“Louis Theroux’s documentary Inside the Manosphere sheds an uncomfortable light on the male influencers known for disseminating misogynistic content across social media channels, podcasts and websites. Its main proponents include figures like Andrew Tate, as well as a whole host of others who are just as notorious, at least within the Manosphere itself. Drawing heavily on the film The Matrix for its central idea, this inspires the term ‘red-pilled’, which means to wake up to the realities of the world as the Manosphere sees them. Namely, that men are oppressed by women and therefore unable to succeed within this paradigm.” Read more at Woman Alive magazine…
If you read my previous post you will already know that I’ve been reading a lot of James Baldwin lately. And that one of the reasons his writing resonates with me is because it feels like music; specifically like jazz – which he said intentionally shaped his style. You can feel it in his cadence and phrasing; the sense of improvisation giving it an energy and freshness that continues to play across the decades and inform our present moment.
It was therefore, serendipitous (or maybe just algorithmic) when – shortly after I wrote it – I came across an article from the Institute of Art and Ideas (the people behind HowTheLightGetsIn Festival), on how music and creativity are in our very DNA. The article by molecular biologist Ewa Grzybowska, sets out how the existing paradigm for how DNA works (established by Crick and Watson), has been largely superseded in recent years.
Composite image by author.
The Science Bit
She explains that the established understanding – that DNA codes only for well-ordered, well-structured proteins is now basically redundant. And rather than a machine-like, linear, ‘1+1=2’ process (where one gene produces one structure which has one function), it is in fact something more akin to improvisation. While DNA sequences code for proteins, there are also non-coding sequences. This ‘superfluous’ genetic material was initially thought to be ‘junk DNA’ (even though this would have been jarringly inefficient for any cell to have), until its vital function was unearthed. It gets transcribed into non-coding RNA molecules which have separate functions from the RNAs involved in making the proteins themselves. And which operate as a “vast pool [of RNA]…involved in the regulation of gene expression” both before and after the DNA itself is transcribed. This, Grzybowska says, opens up the “vast new planes” of regulation and is responsible for this paradigm shift in how DNA is now understood. Meanwhile, they also found that some proteins can change their function, effectively moonlighting in other tasks; while others can change their structure, folding differently despite retaining the same genetic sequence. And then there are proteins with no stable structure at all – completely disordered, able to shape-shift according to their functionality. DNA is therefore less a blueprint and more a text to be interpreted.
What it all means
In other words, genetic material and proteins in a cell are agile; able to adapt and respond to changes in the wider environment. And rather than a production line, cell activity is “fluid, improvisational, and brimming with creative possibility”. Our DNA operates more like a live group of jazz musicians riffing and responding to each other and to what’s happening in the room.
It feels helpful to consider this when our present moment is forcing us more and more, to define what it is to be human, especially as we reckon with AI. But being human, may well come down to some very basic biological facts – the fundamentals, rather than anything high-minded or philosophical. If music and creativity are in fact coded into our very cells, what does that mean for our overall operating system as human beings? And therefore, how we can operate it well? Encoded in our DNA is this essence of creativity, immutably printed into our cells. More than that, it forms a responsive, collaborative and improvisational operating system which makes creativity central to our very lives and existence.
Creativity and being our most human
Recent studies, and books such as Art Cure by Daisy Fancourt, lend weight to the fact that we can only hack the human operating system so far. One thing we can’t get around is our need to create – to make things. Art, and creativity, in all its forms – is good for us. It is good for our basic humanity – our minds, bodies and spirits. A particularly powerful dynamic happens when we fulfil a creative idea and make it real ourselves, it might be taking a simple action, or making a drawing, painting, a piece of writing or sculpture, or anything else we might call “something we created”. When we create something with our own hands, whether it’s a paper aeroplane or an oil painting – there is an unmistakeable sense of exhilaration that accompanies that hand-eye-brain connection. And when we’re totally absorbed by it, giving it our full attention. But if we outsource our creativity entirely – both in terms of our thinking and our creative execution, to something that does it ‘for’ us, where does that leave us? We also risk missing out on the process of collaboration: the satisfaction of co-creating with others, and the joyful connection that can bring.
