Ploumanac'h, Purcell, and Porridge

Since the appointment at the Agentur I've thought of writing a book set in Brittany and southern England during the French Revolution, with a plot loosely along the lines of the fable of the lion and the mouse. Embarking on a story is really quite like trying to ride up a hill on a bicycle; it's hard to tell beforehand if there will be enough momentum or staying-power to complete the ascent. So the story may fizzle out, but on the other hand it might not. At any rate, first I wrote a plot synopsis of the beginning of the story, determined the name of the main character, and decided to simply entitle it "The Lion and the Mouse." Then I looked up de la Fontaine's version of the tale, but as I told Papa and Mama later "The Lion and the Rat" isn't particularly poetic, besides which the poem is a little spare; so I found Aesop's original tale in Greek on the internet and will presumably quote that at the beginning of the book instead. Since then I've been burrowing into information on the Bretagne, specifically the Breton and Gallo dialects, Breton cuisine, the crops and livestock that were around in the 1790s, the history (I've gathered a broad outline and will fill in the details later), and the landscape. For the last I looked at photos at TrekEarth.com; needless to say that was too enjoyable to feel like hard investigative labour.

Today I've been acquainting myself with sails and navigation, e.g. fore-and-aft rigging, the gaff sail, the genoa, and the luff. But after I finish that I still need to decide which type of ship my emigré will use to escape to England, and to find out about everything from the currents and landmarks and topography of the Breton coast, through the winds, setting a course for a ship, and determining latitude and longitude, to how and when to manipulate the sails and rudder. Apart from the nautical details I want to learn about the local traditions (there are Breton saints and ghost tales, like the one about the Bride of Trécesson), the Parlement and lower-level administration, personalities like Madame de Sévigné, and the individual towns and villages. That's only the first step in the research; after that I want to learn about what went on in Paris during the Revolution, and then about what went on in England. And then I'll think about my characters and the niceties of the plot.

I've been at this for four days or so, and though of course I read online books on the side and occasionally become bored and lazy, I like the cycle of resting, pushing myself to do work and then enjoying the new information and ideas. It's only a daydream, but if the book and internet research hasn't petered out in three months' time I would love to go on a lengthy bike tour of Brittany, and see the ocean and the castles and the towns in person. Either way it would be nice to finally write a story with intellectual substance, though that's more my ego speaking than my nice ideal of twinning art and knowledge in the pursuit of a nobler vision of the human condition (to put it in an obscure and wordy way).

Apart from that I've been learning new pieces on the piano, like a Scarlatti sonata and Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 4 (obviously I've only played the very short second movement all the way through; the first and third movements will require much more time), and revisiting old ones like the partitas in the Notenbüchlein für Anna Magdalena Bach. What I'm watching for now is the phrasing given in the score; I've tended to ignore it but after practicing chamber music I've realized that it can indicate the composer's intentions very helpfully. Besides I am trying to figure out how to play Bach so that it sounds quintessentially Bach, Scarlatti so that it sounds quintessentially Scarlatti, etc. One aspect of that, which I'm not close to mastering, is being able to inhabit a piece, as if it were a course of true events, so that the performer shares the mood and the notes come alive.

Besides I've found more treasures on YouTube:

1. Andrés Segovia: 5 Pieces by Purcell
2. Agustín Barrios: La Catedral
3. José Iturbi: "Rigaudon," "Musette" and "Tambourin" by Jean-Philippe Rameau
(On the harpsichord. Pleasantly peculiar twanging and nasal tone, and a dancing rhythm, reminiscent of medieval folk music with hurdy-gurdies and the rest of it.)
4. Jussi Bjoerling: "An Silvia" by Schubert
(This recording made me reconsider the opinion that the song is boring.)
5. Wanda Landowska: Excerpt from Concerto No. 3 for Harpsichord by Bach
(An impressive lady. The tone of the harpsichord is really immensely protean; it sounds at times as if there were indeed a string orchestra playing in the background.)
6. Wanda Landowska, London Philharmonic: Piano Concerto No. 26 in D major, by Mozart
(The orchestra's style is dated — either the recording is at fault or the strings really slide all over the place — but I think their understanding of Mozart is uncommonly good, with the right combination of tranquillity, intelligent refinement, and genuine sensitivity.)
7. Benedetto Michelangeli: Sonata in C major by Baldassare Galuppi, Mvt. 1
(Papa used to practice this piece. The theme repeats often, but it's lovely.)
8. Clara Haskil: Piano Concerto No. 20 in d minor by Mozart
(This was the second piano concerto which I listened to almost every evening before falling asleep during my second year at UBC. After a few times I decided that it "describes" a vicious storm at sea with shrieking winds and titanic waves and pelting rain, intermittently lulled. It's dark and unsettling, not only in comparison with the rest of Mozart's oeuvre, and not an obvious choice for bedtime, but also lyrical and quite beautiful especially during the second movement.)

