The Sound of Silence

Now, 'Dead Air', by Iain Banks.

I was very excited at the prospect of this novel, because I'd really enjoyed the other three books I'd read by Banks: 'The Wasp Factory', 'The Crow Road' and 'The Steep Approach to Garbadale'.

'Dead Air' left me very disappointed.

If memory serves, the openings to the other three books I've read by Banks are fantastically gripping and inventive; 'The Crow Road', for example, begins, 'It was the day my grandmother exploded...'

'Dead Air' opens with the protagonist, Ken Nott, a militant left-wing radio DJ, taking drugs at a party in the East End, before throwing fruit off a roof, and encouraging others to do the same.

Rock 'n' roll.   

Ken was one of the first problems I had with the book. I really disliked him. He is a know-it-all who goes off on rants at every opportunity. He regularly cheats on his partners, and even sleeps with his best friend's wife.

I'm sure this is intentional, however (not Ken sleeping with his best friend's wife - that would be very hard to do unintentionally); I mean that Banks intentionally makes Ken dislikeable. 

I'm not exactly sure why Banks would do this - probably to toy with the reader's emotions as the plot develops.

What worries me about my disliking of Ken, is that a lot of what he says, what he rants about, is actually Banks' ranting, not Ken's.

Ken's left-wing political views are far too well-developed to be anything but Banks's own views.

'Dead Air' was published in 2002; two years later, Banks campaigned to have Tony Blair impeached, and cut up his passport and sent it to the then PM, in protest against the 2003 invasion of Iraq.

Obviously by doing this Banks would find it a tad harder to escape the country whose leader he so despised. 

He told the Guardian, "I was so angry about the illegality and immorality of the war. And this was me - a comfortably off, white Caucasian atheist from a vaguely Protestant background.

"If I thought it was a disgusting, what would Muslims think about how their co-religionists were being treated?"

The trouble is, 'Dead Air' feels very much like it was written simply as a vehicle for Banks to air his political views.

Another problem I had with 'Dead Air' is the very Bad Sex in the novel.

I cringed and found it very hard to read; not because I'm a prude, but because of the knowledge that it was written by the bearded, middle-aged Banks, who looks out of the book's inside back cover, with a sly, knowing glint in his eye.

One Guardian review of 'Dead Air' wonders whether the loss of quality in Banks's mainstream novels is to the gain of his science fiction books, published under the moniker Iain M. Banks. I've yet to read one to find out.

Despite all of this, 'Dead Air' features Banks' usual wit; there are parts that will make you laugh, and there is a fantastic chapter, 'Extended Panic Functionality', towards the end of the novel, in which Banks ramps up such incredible tension, of almost Hitchcockian standards, that I had to continue reading until the end of the book, in the same sitting, to find out the conclusion.

I'm now reading Hemingway's 'For Whom the Bell Tolls'.

The Joys of Spring

I had planned for this post to be a high-brow review of 'Dead Air' by Iain Banks.

But something so funny happened yesterday that I had to share it with you.

My dog, Robbie, came out.

Not in the way you'd imagine: there was no leather, no pink feather boas.

It was all quite understated, quite... closeted?!

Regular readers of my blog (a few Russians, hello!) will know that I spent eight months away travelling last year.

Upon my return, I noticed quite a change in our family dog, Robbie.

Whilst out walking, he seemed a lot more interested in other dogs. Normally he would just happily carry his ball along, but now he was so excited by his fellow canines that he would run off across the field to eagerly greet one, and would be obsessed by other dogs' scent markings.

At first I thought it was because I walk him more regularly, as I'm unemployed, and so observe his behaviour more often.

Next I thought it may have been because recently I haven't taken out his ball much, to distract him.

Now I know it's because he's a sex pest.

Yesterday we were happily walking along the canal, watching the ducks glide and the moorhens skim across the water, when Robbie spotted a small black dog he obviously liked the look of.

Off he went, intent on getting to the dog, 100 or so yards away.

I called Robbie and he didn't come (there's a joke in there somewhere...) but I was confident he wouldn't harm the dog, whose owner looked calm.

Robbie and his new friend began sniffing and playing; the play became more boisterous, until they were both squabbling, up on their hind legs, brushing at each other with their front legs.

Next thing you knew Robbie had climbed aboard the dog's rear and, well...

By this time I was close to the owner. "Is yours a bitch?" I nervously asked.