We need to ask ourselves what exactly are we gaining? And more critically, what are we losing? We may gain in productivity and output, but this can soon become a tyranny in itself. Sales pitches I’ve seen from AI companies are often based on a promise that their products will win us back valuable time, but this is a fallacy. Instead they drive more and more productivity. At a recent event I attended, several entrepreneurs declaimed the power of using AI agents to run parts of their businesses. Only to also confess that they were now working double their original hours, rather than using the time they’d won back for their own leisure or to be with their families. In one case, a founder said with a hollow laugh, that as a result of using AI, his 80 hour work week was now more like 160 hours.
There are already strong suggestions that AI can limit creativity and homogenise thought, if you’re in the habit of outsourcing those things to it. Though it may be wildly convenient to have the work done for you, without any of the struggle inherent in doing the work ourselves, we might be losing something more essential to our humanity in the process, injuring our capacities for genuine originality and human ingenuity. For something to feel worthwhile it often needs to cost us something – that it took some effort on our part. It’s that effort which intrinsically connects us to it. And it’s in our essential nature to create, we’re wired to make things, whether we think of ourselves as creative or not. It’s right there in our biology – in our very cells and DNA: that being human is having the ability to say: “I made that” with 100% conviction.
Below you’ll find some of the books I’ve read and enjoyed over the last few months… plus a few ‘next ups’ (Good Girl and Butter) and one currently in progress. Those I’ve read already come highly recommended. As for the others, I’ll just have to let you know about those. In any case, this is a shameless article about books, and for yesterday’s World Book Day no less, but it is also about literacy and something I’m really excited to be part of this year. Read on to find out more.
Book list
Go Tell it on the Mountain – James Baldwin
Good Girl – Aria Aber
Butter – Asako Yusuki
Ways of Seeing – John Berger
Night People – Mark Ronson
Notes of a Native Son – James Baldwin
Giovanni’s Room – James Baldwin
Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow – Gabrielle Zevin
The Fire Next Time – James Baldwin
Homesick for Another World – Ottessa Moshfegh
Another Country – James Baldwin
The Lonely Londoners – Sam Selvon
When I posted this list on Instagram one friend responded wryly (and accurately): “Have you considered reading any James Baldwin :)” And yes, there is A LOT of James Baldwin, I’m definitely going through a phase. Let me explain.
Escaping the algorithm
A few months ago I decided to escape the algorithm that would invariably send me adverts for all the latest book releases, and instead let ‘IRL’ guide my reading choices. So rather than being influenced by digital marketing (which in theory I’m all for especially if you’re the one trying to market a great idea or a product you really believe in) I decided to let myself be directed by my immediate surroundings. And it has been so refreshing.
Alongside being a writer and digital marketer, I do quite a bit of cat sitting. Often I will be staying in other people’s homes and looking after their cats. Last summer, rather than buying the latest book on Amazon, I decided to limit my reading choices to either the bookshelf in the living room, or the books in the bedroom I was sleeping in. This approach has introduced me to a panoply of new authors and books I’ve only ever glanced at before. I also joined my local library, which happens to be quite large with lots of choice. So that too, has been a brilliant non-digital / real-world / analogue (*delete as appropriate) way to find new books to read which doesn’t depend on endlessly scrolling my social feeds.
And so, when it came to choosing my next great read, I would take my time, and stand quietly in front of the bookshelves. Just letting my attention rest on books I’d not seen before, or those I had heard of and always wanted to read. No hurry, or compulsion. I then might take a book off the shelves, hold it for a moment, turn it over in my hands and read the back, before skimming a few pages and deciding whether to read this one or not. And then I’d either set it down on the coffee table or at my bedside ready to read later, or put it carefully back on the shelf. This approach has been leading me to lots of great books that I don’t think I would have read otherwise. Perhaps I thought they were too old-school, or they just didn’t come into focus long enough for me to notice.
