I wish I was in Mogadishu (in 1970) For the love of old things; don’t let (all) bygones be bygones. I just relish the feeling of Nostalgia in the morning. Sampling what we can from the past, but let’s not get existential and delve into history here, I’m simply talking about pockets, pockets of time. Are you a little lost? Allow me a moment to explicate. I like mystery. I’m a tad sentimental, a little traditional, and more than somewhat adventurous – but only as adventurous as an introvert allows himself to be. I tend to explore in pockets, in times of inspiration to feed my soul. But, what I’m nudging towards here is: treasures. We cannot take anything with us from this life (thought I wasn’t getting existential), but we can always treasure those notes that award life more depth. I was chatting to a friend and colleague about the internet and how people don’t want to read anymore –technology has made us lazy and a little idiotic and stupid, or perhaps just numb. Truth is, most people are okay with speedy temporary mediocrity, or they just allow it to be okay. I like to read. Sounds simple, because it is, but as has been bemoaned in the recent past, it also feels like its dying in this society. I’m currently reading an espionage thriller fantasy – sounds unreal (well it is a work of fiction), but its set somewhere in the 50’s/60’s, and it’s made up of gloriously vivid characters and stark locations. This of course was a period when there was much more mystery in the world. The world wasn’t as conscious of itself as it is now – so in a way it too is a character in the novel. This was a time of deadly aristocrats, master thieves, underworld assassins and smugglers with trench coats – each with their own individual quirks and signatures – and those would be the good guys. This feels like an era long gone, because it is. Like another story I read some time ago that began (if memory serves) with an already old-world English traveller in Mogadishu, in the days before an attempted coup d’état in the late 70’s, as he lamented the changing of times as the dark political shadows grew longer over the city – this as he sipped a cool beverage with (as per the delightful description) an Iman lookalike. I’m certain there are characters like these living today, but they’ve been absorbed by the corporate world, the technology, a blanket of commercialism, social media and globalization. This, here, now, around us, is a diluted society. It’s something you’ll find as a theme in some of the stories I’ve written; from a father telling his son a bedtime story encompassing his former dangerous and high-speed life, to a girl imploring her mother to take her down the path to find her estranged father a half a world away. I like holding history in my fingers. From books, to my father’s old broken watch… So what if they say I’m grasping at phantoms – whispers of the past that can never be again, trying to, in some small way relive a moment, or colour in a distant memory, I’ve always been like this, from trying to break into my Dad’s safe when I was seven, or trying to get into either of my grandfather’s backyard sheds – there was mystery there yes, but also objects that were decades older than me, and in a young mind, anything can be a treasure, the trick is to keep a hold of a morsel of that youth, to add whimsy to something that strikes a chord in the vein of the illusive things alluded to here.. They don’t make anything like they used to. The trick is in finding gems with no pretense. Moral here is; don’t stop reading. Books on a shelf are like latent worlds waiting to be discovered and explored – although some are more vivid than others… There is a bit of mystery left in the world yet, it’s just about being willing to look, to find something from a certain time, or maybe just something timeless, that isn’t in plain sight. Maybe you’ll find a secret garden, or just a secret that once was lost, but now is yours. It's about discovery, and that endless pursuit, of grandeur... even in the small things. Ahh, tis but a practiced talent indeed, to master the art, of savouring. "Any man's life, told truly, is a novel." [Image credits: pinterest, tumblr, imgur.com, darnour.com, grantstonerrawlings.blogspot.com, i3.minus.com, lonelygentlemangloves.com, mogadishuimages.com, eurocrime.blogspot.com] Related Posts: Why do we love the red convertible? Ugly Beautiful The Inside Watch Abandoned Ruins of Speed