Anyway, the question of an income remains unsettled, but if I continue to spend next to no money apart from insurance payments, my bank account will only run out in perhaps a year. What I've been daydreaming of doing, besides being immersed in music and writing an epic historical novel, is learning to cook well, picking up new languages, reading history, and finding out as much about physical pursuits like sailing and carpentering as I can in books and on the internet. As far as the cooking is concerned, I haven't been doing much lately except boiling spaghetti and concocting a tomato sauce out of the miscellany in the fridge and the pantry. This time there was a jar of basil tomato sauce from the store, a box of tomato mush, three onions, a clove of garlic, green peppercorns, a bay leaf, red wine that has been sitting behind the coffee-maker since before the trip to Austria, ground paprika, and a heaping tablespoon of spicy pepper paste. One thing I've learned from the countless improvisations of this repast is that the garlic is too strong if it's minced and fried golden-brown; instead I crush the whole clove and pop it in before the olive oil is properly warm so that it stews more than it fries.

Another frequently attempted (though not recently) recipe is porridge. We buy the tiny rolled oat flakes, which tend to congeal into a grey mush when they are worked into the venerable Scottish dish, but the matter is improved if the oats are only shaken into the milk after the milk is already warm, and if they are not cooked long. Uncle Pu, a past master at porridge, says that he just boils the flakes with water and then pours milk over everything once it's in the bowl, but he uses large oat flakes and I am convinced that applying that technique to the tiny flakes would result in a Dickensian slop. So the Platonic ideal of porridge that I had in my mind's eye — tender goldeny and brown-speckled flakes suspended in a gentle, pale cream matrix, surrounded by a sea of whiter milk and crowned with a sprinkling of brown sugar — has hitherto been unattained.


[N.B.: The Ploumanac'h of the blog title is a little seaside spot in Brittany where the shore is covered in pink granite boulders which the waves have worn into fascinatingly peculiar blobs. It seems as if it's as easy to find unintended sculptures in them as in cumulus clouds.]

The Final Tale of the Lowly Statistic

Yesterday I went to the job counselling appointment at the Agentur für Arbeit, in which the counsellor essentially informed me that my complete lack of work experience barred me from the professional work which the Agentur could procure for me, and that if anything I would be compelled (the way the agency operates I would be forced to accept any job that is offered) into shift work that I might hate. So he advised instead, given my proficiency in languages, that I search out and apply to tour guide companies, or find "minijobs" (i.e. jobs that come attached with minimal social security benefits and that pay no more than 400 Euros per month or do not last more than two months) on my own. I've already searched for minijobs and therefore didn't feel too thrilled that this was offered as an exciting and novel concept, but on the whole this was the only part of the concise but friendly session that disgruntled me. At length I suggested a "Freiwilliges Soziales Jahr," and he seized on the idea enthusiastically and went to a colleague to give me information sheets.

So now I find that the responsibility of finding work is entirely mine again, instead of being only partially mine as I had expected. How nice.

Tales of the Lowly Statistic, Cont'd.

Deadlines are not much pleasanter than the sword of Damocles (as I think most people will agree), even if their unpleasantness is less literal and more figurative; consequently I haven't been very happy over the deadline for handing in "Arbeitspaket Teil 3," or in other words the third form one must complete in order to search for viz. receive a job through the Agentur für Arbeit. This form must be sent back to the Agentur by tomorrow, i.e. within a week after a job counselling appointment was made. Fortunately I bit the bullet this morning, filled out the form (asking Papa's advice here and there, because I read it through yesterday and some points were impossible to answer given my situation), printed out a copy of my c.v. to send along as requested, went to the post office and bought big envelopes, and finally tipped the whole thing into the mailbox.

The form basically wanted to know the location, hours, and remuneration which the unemployed individual would prefer, and then required information about one's computer skills, previous firms to and job titles for which one had applied, and one's best character attributes. For the latter one must check up to and including 5 qualities off a list, which includes "teamwork," "reliability," and "analytical thought." There were descriptions of the qualities underneath, but I still find the exercise quite worthless (aside from its being disagreeable to "toot one's own horn").

Firstly, behaviour is dependent upon the circumstances. It may not apply generally, but at least in my case I could be capable, intelligent, punctual, industrious, and openly cheerful in one job, and be incapable, stupid, tardy, idle, and withdrawn in another, depending on whether I feel suited for the work or not and depending on how detailed the employer's/superior's instructions are. Even within a job, there can be fluctuations. I would not be reliable, for example, if an employer wants me to come to work, or hand in an assignment, at a specific point in time every single day just because; on the other hand, if the employer has an urgent reason for wishing me to be on time, or if customers would otherwise be waiting, or if a co-worker would get into trouble if I were late, I would be extremely reliable. Secondly, it's difficult to judge of one's own qualities. Thirdly, one could lie through one's teeth to make one seem more appealing to future employers. But I guess that these types of character assessments are also required in North America, except that there the employer induces them from one's references, which I personally think is better.

A Minor Announcement

I've finally published the blog posts about Austria; since the draft posts are a few days old they've appeared underneath the "Tales of the Lowly Statistic" post instead of at the top of this blog. As I write in the mini-introduction, I wish I'd done a better job of writing it and I wish it would have made sense to keep on revising it; this is pretty much the only time I've sacrificed (figuratively speaking) professional pride to the realization that providing something to read is better than providing nothing. But hopefully it's still interesting.