"No," was his reply - before adding, "I think yours must be bent."

Now, I can imagine some people taking offence to a stranger suggesting that their dog is a homosexual.

Me, I was still in shock. But then I realised that, yes, Robbie is trying to hump a male dog, so the other owner's diagnosis is probably correct.

Thankfully, amidst much nervous laughter, I managed to break up the whole affair.

"I think it's the time of year," I said to the owner as we headed off, walking our dogs in separate directions.

Truth be told, I had actually caught Robbie in the act about a month ago, trying to have sex with our cat.

My girlfriend Shannon and I had returned from the pub on a Friday night and were drinking red wine in the kitchen, when Robbie pounced.

I managed to stop him before there was any significant damage, but was left wondering what went on late at night, when the dog and cat are left alone, down in the dark kitchen.

Then I stopped worrying: Robbie usually sleeps, away from our cat Tilly, in his own little den. 

And I realised that Tilly's been spayed.

Thinking of England

I have just finished reading an article on the Lonely Planet website entitled 'An Insider's Guide to Driving in Italy.'

It raises some important points.

But having spent a lot of time driving in Italy last year, with my girlfriend Shannon in a VW campervan, I feel I could've written a much more concise piece.

We crisscrossed the north of the country; drove from Bari on the very top of the 'heel' to Villa San Giovanni, at the tip of the 'toe' - a distance of 266 miles, which we completed in one day; then we scrambled onto the ferry to Sicily, which we circumnavigated; and next covered the entire length of the country from south to north, with Shannon driving us along the Amalfi Coast, and tearing it a new one.

So here's my far more succinct advice for driving in Italy:

CLOSE YOUR BLOODY EYES AND THINK OF ENGLAND!

Only joking. But be aware.

On a similar note, two very good friends of mine left the UK on Wednesday to go on their own worldwide expedition.

Matthew 'Paddy' McPadmore and David 'Digger' Barnes flew to Moscow to climb aboard the Trans-Mongolian Express.

They aim to stay with a Mongolian family in a yurt or ger, and drink some yaks' milk.

Later Paddy and Dave head to China and on to southeast Asia.

In Cambodia they hope to take part in the popular tourist activity of firing a rocket launcher at a cow.

After Australia, India - where I hope to catch up with them.

(I'm not sure if they'd agree with blowing up cows in India.)

I wish Paddy and Dave all the best with their travels and hope they have a truly amazing time.

If you'd like to keep up-to-date with their progress, see here.

Over and out!

Kicking Up A Stink

The UK has been experiencing ever-freaky weather conditions.

Yesterday six inches of snow fell in Scottish town Aboyne, where, last week, the temperature soared to 23.6C, making it the hottest March day in Scotland on record.

The Environment Agency has confirmed that south and east Yorkshire have joined East Anglia and southeast England as areas affected by drought; seven water companies are enforcing water restrictions, such as hosepipe bans, from Thursday the 5th of April.

To make the most of our hosepipe, I forsook a shower today, and was instead hosed down in the garden.

And to presumably prevent a petrol- or pasty-style panic, the BBC has published some water-saving tips, one of which is 'Wash cars using a bucket, or just keep headlights, mirrors and windows clean.'

Okay...

Today we actually had some rain. I was caught out in it, whilst walking my dog, and experienced something I'd totally forgotten - the strange smell that appears after it's rained for the first time in a while.

You know that distinctive odour; it's similar to the smell of tarmac, or Wellington boots - or is that me just making an association?

But it has a name: petrichor.

And apparently it's caused in a number of ways. Firstly, rainwater causes spores of the bacteria actinomycetes, which grow in soil, to launch into the air, which are then diffused in the moist post-rain atmosphere. Actinomycetes prefer damp soil, so often reside in woodland, and produce a sweet smell sensation.

Secondly, rain can be acidic, as we know, especially so because of chemicals in the atmosphere particularly above urban areas. High acidity in rainfall can smudge up soil, causing the release of minerals, and can react with petrol and other chemicals on the ground, causing a stink not quite as pleasant as the first smell described.

The third cause of petrichor is the release of oils by trees and plants during dry periods, oils which are absorbed by soil and rocks, and then mixed with rainwater and the organic compound geosmin, which translates as 'earth smell', and also gives beetroot its earthy flavour. 

This smell is so nice it supposedly has been bottled, and is akin to the first described.

Bottled beetroot. You learn something new everyday.