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Female soldiers of the world A few weeks back I did a post called “Ugly Beautiful” focusing on finding beauty within unlikely places, or seeing a different side of something usually perceived as ugly, that one can interpret as beautiful. Or perhaps just unveiling or uncovering some beauty by changing perspective. In this post though, it’s more of a misplaced beauty – beauty within unforgiving environs, or in places most would see as un-befitting. But, people are people and often something we see as odd or divisive, is more a reflection of ourselves than the actual state of the way things are. Female soldiers, specifically, Special Forces; They’re rare and a part of our world that most in society don’t want to acknowledge, because on some level, it violates some moral code, or a puristic ideal and goes against what most believe being a woman is all about. This is perhaps harking back to traditionalists; where women are the nurturers and care givers, and men are the protectors and providers. However, women have immense strength, and besides, what happens when the man falls (as he so often does) – and let’s not forget that men usually go to women to glean strength and support. But really, this is just a slight demonstration of the strength of women, because they can be the best protectors and are already providers, but they can do it without forfeiting their nurturing and softer sides. I was going to get all philosophical about this and delve into the inequality issues and the fight that many women have been fighting for ages, but instead I’ll just let the pictures speak for themselves because these ladies are simply badass – if that’s not too crude. I could've also gone into the various roles they'd played over the ages and still do today, from assassins (often in the vein of the John Le Carre coined term; honey-traps), freedom fighters or even bodyguards - the late Muammar Gaddafi was one leader known to be partial-to/fascinated-with female (virgin) bodyguards. And then there's the world's most famous (and perhaps the most beautiful and glamorous) female bodyguard: Anna Loginova. She had a successful modelling career alongside her other profession, including work for Chanel. She died in 2008 in Moscow, at the age of 29, from head injuries sustained in what authorities believed to be a random carjacking. Loginova studied martial arts and in 2005 founded an agency called Stilet (Dagger) dedicated to female bodyguards (trained by ex-KGB operatives) to provide discreet protection for Russian billionaires . We know that women in this profession are in high demand the world over. I'm also only handing a passing mention to past female leader's, known for their unshakeable stance when it came to conflict, strong women in history like Cleopatra, St Joan of Arc - the sword carrying saint, Queen Elizabeth I, Mbande Nzinga Angolan Queen, 1582-1663 - who organized a powerful guerilla army to repel the Portugese settlers (eventually negotiating a peace treaty but refusing to bow to their then King), Queen Victoria, Golda Meir and the Iron Lady Margaret Thatcher. If you’re curious, there are other reasons behind my decision to post this – it’s simply because I am actually writing about it – perhaps not women soldiers in general, but my book does contain a central character which happens to be a highly qualified female operative. The fictional character's name is Ayalah Karmin, an ex-IDF paratrooper and Sayaret Matkal vet who is working freelance after a term in Mossad. Of course when I researched this, I did not look into gender battles, but simply looked into the army, the units and disciplines, since all who achieve these exceptional feats need to meet the same exceptional standards. And then of course Israel is known for its equality in the military – with such a small country they can't afford to be stingy on who defends their country… ALL Israeli citizens are conscripted by law at the age of 18, for a mandatory 2 years of service. Anyway, on to the gallery, (Respect): [Image Credits: rediff.com, pinterest.com, alo.rs, yeeeeee.com, warfare.ru, moddb.com, desura.com, beautifulrus.com, news.xinhuanet.com, IDFblog.com, businessinsider.com, izismile.com, userfriendlyetc.blogspot.com, theatlantic.com] "Daughters of the attitude that produced them, certain women will not appeal to us without the double bed in which we find peace by their side, while others, to be caressed with a more secret intention, require leaves blown by the wind, water rippling in the dark, things as light and fleeting as they are." --- MARCEL PROUST, The Guermantes Way "The fear of women is the beginning of knowledge." "For the female of the species is more deadly than the male." Some links from the web: 8 Female soldiers who shattered barriers in 2013 (IDFBlog) Women in the Armies of the World, 70 pictures Most Impressive women in the military 2013 (businessinsider) Related links from this site: Captivating - Unveiling the mystery of a woman's soul - Book Review God's Message to Women This is an official announcement that my book (formerly known as 'The Quiet Days') has since been renamed "Peacekeeper". It took me a while to make the decision, but slowly the new one won me over. I've also decided to name the sequel The Quiet Days, it feels only right that I do, whilst a possible prequel will be named 'The Dark Days'. There is a deeper relevance to these names of course and not just a morbid fascination with "Days", or the days of our lives Lol. For a brief Synopsis, keep reading... (its still the same book, albeit on the cusp of the 4th draft with some back end rewrites.) 