday present for the grandkids, new clothes or anything to make their lives more fun. The joint savings of couples can be decimated by paying for the long-term care of just one. leaving two victims of circumstance and unexpected disability. Pensioners who paid taxes all their working lives expect to be cared for. And they are, until that care takes longer than a month or so.

I understand why this is happening. The population is aging and the younger generations cannot carry the tax burden of caring for the older ones. Part of me thinks this is fair, if you can pay...you should, put the money back into the economy now and forget leaving a tidy nest egg for the kids. But the other part of me can't make the leap between paying for NHS care and not paying for long term care. Dementia or disability are not certainities or life-style choices, why should caring for them be any different to caring for people who have traffic accidents, diseases or cancer? Why should the taxpayer pay for people who have sufficient money to merely get old naturally? Probably for the same reason that the taxpayer pays for these same people with sufficient money to have midwives and ante-natal care.

At the moment the system essentially penalises people who have saved or bought their house (that's the middle classes then); so nearly all political parties have sat up and taken notice offering a variety of options to the country. The main problem revolves around the problem that there is no money for care *now*. The government's suggestions (which completely forgot about accomodation costs) are below.

1. A partnership approach, which proposes that the government and the individual who needs care share the costs, with the government paying between a quarter and a third or more for people on a low income.

Seems a lot like what they're doing already except with local authorities

2. An optional insurance-based model, which would also see the government paying between a quarter and a third of the costs, but would allow individuals to pay £20,000 to £25,000 to cover themselves against the remaining costs of care.

So that would be private health insurance then?

3. A compulsory state insurance scheme under which everyone who can afford it pays between £17,000 and £20,000 – and receives free care in return.

Hmm. Just peachy if you're rich. Destruction of your hard earned retirement nest egg in an unexpected tax if you're not.

Personally I don't like any of them, but I suspect there is no easy way out of this mess. I think perhaps the money should come from an income tax, hence the risk of paying for long term care is spread out amongst the entire population at an affordable cost. Where have I heard it before though? Oh yes, funding the NHS - who should have been paying for long term care all along. But hindsight is a wonderful thing and an answer needs to be found for the situation now. And that is why I rage. I rage at the lack of an easy answer.

Historic toilets

Apologies for the absence, yet again my Christmas period was complicated with relatives going into hospital. Never fear though the mighty gingerbread project is not forgotten! It'll just have to be a pre-wedding-anniversary gingerbread extravaganza.

But onto important matters. Loos. The John Ryland library loos to be precise, which are AWESOME. Victorian in extremis. It's like walking into the past for a wee. Clearly other people feel the same sense of awe at the loos and there are signs up reminding them not to take photographs. However here is one from the Manchesterzedder's blog.

Of course the John Ryland Library is worth a vist anyday of the week. It is stunning and when I rule the world I shall live in it, happily polishing all the wood pannelling, reading books on cunning lecturns and naming all the gargoyles. Everything is beautiful in the church-like library building, built by the possibly gold-digging 3rd Mrs Ryland (She was a lot younger than her millionaire husband). Gold digging or not she was pretty smart insisting that her books be stored under electric lighting instead of gas whilst also being very picky about the doors and railings. In honour of the beauty of this place the modern extension is even tasteful. All libraries should look like this. All books should be stored like this. All loos should make you want to take a photograph.