Tales of the Lowly Statistic

Since the story of the trip to Austria is evidently not forthcoming yet, I'll discourse about what has happened in the meantime. If this is boring or too much information (as I was kindly but sternly told was the case with my last post), I apologize, but doubtless there is a pithy quote out there about the cumulative importance of trivial events in life, and hopefully the ones in my particular life reflect the broader human condition. Even if that were not the case, it is my blog and no one is forced to read it. (c:

My solo search for work hasn't gone anywhere and frankly I don't blame myself for it. If people don't want to hire me they just don't; and if I apply to few places it's because I genuinely try to find the right workplace and, given my inexperience, want to be especially careful. It doesn't make me feel happy, of course, to be apparently not only unemployed but also unemployable; on the other hand the things I've done instead of work are also worthwhile. So the other route I've chosen is to register with the Agentur für Arbeit (work agency) and get a job through it, since with the larger field of employers accessible through it the likelihood that one of them will find a use for me is greater.

Yesterday I went to the Agentur location at the Sonnenallee, and was told that I was at the wrong spot, but at least the women there entered the vital statistics and information about my education into the computer, and referred me to the Agentur location at the Gottlieb-Dunkel-Straße in Tempelhof. After that I went to the bank — inwardly kicking and screaming because the last times I've been there I felt under pressure, stupid, irritated, and humiliated — to take care of equally urgent business. Overcoming so many inhibitions and dislikes at once was draining, and after I came home playing the piano didn't help relax me much because my concentration was bad, and at last I unwound by reading online novels far into the morning. At some point after 9 a.m. I crawled into bed.

In the afternoon J. gently woke me up by informing me that our lunch of spaghetti was served, but I wasn't hungry and therefore dozed on. Then there was a phone call from my advisor at the bank (which I thought I had done with for at least the next two months after yesterday's splendid effort), informing me that because I had failed to sign and send in a form permitting the tax authority to access my bank records, the government has apparently withdrawn a fine from my account. At the same time she mentioned the bank's phone survey of a month or so ago. It consisted of three, of which these are the first two, questions: 1) On a scale of 1 to 10, what is the likelihood that you would recommend this bank to someone else?; and 2) Would you mind if your advisor at the local bank branch contacts you about the results? My answer for the first was 7, and for the second was "no."

At any rate, the advisor wanted to know what the reasons were for the relatively low score, and I said (truthfully) that I'd feel better talking about it in person when I drop off my signed tax form. So we have an appointment for tomorrow. First of all I have to read the form through and understand the technical terminology before I sign it; secondly I have to arrange my thoughts and decide what to tell the advisor about the score. I'll be truthful, of course — the trip to New York somehow left me convinced that lying is (usually) weaselly and cowardly, and that an integral part of courage (which I am still trying to acquire, being naturally more stubborn than brave) is the strength to speak the truth and stand to it at any cost — but I don't know how much of the truth to tell and how to be sure that personal pique doesn't colour it. But essentially I doubt I'd talk about my bank to people anyway, since I grew up thinking that personal finances are an icky but important fact of life, which is to be disposed of quickly and privately, much like going to the toilet.

After that inspiriting phone call I went to the Agentur location in the Gottlieb-Dunkel-Straße. Having unwisely decided to eschew the bus, I walked from the Alt-Tempelhof U-Bahn station for ages — not entirely certain of the route since the Google map and U-Bahn station map disagreed on some points — and, perspiring profusely, reached the building at last. I thought I'd have an hour to spare. No such luck. The lights in the foyer were already dimmed and the lady at the desk informed me that it was five minutes before closing, and that an application for unemployment status takes a long time to process. She did extend the deadline on the writ that I'd received from the Sonnenallee so that I have more time to submit the application. But as I went out again into the heat and fully realized that I'd immediately have to go back all the way I had come I was not, as a teacher at J.'s school once put it, a happy camper. Then I lost my way, but not badly, and went home with mildly blistered feet.

Once I was at home I repressed the latent urge to cry out of frustration and fatigue, and have instead been enjoying myself. I've started reading another American romance novel translated into the Spanish, and it's still going very slowly. But my vocabulary is expanding easily, and it's fun to hop from the internet browser tab with the novel on it to the browser tab for the online Spanish-English dictionary, and back again. Besides, I feel proud of myself for doing it.

Still, I'd hoped to have all the bank and unemployment paperwork finished by this evening, and instead the horrid mess is seemingly only just beginning, and I don't know how much longer I can keep up my strength and ignore how much I hate this all and how much it hates me. At first I was proud of myself and I'm still pretty sure I'll stick things out, but the cost worries me. I keep on thinking I can handle things but then they leave me unhappy and tired and discouraged for months afterwards. I just hope that I'll find a job by October, and be too mentally and physically busy and satisfied to mope. Either way, since I'm too straightlaced to deploy more powerful verbiage, I will leave the swearing I'd like to do in the meantime to our collective imaginations.