A friend of mine once said that England and America are separated by a common language.  While not entirely sure what this means, I’m often surprised at how much the predominant sensibilities of the two countries differ.  We both have our forms of The Office, sure, and who doesn’t love Hogwarts, but it is startling how many things fail to translate even though no actual translation needs to be done.  The works of Penelope Fitzgerald might be an example.  This woman had two books shortlisted for the Booker and won it with a third book.  Even her books that don’t get Bookered are unanimously praised in the British press.  So why don’t we know her better over here?

It was in an attempt to find out that I read Blue Flowers, which was Fitzgerald’s last book which won the American National Book Critics award in 1998, two years before her death at age 88.  I probably chose the wrong book.  The Blue Flower is about the German Romantic poet Friedrich von Hardenberg  and his love for a woman whom everyone but Fritz recognizes to be a silly dunce of a girl.  She dies in the end and that’s very sad.

Before ripping into this book, which isn’t really all that bad, I should voice my prejudice.  It turns out that Fritz (who became famous as the poet Novalis) was a dabbler in idealistic philosophy and was a student of Fichte.  While I think there is some stuff to be learned from Fichte (I actually made a pilgramage to Jena once, myself) like most of those German idealists things lapse into nonsense pretty quickly.  I also hate romantic poetry, and I have little understanding of someone who falls in love with an idiot.  So, because of my own baggage, I hated Fritz and wished he had died alongside his hollow beloved.

Hating a novel’s protagonist is no better reason for hating a novel than hating a lead singer’s voice is for hating a band.  (Both are often sufficient motivators, but I’m not sure they are really good reasons.)  It must be said that Fitzgerald was talented.  She had a very light touch, with a sort of understated humor that almost made me grin once or twice, but in general I found the book somewhat boring.  It has been called a masterpiece by more than one critic, but I couldn’t help being thankful that the chapters were short and the book as a whole was only a couple of hundred pages.  So, I have my doubts about “masterpiece,” but it was good enough to where I will check out another book by Fitzgerald.  After all, surely so many British critics can’t be wrong, can they?

Researchers have found that patients who played the computer game Tetris soon after a trauma suffered less emotional scarring as a result.  The Tetris patients were significantly less likely to experience flashbacks, for example, in the week following the traumatic event.

No evidence, so far, that playing Grand Theft Auto has the same effect.

Several years ago I was so excited about these guys.  Liela Moss has such a cool, through the cigarette fog voice, and the band seemed to have the Velvet Undergroung drive down pat.  They never really lived up to the potential their first two eps showed, however, and the new(ish) album only disappoints further.  I mean, all the pieces are there, and some of the songs still have the right energy, but most of the time The DS just comes off sounding like a poor man’s Metric.

Without a doubt these guys sound best when the songs follow a steady, building beat a la Heroin and let the somewhat simple mix of guitars wash with Moss’s voice into something insisting.  Somehow, they just can’t make the jump to anything faster without sounding just poppy.  So, again for The Duke Spirit, not a bad album, but not the one they should be making either.

Sovereign.mp3

If you have nightmares where you are pursued along the wharf with calliope music fluting your doom in the background, this album probably isn’t for you.  If you like the idea of Danny Elfman collaborating with The Clientele, however, listen up.  Misophone is a production of two guys from Bristol who are apparently cranking out songs left and right.  This is supposedly their thirteenth (or fourteenth?) album, though its only the second I find evidence of.  Whatever.  These guys have a flair for the tune, and could probably hang out with the Elephant Six crowd if they ever came out of their attic.  It rides the line between happy and very dark–sorta like a bad clown.  I have to say, the melodies are very simple and can get cloying after a while (especially with the oom-pah, oom-pah-pah on the bass clef) but they are incredibly entertaining in smaller doses.  For some, it will be essential listening.  For me, they’ll make their way into lots of mix tapes and will probably be played at the funerals of household pets.

Spisska nove ves.mp3

Meanwhile, Texans, vote early…vote Obama.