Round the Herne

  My reading of the twelfth and final chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's book "The Phoenix and the Carpet". The poor old carpet really is worn out and, after a scare in which the nature of language is questioned, the magical bird makes a decision about its future. The power of magic is a huge responsibility, far too huge for children to bear (or, indeed, most adults) - such that a little of it goes a long way! The carpet itself responds to requests in a way very much in keeping with ancient understandings of magic that saw it as a vast and impersonal power that ought to be handled with kid gloves, before the New Age approach we have now that insists everything is about the intentions of the person rather than being anything external to their own massive ego. Without wanting to get sidetracked into 21st century obsessions with gender, I wonder if the phoenix is female or possibly some kind of hermaphrodite that reproduces without necessity for activities rega

 My reading of the eleventh chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". Here the children realise how badly they have worn out the magical carpet and then have a near-deadly trip to the theatre. The phoenix takes worship where he finds it (sometimes we all need to take it where we can get it). It is a salutary reminder that, as an old Scottish saying has it, the value of a well is not known until it runs dry. Those of us blessed by magical forces - native skills, generous relatives, kindly friends etc. - can assume that they are a bottomless source of benefit that can be turned to again and again without ever running dry. Yet all things are finite and overuse can exhaust even the most plentiful source (something we are beginning to see with planet we dwell on). Sometimes the source can be patched up or will renew naturally if we give it a break, but sometimes gone is gone. The children will soon find out where the carpet sits in th

  My reading of the tenth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story The Phoenix and the Carpet. The poor old carpet begins to become threadbare and some of the children end up having a second encounter with the unfortunate clergyman from the desert island wedding - who begins to question the very nature of his reality in a moment that reminds me of Zhuang Zhou's dream of being a butterfly (a fascinating episode from Taoist philosophy, for anyone unfamiliar with that school of spiritual thought). The clergyman's sisters have a somewhat more pragmatic approach to the nature of the cosmos - probably one experienced by quite a few people over the centuries who have wisely decided which bits of reality to admit to and which to leave unspoken. Perhaps this chapter serves as a partial reminder that magic should be used sparingly to avoid wearing it too thin. As Aristotle himself might have said, all things in moderation!

 My reading of the ninth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". In this part of the book, we catch up with the cook on her desert island and the children engage in a jail break.  Criminologists should be pleased by the prospect that the villainously inclined can be so readily rehabilitated (mostly using the power of cows - I may have to try and work this in to a future Environmental Psychology lecture as an example of the therapeutic power of animals!).

 I've written a couple of previous poems (one published by Moon Books the other two as yet unpublished) about the peculiar Uncle Carbuncle and his various unfortunate relatives. This third addition centres on a Yuletide gift to his (as yet unnamed) nephew and niece. The written version of the poem follows the recording, in a randomly made up metre. UNCLE CARBUNCLE'S GIFT Laden with presents, home we return, Ice on our boots, frost riming our hair. For tea and crumpets does mother year, But something makes our dear father swear. There on the table squatted the box, Wrapped in paper the texture of moss. Father's home security it mocks, To grasp its presence, we are at a loss. How it came here sans stamp, none can say. Was it, by Santa, down the chimney flung? Yet there it sits by light of day, Bound with a ribbon, red as toad's tongue. "It's for you two!" Mother declares, The tag deciphered, we gather around - Knots undone, the box reveals two bears, Stuffed

My reading of the eighth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's adventure story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". The children found themselves swamped with moggies - and their attempts at feeding them make a large problem so much worse. Many people will probably sympathise with the children in this regards - as Cordelia said to Lear, "We are not the first who, with best meaning have incurred the worst". In other news, I have cooked a small mountain of food and now find myself faced with the annual tide of absolute bilge on the TV. The one small exception to this was the Ghost Story for Christmas (actually aired yesterday, but didn't see it till today). The talented Mr Gatiss has once again produced a slice of Victorian Gothic, with an adaptation of a Conan Doyle story about a shambling Egyptian mummy (arguably the first time such a thing ever appeared in fiction) and some malign magic. I shall watch again when I have a more peaceful environment to wat

  My reading of the seventh chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's book "The Phoenix and the Carpet". Here the children discover the limits of animism - carpets simply do not think like humans and interpret instructions their own way. Hence the tidal wave of moggies. As an aside, having an animist view of the universe does highlight the issue of language. We do not have to go as far as to embrace the Sapir-Wharf Hypothesis to see that different human languages produce very different understandings of the world... and that if we extend the capacity for language to a vast number of other beings (both organic life forms and creatures which current scientific thinking would not consider to be alive in the first place) then the problems of communicating between different forms of consciousness increase exponentially. I might write a book about this issue one day.