This is how I finally read a book by the great James Baldwin. And I can tell you now, his writing has impacted me more than I could ever imagine since I read him for the first time last Autumn. Better late, than never. And this feels like just the right time in so many ways. I started off with reading Another Country which I found on a library shelf, and was a very good place to start. I have since read four more books by him; The Fire Next Time, Giovanni’s Room, Notes of a Native Son. And I’m currently reading Go Tell it on the Mountain. The way he conveyed and expressed meaning; his craft, blows me away. I’m basically in love with his writing; it is tender, heart-breaking, incisive, inspiring, angering, confronting. It is very very good.
Music and social commentary
There are two things I especially love about his writing:
Firstly, it feels like music to me: the phrasing, the cadence, the rhythm and the way the words sound together. Most of all it feels like jazz, there’s that sense of push and pull, and a freshness that reminds me of improvisation. As someone who’s really ‘into’ music, the experience of reading words that feel musical really resonated with me. One thing I take a lot of pleasure in when I write, is channelling my musicality into it. When I wanted to understand more of this I discovered that James Baldwin’s writing style was strongly influenced by music, he said this: “I think I really helplessly model myself on jazz musicians and try to write the way they sound”. And boy, did he…
Secondly, what I’ve read so far (and there’s a lot more to read), whether fiction, essays or memoir – contains a searing social commentary on the world he moved through. His insights into what it means to be American and a person of colour are totally confronting, accompanied by a clear-eyed perspective on white sensibilities and how they have shaped the dominant culture in the West. It has shed a lot of light on our present moment and the way in which American culture imagines itself. He was an observer, a true artist, and someone who didn’t conform. He could put himself into the shoes of people very different to him to connect with them – writing with an empathy and tenderness which drew out their essential humanity. This approach is so inspiring, as is the way he used his creativity to hold up a mirror to society, where would we be without it? His work stands the test of time and still feels so relevant, and I’m learning so much from it.
There’s a lot more to say about James Baldwin and each of these books I list above, but that’s for another time. And now for what I mentioned at the beginning:
Writing and reading are totally intertwined, you can’t do one well without the other, (whichever tools you’re using). That’s why, this year I’ve become a National Year of Reading champion with the National Literacy Trust. If you’re looking for someone to talk enthusiastically about books, reading… (and writing), and literacy in general – do get in touch. I’d love to help!
““Wuthering Heights”, Emerald Fennell’s new film based on the classic tale by Emily Brontë, paints a starkly different story from the original book. While the title’s quotation marks are absolutely necessary, perhaps don’t take one reviewer’s advice urging cinema-goers not to bother reading the book at all. If anything the film makes a strong case for revisiting it.” Read more at Woman Alive magazine…
How mum-of-three Katie Barringer’s family grew in unexpected ways
“Katie Barringer met husband Tim while they were both living in Hong Kong. They married back in the UK in 2016, when Katie was 39. A natural optimist, Katie gave little thought to any challenges there might be in starting a family around the age of 40. Their first child, Sam, arrived the following year in 2017, and they soon started trying for a second baby. Katie had no reason to suppose there would be any problems.” Read more at Woman Alive magazine…
On a very wet and blustery Sunday afternoon I went to see Emerald Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights”, which opened in UK cinemas on Valentine’s Day. And let me tell you; those quotation marks, insinuating its loose affiliation to the original book, are absolutely necessary. In this article I’m sharing my immediate impressions of the film. There’s at least one more article coming which looks at other aspects in greater depth.
Interpreting the text
Firstly, if you have never read the book, it doesn’t matter – because this film bears little resemblance to it. I had this fact quickly corroborated by the two young women sitting in the audience next to me when I asked them for their opinion. And then later when I reviewed and checked the plot when nothing seemed to… check out. But “Wuthering Heights” is not designed to be an accurate adaptation. It is entirely Fennell’s own interpretation of Emily Brontë’s book. And based – as I can well imagine – on a particular way it made her feel as a young person. So in that respect at least, it is entirely faithful to her experience. She has said in interview that this is the film her 14-year-old self would have made. And honestly, it shows. It is full of nostalgia for the crushes and dreams and whimsy that play like a collection of posters on a teenage girl’s bedroom wall; the excitedness of sleepovers, coming-of-age films and emotive chart songs… and boys.
