There is an ancient Chinese curse (or a myth about it anyway) that sees someone damn you to “live in interesting times”. No peaceful existence; just one long surprising complication. We went into 2021 with tentative hope. Remember that? We survived 2020. We did it. Time to celebrate, to live again. Human hubris is magnificent, isn’t it? And we were washed, rinsed, shrunk and hung out to dry. I found myself in a small world. A short street. A little house. The only place to wander was inside my head.
i seem to have fallen
a few steps behind my own face
and my feet can’t keep pace with my shoes.
i can see acceleration as a possibility,
but i don’t like the cost.
this limbo has to it a smoothness
a round edged emptiness
where no thing gleams
and no thing blinds.
i am asked only the questions of a secondary spirit
and i know all of the answers.
and yet she ascends
and i am going to have to take longer steps
or become a shadow.
I had mostly tamed my extrovert panic last year and I’ve started to feel more peaceful in my own company (This sounds so simple, but it has taken me decades. Who am I if no one is laughing at my jokes?). Well, now I know… I’m a magical realist. I like the blurred lines between fantasy and reality, I like the nonsense of life, the ludicrous and ridiculous moments, the interesting ordinary and the not-even-slightly believable bits. And without the social constructs of normality, there was nothing else to do but indulge that. I let myself find the things that fascinated me, with no thought to their relevance, usefulness or future value. The things that are wild and odd and sweetly interesting. And I let myself find the ludicrous in the real… you know, the kid being arrested for example.
Here are the rabbit holes I plunged, slithered and tumbled blindly into during 2021 -
Magical Realism - I probably need to start with this since it became my entire philosophic flotation device for the year. I’ve always had an affinity for the genre, my second novel is completely magical. But this year I actually thought about it. I had to teach a new English course (because the wonderful woman who taught it last year was made redundant – I will never stop being mad about that). I had no idea what I was doing, but as usual, my guru and course convenor Professor R, said – just rewrite the course to suit your interests. Readers, I did, and it was bloody good. I taught Modernism because I had to (even though the only modernism I have any affection for is T.S.Eliot) and I taught the Beat Generation because I was born for it (a new generation of wandering philosopher poets has been born). But I taught Magical Realism because it is my soul and I was called to it.
Here is your two-sentence masterclass. Magical Realism (or just as wonderfully often called Marvellous realism) is a literary genre that paints a realistic version of the modern world while adding magical and fantastical elements, often blurring the lines between what is real and what is not, but never discussing or commenting on it, just accepting it. It has roots in German art, but it mostly associated with Latin-American literature, particularly its founding authors, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Isabel Allende, Jorge Luis Borges and Elena Garro. I adore Marquez, he is unparalleled, but I also love Japanese magicalist Haruki Marukami and British exponent Neil Gaiman. Got it? Good.
I think if you are a spiritual person, you already see the world through this magical lens, accepting things like prayer and miracles and omens and dreams. But it is also accepting the meandering convolutions of the mind, following where it leads, indulging its oddities and being unashamedly odd yourself, if it so suits you. It is seeing the ridiculous in the serious and the beautiful in the ugly. Or watching everything without judgment and just letting it flow through you. Here are my favourites of this year, most of them re-reads:
100 Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez (the absolute OG)
Kafka on the Shore – Haruki Marukami (the magic of grief and loss)
The Alchemist – Paulo Coehlo (the magic at the heart of the world)
The Little Prince – Antoine de Saint Exupery (the magic at the heart of humanity)
Beloved – Toni Morrison (the magic of despair, loss and horror)
American Gods – Neil Gaiman (the magic of belief)
Tout le monde s en fout – The first folly. We began the year as per normal – the school run from Bronte to Bondi in peak Eastern Suburbs traffic. It shouldn’t need to happen. There are buses. But then, buses can so easily be missed. An errant laptop charger, a knotted shoelace, a missed alarm. It is a two-kilometre drive that takes 20 long minutes each way. We use the drive to catch up on new music, mostly hip hop. In 2021 we found international rap. It is a revelation. An aural awakening. Almost as good as the travel we can no longer do.
French rap is smooth, lyrical, better than you are.
German rap is sharp, shouted, full of obscenities (swearing in German tastes like horse-radish), feels closer to UK drill than hip hop.
Indian rap has a bouncing Bollywood feel, colourful, it wanders around.
Russian rap is the most ridiculous, full of gunfire, police sirens – it feels like a Monty Python sketch.
I discover Sofiane, an Algerian French rapper whose album Bandit saleté ("Filth bandit") is the perfect (and I mean parfait) running music. It becomes my second most-streamed album of 2021.
Hoof Tiktok - During the course of my fascination with animal rescue videos I found hoof tiktok. Folks can keep their frog tiktok, I want to watch horses having their shoes changed and cows having their nails trimmed. Let me tell you, a farrier is a craftsperson – part smith, part veterinarian, all artisan. I can tell you all about how much damage a tiny stone stuck in a cloven hoof can cause. I know what a bruised heel looks likes, an unbalanced hoof, why some shoes are placed hot and others cold and why resecting is necessary if an infection gets out of control. There is some controversy over whether or not cows need pedicures or can self-manage through exercise, though dairy cows who spend too much time off grass will usually need an annual mechanical pedicure. I favour pink shoes for cows, but it is merely an aesthetic preference.
The Bill - Until 2021 I had spent approximately 30 minutes in a police station, and it was in primary school when we went to meet the Murwillumbah Five-O for an excursion to learn the joys of a career in law enforcement. There was a small cell with a mortifyingly public toilet in the corner. That all changed this year as my child decided it was time for some quality engagement with the PoPo.