  My reading of the sixth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's adventure story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". The children - filled with the middle-class urge to be charitable to the downtrodden - return to the mysterious tower from the start of the story to help distribute some lost treasure to its rightful owners. There is an interesting vignette at the beginning of this chapter about the nature of doing good and how boring it is to try and be charitable to the people next door. The exotic sufferers of hardship are always rather more appealing than the local ones. This, I suspect, rings decidedly true for quite a lot of people who look to the benighted in far flung parts of the earth but care little for those whose problems they see on a daily basis.

 My favourite non-ghostly Dickensian story, which I listen to in the run-up to Christmas every year for about a decade now, is Simon Callow's abbreviated reading of "Doctor Marigold". For the unfamiliar, Simon Callow is a theatrical luminary and an expert on Dickens who had a whole series of shows (some televised) performing from Dickens' repertoire. Whilst this story takes place over a considerable length of time, the conclusion has a very Christmassy feel to it. Rather than a conventional story, this is a monologue about the colourful life of a travelling trader designed to be performed by Dickens himself on his enormously popular tours of the country where he would read both sections of his novels and also do these monologues. He made far more money from acting out these scenes than he ever did as an author (a lesson there for us all, perhaps). Having enjoyed it for all these years, I thought I'd finally have a crack at reciting it myself. This is the full vers

  My reading of the fifth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's adventure story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". In this part of the book the children (and the wondrous bird) journey to the mystical heart of London where they find (or create... or reanimate) a cultus of the sacred fire bird. Poses some interesting questions about the true nature of the religious impulse and what actually constitutes a sacred song! This chapter strikes me as being rather like a seed from which the magical realism of Ben Aaronovitch's Rivers of London (and similar books by other authors) grew. The weird fusion of the quotidian and the paranormal and the surreal heartbeat that ticks, like an Edgar Allen Poe horror, just beneath the surface of supposed normality.

  My reading of the fourth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story The Phoenix and the Carpet. In this part of the story the children fly off to an Indian bazaar before going to a decidedly British one and having a run in with an old dragon who stakes a claim on the flying carpet. There is an interesting touch of character redemption, though without the complexity of Scrooge's Dickensian transformation - but sort of within the seasonal spirit of a Yuletide reading.

  My reading of the third chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story The Phoenix and the Carpet. The children have a run-in with the temperamental cook (apologies to the entire population of Ireland for the unconvincing accent) and are transported to an exotic island - the language about the natives of the island is very dated (it was written in the early 1900s, after all) so if you are easily offended by such things, perhaps best to skip this chapter! The children are quite ruthless in their determination to deal with difficult adults - always worth bearing in mind when dealing with sprogs (or so-called adults whose moral development is somewhat arrested). The fate of the cook is somewhat ambiguous and perhaps speaks to the risk of getting what you want and then never being wholly convinced that what you are experiencing is quite real!

 My reading of the second chapter of Edith Nesbitt's children' classic "The Phoenix and the Carpet" (1904). In this chapter, the children have their first adventure on the flying carpet with the phoenix as guide and visit a mysterious tower with hidden secrets. Recorded last weekend before my throat went! I have vague ideas for a YA fantasy/magical realism novel (and also a sci-fi one, but that's even further down the To Do List), but no idea if I will ever be organised enough to actually write it! I'll have to live to 100, without going senile, to get all the ideas in my head down on paper.

  My reading of the first chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". Read to celebrate Yuletide 2023. The author introduces us to five children (who previously appeared in another of her adventure stories) and the mysterious egg which they find in a rolled-up carpet. Soon the adventures begin. I recorded this a few days ago after shaving off the beard for theatrical reasons (don't ask, the audience is still in trauma counselling) - and now that I am reminded of how much worse I look without it, I shall be growing it back! Next year I shall only be appearing in bearded roles for any amateur dramatics.