Masters of Foxhounds Association

It’s Boxing Day and I’m slightly bored, watching BBC News.  Something about foxhunting flashed across the screen, kindling my curiosity about a practice I know little about.  To find out more I took a look at their official website, ‘Masters of Foxhounds Association’.  On this website you can see photos of cute dogs, looking wistfully across stunning country landscapes alongside wise men posing in front of their farms.  Here you can choose to ‘find a hunt’, where glorious slaughter is merely a click away.  Unfortunately they don’t have a Shetland branch, but there are 11 across Scotland I could choose to join!

Oh, but what’s this?  Another link, titled “The Case for Repeal” ?  Apparently foxhunting was banned by the Labour government in 2004.  Does this mean I can’t join one of their organised massacres after all?  Here you can find a most eloquently worded and intelligently expressed case for repealing the Hunting Act.  “The prejudice, misuse of science and abuse of parliamentary process that saw the Act onto the statute book…”  This note of prejudice from such an unbiased source is particularly convincing, as well as the highly detailed explanation of how science was ‘misused’.  “The Hunting Act is unique in that its effects are entirely negative,” they say, clearly not paying attention to parliament’s legislative output of the last 30 years.  Even more shockingly, “it does nothing for the welfare or conservation of the species it claims to ‘protect’. In fact it is detrimental to their welfare.”  My heart weeps for those poor foxes who remain shamefully safe with their families.

To continue: “After some 700 hours of parliamentary time the Act was eventually driven through the House of Commons in a single day following a blatant breach of parliamentary protocol. It was then forced through using the ultimate constitutional sledgehammer, the Parliament Acts, which was used for only the fourth time since 1949.”  This is such a blatant breach of parliamentary rights that they don’t even need to explain it – we should simply feel the illiberality within our racing blood.  “The measure of a true democracy is tolerance: tolerance of minorities and, in particular, tolerance of activities that the majority might not support.”  Indeed, 8 out of 10 people don’t want the act repealed, but they’re absolutely right that minority opinion should be safeguarded despite this – and I therefore look forward to their successive campaigns for the legalisation of murder and rape.

My enthusiasm unable to be contained, I’ve decided to send an email to their general inquiries at info@mfha.co.uk.

Hello,

I’ve been reading through your website and I’m excited to get involved in any way I can.  I’ve just read Iain Banks’ The Wasp Factory and I found the way in which the protagonist Frank treated animals most inspiring.  I particularly liked the bits where he blew up rabbits with dynamite and subjected a wasp to 12 different kinds of deaths.  This is the sort of thing I would love to get involved with.  I have two cats who both enjoy hunting very much and a Shetland Pony to ride on.  They won’t know what’s hit ’em!

Yours faithfully,

Charles Fox.”

 

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The Bridge (Review)

Contains spoilers.

It was this tragic announcement which inspired me to read an Iain Banks book.  I knew very little about him beforehand, but recognised his position as one of Scotland’s, if not the UK’s, best general and science-fiction novelists.  I scoured the local library for a good book to start with – his only one I was aware of at the time, The Wasp Factory, scared me – and came across The Bridge.

My first impression was admiration towards his incredibly talented writing style.  The novel begins with a strange, contorted section from the perspective of the protagonist (I’ll call him John Orr for convenience after his Bridge persona, though we are also introduced to The Barbarian and it’s suggested, though never made clear, that his real-world name is Alexander Lennox) within his crushed car.  It glides through broken up sentences, curses, confusion and philosophy with great skill.  The rest of the novel continues this way.  Sections on The Bridge, John’s coma world, are written in a surreal and vaguely disembodied manner, as are the dreams; The Barbarian’s sections are written in broad Scots dialect and follow his exploits in a fantasy world of Greek mythology, but are nevertheless highly readable; his real-world history is heavily nostalgic, switching to third-person past tense for a biographical account of his life, interspersed with historical events to adds layers of realism.  In literary terms, this novel is a masterpiece.