'Peacekeeper' blurb: There are always so many questions; some remaining forever unanswered, and those with answers few are willing to face. For Michael, that’s hardly the beginning. In Israel investigating a terrorist threat, during a ceasefire after Operation Cast Lead on Gaza and the West Bank, he faces the questions that most are afraid of. An experienced former soldier, now trained in the art of conflict resolution, he discovers his true place, once again learning the art of survival, even when there’s no escaping a bullet. On borrowed time, in the shadow of Interpol and the UN, through blood and dirt, his greatest enemy in the fight to maintain peace, remains the man in the mirror, taunting him with that one fateful question: how much difference can one good man really make? "For whose cause, if not your own, are you willing to die?" Peacekeeper poem: (this appears at the very beginning of the book, it's also the one and only poem I've written in some years, and I continue to tinker with it...) … a faint whisper stirs, within, growing, piercing the inner walls; Another I, revealing …the fear, of the quiet days, the dark days when I’m dead but still living. My spent blood runs slow, my trembling hands, my frozen eyes in these cold, peaceful times. That fear of the slight of me . . . the far away man in the mirror, dark of the deep of the still waters in those eyes . . . my quiet days, creeping, nearer… [I may write a part 2 of this poem that may/will appear at the end of my book...] "You don’t expect to be shot during a ceasefire, or to see a peacekeeper break protocol, but anything goes in the pursuit to maintain the status quo, even if that means sacrificing a good man." - “The reward of sin is death.” That’s hard. If we say that we have no sin, We deceive ourselves, and there’s no truth in us.”... – Doctor Faustus, Goethe’s Faust. - If you like what you see, please feel free to rate it below, but if you have some constructive criticism or words of support then leave your comments - I always appreciate the feedback. Writing is of course a largely solitary profession and even just feeding some breadcrumbs for readers can elicit some angst on my part. I just hope you're as excited as I am, it's going to be big. Many Blessings Ciao To the day – the 12th of September 1963 – John Le Carré’s "The Spy who came in from the cold" hit bookstore shelves. To celebrate, I decided to finally get round to reading it. It’s been labelled many things, including ‘the definitive spy story’ or ‘the best spy story ever written’, and in many ways forms as the signature John Le Carré novel. It took me a few years and two attempts to get around to reading it, but then again my first attempt was hampered by my own impatience. Older and wiser, I've finally taken the vaunted steps into this dark world. Plot Synopsis In the height of the Cold War,and the shadows of the iron curtain, the British Intelligence hatch a plan to entrap a high level German officer. The plan though, involves a Trojan-horse like operation that may result in them knowingly sending one of their own agents to his death. Target When I first attempted to read this I was still a teenager, and couldn’t get to grips with the initial pacing. So the target is a more mature reader. But you grow accustomed to the pace as well as the style of the narrative – as certain things occur in an atypical timeline, learning of conversations and events that have already happened, to punctuate and better explain events in the present. Once you’re in the groove though, the pages will turn quite swiftly. “... I chose le Carré. God alone knows why, or where I had it from.” Bottom Line Painted by the dull colours of his time in the service, David John Moore Cornwell – pen name John Le Carré – had to forcibly retire from British Intelligence (MI5/MI6) in the 60’s because of the success of “Spy”. British tabloids somehow got hold of his true identity and the rest is history. Most of the great authors of the era tend to have some inside knowledge of the game (Robert Ludlum had his sources and friends within the CIA, Frederick Forsyth used his journalistic research skills for ‘The Day of the Jackal’), so the gritty and cold realism of his third novel seemed too good to be true in many respects. True enough, the world had never seen a book like it. It was, and still is the antitheses of the Spy novel we’re used to; namely the glossy, quirky, action packed and romanticized 007 archetypes. There are no gadgets or posh locations here, its all stark and in shadows, or alternatively, cold blinding and all exposing light. What struck me was the way Cornwell describes characters and makes the ‘grey area’ of the spy world so apparent. Seldom do you find a villain so grating and sinister simply by the nature of the description of the character’s physical appearance. The antihero is a man you wouldn’t ordinarily like… and that is essential to the tormented beauty of this story – it’s simply about people, who happen to find themselves on opposing sides of a wall. They may of course have different values, opinions and beliefs, but when you disregard the dividing lines, it’s hard, or impossible to tell them apart and