It is also perhaps the story a 14-year-old would have wanted to read. Instead of its bleak reality which never satisfies Catherine and Heathcliff’s obsessive longing for each other, meaning their love is never consummated – not even close. Fennell’s decision to gratify many-a-reader’s own longing and deliver up the passionate love affair that never actually happened, changes things entirely. In that sense, this film is a total revision of Wuthering Heights, imagining a parallel world for these two unrequited lovers. It’s very Sliding Doors. To help achieve this she has removed certain characters, changed timelines and focused only on Volume 1 of the book. In Fennell’s version, the romance-that-never-happened is now vital and centred, and propelling the characters towards the same star-crossed doom as Romeo and Juliet. And altogether avoiding the novel’s deeper message and significance.
Music montages and big feelings
One of many things I wasn’t expecting was that a large portion of the film would dispense with any meaningful plot development. And be given over to a series of montages – styled in a way that can only be described as ‘1980s music-video’. It’s probably no accident that Charli xcx’s album which accompanies the film is full of synths and breathy, choral sounds – think Enya or T’Pau. Montages aim to cover a lot of storytelling in a short time – but the film relies heavily on these to convey the pair’s desperate desire for each other, as well as its consummation. The music videos of those aforementioned artists, plus the Bangles, Madonna and others (Billy Idol even), offer up the right type of romance thanks to their billowing curtains, countless candles, and studio backlighting – as well as overacting those Big Feelings. In the end, it was beginning to feel a bit like a parody, and the much-lauded eroticism of the sex scenes seemed to fall flat. Frankly it left me cold.
Then there are other moments which, for me, evoke 80s films like The Never Ending Story, itself traumatising a whole generation of children just as much as the Brontë sisters’ work – Jane Eyre anyone? And also The Princess Bride. And of course, Kate Bush is in the mix too. Her own avant garde interpretation of the book gave us her song by the same name. But she too – according to the women I spoke to after watching the film – had mis-sold them on the romance of the book.
Aesthetics and religious overtones
The 1980s seem a good lens to unite the aesthetics, including bright colours, big hair and bigger jewellery, harnessing all the opulence of the era to supercharge the Georgian-Victorian-Edwardian looks worn, especially by Margot Robbie’s Cathy. It’s a hodge-podge of influences but it works. Emblematic of this – and used to great effect – are the crucifixes; a nod perhaps to the book’s religious overtones and Victorian morality which produce the context for some of its bleakest moments, and its most repressed emotions. Her bejewelled cross resembles those worn by Madonna, in white wedding dress, during her Like a Virgin performance at the MTV Video Music Awards in 1984. This use of religious icons rankled the Catholic church, but inspired swathes of adoring teenage fans to adopt her look. It filtered out across the high fashion and music of the decade. Utilised in collections by Christian Lacroix, Chanel and Karl Lagerfeld, its design drew from the Baroque era to make it become synonymous with 80s fashion. Madonna wore Christian Lacroix for Like a Prayer‘s album artwork, shot by Herb Ritts, albeit more muted than his catwalk couture. Nonetheless, it echoes Margot Robbie’s historically-inspired outfits – bodices and all. In terms of costume, it’s to designers like these, and others like Mugler, Alexander McQueen and Vivienne Westwood that Fennell has looked for inspiration, and for many of the high fashion moments she orchestrates, artfully staged in their own right (but jarring with the film overall). Meanwhile, Heathcliff’s outfits simply observe the tradition of Brontë’s time. But the gold-tooth and earring are enough to give him the air of a pirate plundering his treasure.