The world of the Bridge is an incredible creation.  John, am amnesiac, finds himself on the world of the Bridge where an entire civilisation live suspended above the railway track in corridors and streets and buildings.  He spends his time undergoing dream therapy with Dr Joyce, before being moved – ingeniously coinciding with his real-world shift in hospitals – socialising, and searching for the labelled library.  It doesn’t make a lick of sense, and nor is it supposed to.  I have a hard time sifting through what’s intentional symbolism and the random fragments included to show the state of his brain.  The hospital-TV screen and beeping on the telephone are obvious; the warplanes leaving braille messages in the sky and his obscure dreams are less so.  Some of the dreams focus on an attempt to overcome warped laws of Physics – my favourite was his trying to pass through a narrow path when a stranger traveling in the opposite direction mirrored his every move – which symbolise how trapped John is within his own head.  Building up the mythology of the Bridge makes me really eager to discover what lies beyond, and Banks doesn’t disappoint; the prisons, the warzones, the sadistic generals… Beautiful writing, though again, difficult to determine their meaning.  I thought it might have been his mind fracturing as it splintered apart, but this is near the point where he finally awakens, so I’m not sure.  This is not a flaw.

John’s, or rather Alex’s biography is fascinating to read.  It was actually quite unnerving for me at moments: here we have a teenager with an interest in history and English who moves away from home to study at the University of Edinburgh, having fallen in love with the city; he later develops an intense dislike of right-wing politics and joins Amnesty International.  Uh – I hope this is where our similarities end!  I particularly enjoyed following his unusual relationship with Andrea.  She spent a large portion of her life in Paris and each had romantic partners within that time, yet they continued to be a ‘couple’ of sorts.  The definition of an ‘open relationship’, I guess.  Couldn’t comment on whether it’s healthy but it’s certainly refreshing from most of the gooey loved-up couples you find in fiction and reality.  These sections are not written in a particular narrative style; they flow up and down as any life would.  I really, really liked the bits of historical flavour Banks added.  He would begin a section by mentioning, for example, the election of Margaret Thatcher, or the Israeli invasion of Lebanon, and go on to describe things like John’s donation to the African National Congress as an ‘apology’ for his company’s operations within Apartheid South Africa.  Reading John and Andrea staying up to watch Thatcher elected once, twice – and their resultant anger – felt so real.  These are deviations, but they add so much.

The characters are another strength of this fantastic novel.  The trinity of the protagonist’s psyche: despondent, political Alex; laid-back, casual John; and primal Barbarian, together feel like a whole, realistic person.  Andrea is a likeable yet flawed love interest, whose relationship with John I became totally invested in.  The characters in the Bridge world were also fascinatingly developed: from enigmatic Abberlaine Arrol (who vanishes from the novel 2/3s in, perhaps symbolising Andrea’s irregular presence in his life) to Dr Joyce (again vanishing), and even the characters who only appear once; each feels properly crafted and real, even when they’re not.

One curious response I had to The Bridge was a resurgence in my normally dormant sense of Scottish nationalism.  Iain Banks is one of Scotland’s greatest advocates for Scottish independence, and it shows.  Typically, my idea of Scots literature is either idolised figures like Robert Burns and Walter Scott – who I always presumed were raised on such a pedestal because we had no one else – or highly interesting but also repetitive ‘rural, Highland, Jacobite’ culture.  For the first time, I have fallen in love with ‘Scottish literature’ as a genre.  It stills feels a little wrong to separate it from ‘British literature’ – I would very much like to continue claiming Shakespeare and Orwell were writers from ‘my’ country, despite their English identities – but less wrong now than it once did.  Not that reading this has swayed my opinions on independence or anything – which I am hesitantly opposed to, though technically still ‘undecided’ – but I feel more proud of being Scottish having made this discovery.  Also, it was very exciting to discover that the Bridge is supposed to be the Forth Bridge near Edinburgh, a bridge I have travelled across many times in my life.  Perhaps this pride is born out of actually having settings and situations I can relate to on a personal level?

All in all, I was hugely impressed by Iain Banks’ The Bridge.  I think I must dive into more of his work as soon as I can – I’m very tempted by his ‘Culture’ series of science fiction books.  His imagination thrills me, and I can’t wait to find out what else it includes.  My only criticism is that the book was slightly difficult to understand at times, but perhaps that is a limitation on my part rather than his.  The tragic news of his cancer will hit the literary world very hard indeed, and he will be loved and missed by many.  But that’s a negative way to finish off; he has a final novel, The Quarry, still to be released and adored by his countless fans.

Final rating: 9/10