decipher the good from the bad. Of course the pace does quicken, but it's more of a tightening, and the tension in the climatic scenes is unparalleled. If you enjoy this genre, then of course it goes without saying that this is a must read, a ‘must own’ even. It is a cold hard hammer of a spy story. Sometimes we do a thing in order to find out the reason for it. Sometimes our actions are questions not answers. Plainly put, there are two sides to every story, or genre… in the spy world, there’s the two polar opposites as mentioned above, and then there’s everything in between. It speaks volumes that in modern culture producers, filmmakers and storytellers have seemingly sought to find the balance or blend between the two worlds of espionage. Even Timothy Dalton aimed to dirty things up with a darker and grittier James Bond in his 1980’s incarnation, a dynamic that has been taken to heart in the latest Daniel Craig version, all to keep up with the times, with a wiser audience to cater for. David Cornwell set a trend, and continued it with his subsequent George Smiley novels, and that is a hallmark. It may not have been Cornwell’s first release, but this was the one that got him noticed in a big way, it was the one that made him… Film: The Spy who came in from the Cold was adapted for film starring Richard Burton as the fatigued and burnt out Alec Leamus and Rupert Davies as George Smiley. In 2011 we saw the release of “Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy” with Gary Oldman playing Smiley. David Cornwell’s sons have been spearheading the new wave of film adaptations with "A Most Wanted Man" to be released later this year (based on the Le Carré novel of the same name) starring Phillip Seymour Hoffman. The timing of the latter release earmarks it for award season attention. The trailer – Coming Soon! There's also a sequel to Tinker Tailor in the pipeline. The films have also rekindled the interest as book sales have spiked, with new and younger audiences drawn in to rediscover a literary legend and his collection of genre defining works. The 23rd and latest John Le Carre novel: 'A Delicate Truth'; view the Book trailer below. This of course all this, stories, novels and films, tell of a very amoral world, where men and women hold themselves to higher or simply a standard removed from everyone else, a world constantly aware of the puppet strings, the walking wounded – it is cold and dark and unromantic, yet for the larger population it intrigues us to no end… suffice is to say, we’d rather read about, and watch it on the silver screen than actually live it. But, for those who do, us novelists (me in my infancy as it is - I do aim to emulate the greats - and this is timely inspiration) try to tell their stories, amplify their voice in whichever way we can, and to take a line form the book, (because sometimes that voice is hard to hear, the message either plainly simple or incoherently convoluted in the grey stage of world politics and economics, and war) “Once she had cried out, and there had been no echo, nothing. Just the memory of her own voice.” Visit Author John Le Carré's official site at www.johnlecarre.com For an in depth interview to get a deeper sense of Cornwell the man, his personal life and what he’s up now in all his 81 year old glory, follow the link to an interview conducted by Dwight Garner for the New York Times earlier this year. We get to hear his thoughts on the modern Spy world as well as his sentiments about modern media and politics, even his views on the film Zero Dark Thirty. Article: John le Carré Has Not Mellowed With Age "A desk is a dangerous place from which to watch the world" A Return to the Wilderness, Part 1 I write this whilst mentally planning for a hike. Hopefully this time next week I’ll be writing from the proverbial “other side” of that mountain. It doesn’t seem like much I know, like making a fuss over something hundreds, if not thousands have done before me, and more still will do after, but allow me to put things in context… For the last few years I’ve been telling people that I’ve written a book, and only one person really, beyond a shadow of a doubt can back me up on that claim, yes my family has seen snippets as well as some friends and professionals I’ve networked with, but largely, it remains a feat that for the most part people just have to take on my word. But that doesn’t say much. On this journey I’ve seemingly gone about things in my own way – backwards that is… Leon Uris wrote that to be a writer we have to acknowledge within ourselves that we’re either insane or very naïve; this I have discovered over and over again. Can I compete with the best out there? Is my work good enough (even as I work constantly to improve it)? Do people actually want to hear what I have to say? – And on that note: What exactly do I have to say that warrants such an endeavour? - These are questions every writer faces. Inevitably, I’ve also learned that we preach about what we ourselves need to learn, and that, is what I’ve been doing for the last few years (in the very least