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Providing further crossover with Robbie’s costumes and appearing at least, to inspire much of life in the Linton household, is the saccharine Victoriana of Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland. Even down to several outfits worn by Robbie which remind me of the Queen of Hearts. Cathy more than evokes Helena Bonham-Carter’s spoiled sense of entitlement in the way she treats ‘her’ Heathcliff, whom she proudly named as if he were her pet. And in much the same way that the queen treats her grovelling subjects; Cathy is screaming and petulant when she doesn’t get her way. Meanwhile, the tables at Thrushcross Grange groan under a spread of food in keeping with the boastful excesses of the Victorian era. This is told by one particular shot which slowly zooms in towards Margot Robbie seated at one end, over a banquet of confectionary including towers of sweetmeats, macarons and aspic jellies. It doesn’t miss a beat in calling to mind the Mad Hatters tea party with its exuberant colours, outlandish creations and well, madness.
Cinematic references
In amongst all this is Fennell’s obvious affection for golden-era technicolour romances, even if it does mildly poke fun at them too. Much like the Coen brothers did in their film Hail, Caesar! it sends up the style of the time – overacting and all. In that film a subplot features a group of Marxist writers who kidnap the star of the film whose screenplay they’ve written, in a conspiracy which aims to exploit the studio system. As a result, the Coen brothers critique both capitalism and communism with equal irony. In light of this, it is interesting that there have been several Marxist readings of Wuthering Heights, a candidate for this by being written just as the industrial revolution was firmly taking hold, and noticeably in West Yorkshire where the book is set. Its capitalist goals soon to change forever the agrarian community Emily Brontë writes about.
Aside from this there are lighter moments of slapstick comedy, in the spirit of Singing in the Rain. Speaking of rain: there is an awful lot of it. As one internet commentator put it: “‘Yorkshire’ in the film looks as though it suffers from permanent monsoon. The Yorkshire tourist board must be thrilled.’’ The production designer, Suzie Davies speaking to Architectural Digest (ArchDigest) on Instagram explains how they built a composite set as “a throwback to those 40s and 50s-type films” where the whole environment was built within a studio. The ‘wet look’ they give much of the set is about more than just the weather (though wind and rain effects were going in nearly every scene, she says). The tiles on the buildings were finished in high gloss: “we wanted the whole environment to feel really wet and sweaty and moist” as if “even the walls were sweating, crying or extruding some kind of bodily fluid.” Which neatly circles back to that bathroom scene in Emerald Fennell’s previous film – Saltburn.
This film does seem made more for stage than screen; so much so that I wonder if I can see the sets wobbling, especially at wind-battered Wuthering Heights, which sits in a dramatic high-sided ravine perpetually assaulted by the elements. But I also wonder if Emily Brontë herself saw her characters acting this story out, the book is a little too hyperbolic to only live on the page. But perhaps it was inspired by hyperbolic characters – I’ve heard Lord Byron’s poetry mentioned more than once as a major inspiration for her writing. And whose heroes (‘Byronic’ as they were) would likely have been on her own bedroom wall, had she lived in the 1980s. Nonetheless, under all that gloss, Emerald Fennell’s film still lacks cohesion but it is “Wuthering Heights” after all. And though it is flimsy, it does have its own sense of robustness.
“That absence makes the heart grow fonder is arguably as true for love, as it is for music. Think of that song – the one that defined a particular era of life: hearing it again can stop you in your tracks. The same is true for a favourite artist or band; whose album you listened to on repeat, imbibing every phrase and refrain. When they finally release new music or go on tour again; our heart-fluttering excitement tells us how much we have missed them, how truly we love them.” Read more at Seen & Unseen.
“Interviewed recently on Steven Bartlett’s podcast The Diary of a CEO, Brené Brown (his most requested guest ever) reflected that, of all her books, Braving the Wilderness was “the only prophetic book that I think I’ve ever written”…” Read more at Woman Alive magazine.
Rosalìa’s new album, LUX, is one to inspire devotion
“If there was ever an album to inspire devotion, it would be LUX by Rosalía. Since its release on November 7th, it has been received to rapturous applause. And not for the reasons you might expect. LUX (which means ‘light’ in Latin) doesn’t tick a set of boxes guaranteed to win over audiences or aim to please an algorithm…” Read more at Woman Alive magazine.
Alex Noel 