Tag Archives: Writing

Philip Hoare + EISF = Fabulous!

Last Friday, Philip Hoare appeared at the Edinburgh International Science Festival, giving a talk called “The State of the Whale.” The author of many wonderful and fascinating books, Hoare has most recently found fame with his latest book “Leviathan”, which deservedly won the BBC Samuel Johnson Prize for Non-Fiction last year.

Reminiscent of another great writer, the late W.G. Sebald, Hoare’s “Leviathan” is wonderful for its fusion of fact, history and literature with the personal, resulting in a quite extraordinary book. Leaving the bookshop after buying it, I promptly buried my head in it — slowly wandering home reading it, and almost in tears before I was thirty pages in. Upon realising that I had reached the half-way ‘tipping’ point brought genuine distress that it would soon be over, but even then I couldn’t stop myself from reading on, devouring the second half of the book in a single day.

Having looked forward to “The State of the Whale” for weeks, I am happy to report that Hoare’s talk was excellent. As someone who has read “Leviathan”, I was delighted to finally hear from the man who wrote it; to see pictures of his studies and to hear more about his personal experiences with whales. We were told about different types of whale and their behaviour, shown shown real teeth and baleen and treated to images from Hoare’s own whale-watching. The highly personal way that Hoare spoke about his own obsession with whales and about his travels around the world to watch and learn about them was utterly engaging, and I sat enraptured.

Hoare’s talk was wonderful in conveying the scale of these wonderful, elusive mammals and revelling in their mysterious nature — for such large creatures, they are seen only in glimpses at the ocean’s surface and as yet have not been monitored or filmed at depth. The talk was tragic too, in revealing the devastation inflicted on these huge, intelligent beasts by mankind’s long history of whaling. With many species hunted to the point of extinction by the twentieth century, the anti-whaling movement and anti-whaling legislation have done much to aid the recovery of certain species. For others, like the North Atlantic Right Whale, it may already too late. As whalers targeted large males as prized catches, they removed the strongest individuals from the gene pool. The species may never recover.

In a world awoken to the importance of conservation and caring for our fragile environment and ecosystems, we need the voices of passionate individuals to ring out and remind us of the intrinsic power and beauty of the natural world. In an age when our lives are dominated by the artificial and constructed realities of electronic media and life in modern cities, we must not forget our sense of wonder at the natural world — the world that gives life and sustains us all.

An eye-opening, informative, fascinating and entertaining talk, “The State of the Whale” reminded me of the wonderful abundance of life on our planet; life that is beautiful, brutal, mysterious, and perpetually struggling for survival. Evolved to the point that we have, it is our duty to protect and support these other forms of life. With the possibility of a return to whaling coming as early as next year, is it not time to think about the intrinsic value of the natural world around us, instead of its value as a commodity to be captured, traded, and capitalised on?

After the talk I kicked myself for not bringing my copy of “Leviathan” with me to be signed, and my mum obligingly stepped in a bought me a new copy. I spoke to Philip briefly, and told him that I find his writing magnificent. Now that my new copy of “Leviathan” has taken its place on the mantlepiece, it’s time for my unsigned copy to go on a journey of it’s own: being passed first to my mum and then from friend to friend, most highly recommended. I urge you to read it.

iPad? No thanks, I’ll stick with my Olivetti

Oddly enough, in a world where technophiles and the gadget-obsessed continue to rave about Steve Jobs unveiling of the iPad last week, there’s only one gadget that I care about. An Olivetti Lettera 32 typewriter from 1963, it doesn’t have a touchscreen or Wi-Fi connectivity, and as for playing games and listening to music — certainly not!

"I'll have the gargantuan egg, please."

Don’t let me fool you into believing that I don’t care much for technology: I love my iPhone as much as anybody else. It’s just that recently I realised that the technology around me was stopping me from getting things done. Some tasks just have to be done on a computer — correspondence, work invoices and, the unholiest of all things, tax returns — and that’s just fine. If I make a list, then I’ll get there. Eventually.

But as a writer cursed with the attention span of a hamster, working on a computer is the death knell to productivity. “I’ll just research ‘——’ can become a trawl through the news headlines, a lengthly perusal of gossip websites and even the googling of imagined illnesses. The truth is that I like to ‘see’ a draft as something that I can touch, write on, even burn (on occasion). I like to take something I’ve been working on outside, to look at it away from the usual two square metres in which I work. As someone who is perpetually distracted, I like to be away from distraction.

And that’s what my Olivetti gives me. My computer put away in a drawer, I sit at my desk with the pleasant clacking of the keys, and, unable to edit with the ease of copy and paste, I suddenly find myself thinking about what word I’m going to type next, and about where my story is going, rather than waiting to find out where my story is going to take me. Most satisfying of all, at the end of an hour, half an hour, or just a few minutes, there is a tangible thing in front of me that I can grapple with and score all over with my beloved red pen.

I have to admit that there’s something to be said about the place of modern technology in all this too: because after spending quality time with my Olivetti, I find there’s nothing like making a cup of tea and spending some time browsing the internet, content in the knowledge that I have a little time to spare after all that time well spent.

A Lettera 32 in its natural habitat