anyway), learning. Which brings me back to the mountain; I was once asked how it is that I’m such a good climber (referring in that instance to rock climbing) – truthfully I’m not that great at it, but let’s just say that I’m “contextually adept”… this was when I first started, and as a beginner my reply was: “I guess I was always a rock climber in my mind, except that physically, I just wasn’t. So then, when I eventually got the opportunity, it all sort of felt natural” – this is something I’ve been working to apply to my writing career as well, because once you actually make that huge leap, or take the first step/hold on that first climb, are you really what you claim to be, what you believe yourself to be? That is where Faith creeps into the reckoning. Needless to say we all have our personal journey and have to travel it and negotiate its challenges in our own way. The Spiritual life cannot be made suburban. It is always frontier, and we who live in it must accept and even rejoice that it remains untamed. I’ve been doing some interesting reading of late, earnestly this time (the first real reading, that wasn’t specified research of some kind, since I started writing my book), from books that have appealed to me personally (one of which I reviewed a couple of weeks back). The one I’m currently about to finish is titled ‘Wild at Heart’ about defining, seeking and understanding the true heart of a man. It’s a book every man, or anyone who calls himself one, should read. I’ll zero in on one thing though… that of the wilderness. You see, within the heart of the true man lies the desire to explore, to be the frontiersman and lay foot upon unbroken ground, to return to the wild. It’s interesting that when people do this (not just men), they inexplicably relate the experience as being something akin to spiritual, because in reality, it is our spiritual home. So if you acknowledge the spirit within a man, within yourself, then you must realize that that Spirit, is in fact wild as well. The flesh is weak and confining and finite, but the spirit is unrestricted and strong and eternal, but only if we embrace it. Take the Bible for what it is physically – a book – and in this book of stories from many writers there is a tale of when God made Adam (in the wilderness) and brought him into the Garden of Eden (where he made Eve)… the point being this: there is a reason why men often put up pictures of untamed landscapes in their house or office, and it is about way more than simply beauty. It is the CALL of the wild, beckoning him to come home, and re-energize for his daily battles. Incidentally, the Bible also states that our spirit is our direct link to God (if you take it as more than just a book of stories). (It begs the question: where does this spiritual realm come from?) Your spirit is wild, which is why so many choose to ignore it, or don’t acknowledge it at all, because it is also dangerous, but it remains the key to you coming alive. So, I’m heading up to a mountain (along with over a dozen other brave souls, male and female), into that wintery cold, clouds and snow, to in some way symbolically cap off or underscore this mini chapter in my life – which just so happens to coincide with the near completion of the third draft of my novel (which I’ve renamed Peacekeeper – about a man who discovers what it really takes to fight the battles he faces, even when he doesn’t see it coming, when he’s alone and outmatched). The true heart of man is not a mere fleshy pump in his chest, but is in, and is, his spirit and the exploration of the vast untamed mystery of this creation we like to call life. Yes, there will be splendor, but there will also be pain lurking in that dangerous unknown, this is a battle after all. I pity those who think less of it… but there is always hope. Part of it is living on the border between life and death, or living on the border between the material and immaterial, and learning how to apply that spiritual world, to the natural of everyday. Getting back to the wild then, is about getting back to the frontier for easier access into the transcendent part of ourselves which is more than elemental. For me, personally, it’s about getting closer to God. Watch This trailer in FULL Screen mode. These Guys are just as crazy - I admire them because I suck at slack-lining and I've never attempted highlining, and wish I could do those things, but I cannot, and I cannot condone this either, even though its cool! - Leave it to the Frenchies! Vertigo Comics (the adult comic section of DC Comics) have been given the rights for The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo graphic novel series. So you've read the books, or perhaps braved the films (either versions), hence, you may want to give this a look. Personally I would just be interested in the artistic element, appreciating the considerable talents of the illustrators... - Vertigo Comics (link HERE): other titles include Sandman, V for Vendetta, as well as some interesting variations on old favorites like Superman and Batman. A few notes on Stieg Larsson
- “But man could not cover what God would reveal; ‘Tis the sunset of life that gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadow before.” - Lochiel’s Warning, Thomas Campbell. [The reason for the deletion was purely for the sake of length. At the end of the first draft the book was well over 144000 words. However, because of the nature of this chapter (it would have been chapter 7) it could almost be considered as a stand-alone chapter, making up much of one of the sub-plot's in the story. I feel bad of course, because of the research I did on, not only the chapter itself, but the topic in general...] -- events occurring in late 2008 >>> Chapter (The Quiet Days, a novel by Steven Benjamin) I. Liverpool, England… Ronnie Killian was a veteran third generation seaman who’d once, years ago, captained a fishing trawler moored at Southampton. His love for the sea was absolute, as was his understated enthusiasm toward ships and virtually anything that could float. Almost ten years ago, when he’d been laid off for a small period, a good friend had found him a part-time job at a local shipping magazine. At that time the job had included menial roles around the office and hadn’t comprised of anything significant, until the day he was called into the editor’s office to write up a column on an Oil tanker due to dock soon. The news around the tanker was predominantly targeted around the parent company, which was in the midst of a public court case surrounding an oil spill close to the Canary Islands. Apparently one of the clerks working in the office had mentioned that Ron had spent a term on an oil tanker which had run into some legal issues off the coast of Nigeria. Naturally this fact made Ron the most qualified man in the office on the subject. This was beside the fact that that day they happened to have two employees off sick. It wasn’t a major article with any ground breaking expectations, though Ron had poured his passion for shipping into it – supported by his working knowledge, worldly experience and brusque tone. It resulted in an article, appealing to the avid reader, whilst even engaging the would-be non enthusiasts with his wit and blunt interpretation of events. Killian had integrated the small planned protest to be staged on the dock by a handful of environmental activists, and touched on the hypocritical nature of man protesting the negative effects of Oil companies operating on the seas, whilst neglecting his ‘neighbour’ who worked for said company to feed his own family, because it was the only work available. By no means condoning the avarice nature of these corporations, he cited man’s equal failure to do anything constructive about them – the inability to find suitable alternatives. His conclusion stated that little would change the “juggernautical” status quo, with the valiant but whispered cries of good men swept clean away in the salty spray of the unstoppable corporate storm. His wife and three children had subsequently persuaded him to pursue the somewhat more sedate life as a columnist. He’d soon establish himself within the magazine structures as one of their most reliable, and later senior, writers. On a customary gloomy winter’s day in Southern England, with his collar turned up rubbing against his greying stubble and his woolen cap warming his balding scalp, he turned the digital pages of another international online shipping newspaper. As he glanced over the section detailing any ships recently run aground or sunk, his eyes caught a story of a cargo ship having sunk in the Black Sea. Investigators claimed that the laden ship could not withstand the attentions of an especially heavy storm. (to read more, click here) [The reason for the deletion was purely for the sake of length. At the end of the first draft the book was well over 144000 words. However, because of the nature of this chapter (it would have been chapter 7) it could almost be considered as a stand-alone chapter, making up much of one of the sub-plot's in the story. I feel bad of course, because of the research I did on the, not only the chapter, but the topic in general...] The Quiet Days, a Novel journey... Its been an interesting year thus far, submitting to competitions, editing, some odd jobs, more editing, and on the rare occasion, some far flung adventurous escape. What's interesting about my book writing experience thus far, has been that apart from the re-draft and a couple of niggles here and there, the progress of the entire book basically/currently hinges on a few paragraphs. When I say hinges I mean bridging the divide between good and great, at least in my eyes. One such paragraph has been highlighted in red for the past few months as I try to formulate it and find the right words - its practically in the center of this 125000+ word novel, but it encapsulates so much sentiment and gravity. The timing of this paragraph is also crucial, coming at pivotal moment in the story. But, alas, this is what writing is all about; and so the journey continues... |
[Banner illustration by Joel Kanar]
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