This child is his own rabbit hole. Note black eye from Case File #3 is visible in this shot from just outside King’s Cross nick.
o Case File #1 January – I am called by my thirteen-year-old who says only, “Can you meet me at Bondi Police Station?” He failed to explain whether he was victim or perpetrator and with this particular child, it was hard to guess. He was neither. He had witnessed an assault and theft and had to give a statement. Police statements are extremely boring. They take longer than you could possibly imagine, are repetitive and nauseatingly specific. My child, who adores a heist film, was prepared: “I called my friends, who were on the western side of the boardwalk, and told them to vacate the area as the perpetrator was coming their way.”
Cop: “Uh, I can’t write that. They’ll never believe it was said by a thirteen-year-old.”
Me: “Well, that’s how he always speaks so...”
Kid: “She was approximately five foot six, ripped denim jeans, fake white Jordan Ones and had medium brown hair. Her eyes were hazel, and she had an air of shadiness about her.”
o Case File #2 February: I receive a call from Jim on my way home from a basketball game: “The kid has been arrested. I’ll meet you at home.”
The boy had been walking the dog along our street when he spotted three of his female friends hanging out at the abandoned bowling club (a Covid casualty) at the end of our street. When he returned home, he left the dog, donned a black hoodie and face mask and told his father – “I’m going to scare the girls.” And scare them he did. They called the police and reported a “man with a knife” was after them. The police responded with enthusiasm, sending a tactical team – 15 officers and three vehicles. The kid was put on the ground, handcuffed, shoved in a wagon and taken to the station where he was arrested for trespass (without a knife). When his father arrived the kid casually shrugged and said, “Well, that backfired”.
After a warning, he was released. They were mildly embarrassed by their over-reaction, his friends were mortified and he was …. in no way phased whatsoever. He played the song “I fought the law and the law won” on the way home and gave us a commentary on how hard it is to get out of handcuffs.
NB: We are very aware of the white privilege this incident exposes.
Not this eshay - example only.
o Case File #3 March – The same kid is mugged in a McDonalds by an eshay who demands his phone. The kid responds by pulling his phone away and saying “piss off” to said mullet. He is punched twice and hit over the head with a “Caution, Wet Floor” sign. The dolt in the TNs grabbed his phone cord so he wouldn’t leave empty-handed and bolted. The kid is mostly fine, catches the train home, and we report the crime to the local police, who send five boys in blue and two detectives (is there no other crime in NSW? Is it just us?) They use the Maccas CCTV to catch the delinquents within two hours and they are charged with Robbery and Assault. That phone cord makes it a felony. Due to covid the court case isn’t until 2022 when we will get to (hurray) give evidence in court. The kid asked the King’s Cross detective if most of his work was this sort of “dumb stuff”. The detective replied wistfully, “Yeah, back in the 80s it was all heroin and hookers, and now it’s all smashed avo brunches and phone cord theft.”
Splish splash, Kobna Holdbrook-Smith is in the bath - There is nothing as healing as lying in a hot bath and listening to an audiobook on your phone. A great way to find good niche books is to join the Facebook fan club of an author you love and ask them what other books they read. In my case, I asked other Kevins (if you know, you know) what I should read and they universally suggested Ben Aaronovitch. I, Ben’s audiobook narrator Kobna Holdbrook-Smith, and his silken British voice, spent the entire year bathing together and he has whispered all eight of the Rivers of London series in my bubble-bathed ears. This series is described as “urban fantasy” and if there is a better version of the magical realism genre, I know not what it is. I also listened to the new audio play of Neil’s Sandman, and it is impeccable. This is the only comic book I’ve ever loved, and every part of the performance was perfect. But, it’s horror, so don’t take this as a recommendation unless you like dark mythical chaos. Horror stories in the bath pair well with a strong ginger tea. Favourite books of this year (aside from those I read for work and study):
The Rivers of London series (Ben Aaronovitch)
The Sandman (Neil Gaiman)
Dead Man in a Ditch (Luke Arnold)
The Art of War (Sun Tzu)
Such a Fun Age (Kiley Reid)
Hamnet (Maggie O’Farrell)
Shroom boom - Coffee mixed with cordyceps and reishi mushrooms is majestic. You can get tiny pineapple cakes at the Asian grocery store which you dunk into this mushroom coffee for a further life win. I’m not going to justify these choices, only celebrate them. In fact, as a Caucasian with a lame culinary heritage, I want to celebrate Asian grocery stores in general as places of unparalleled delight. Oh, the things I have found! From ginseng root juice to edamame puffs, to onion steam buns, to dried purple salty things and cucumber flavoured crisps and milky sweet coffee with jello bubbles in it… Even if it tastes like something from the abyss, I am yet to be disappointed by a purchase. Shout out to ‘Zetland City Asian’ for indulging and encouraging my passion.
The Cephalopod Appreciation Society – I realise this sounds like the title of an Alexander McCall Smith novel, but I assure you, it is not. While spending valuable time watching Youtube clips of Octopuses doing interesting things, I stumble upon a cephalopod fansite. I did not know such things existed, but I am better for it. I am among my people. Now we share our videos, our drawings, our questions and our discoveries. Did you know that octopus ink is not merely camouflage? It contains tyrosinase which garbles a predators sense of smell and taste. They are sentient, emotional, have a sense of humour (see ‘octopuses punching fish’ below) and have an equivalent IQ of around 140 if compared with humans. They also have blue copper-based blood with is extremely efficient at transporting oxygen but is highly sensitive to ph changes in the water and if climate change-induced ocean acidification increases… we could lose them.
Shut-eye - Why did I need so much sleep this year? It’s not like I was doing much, I was in lockdown for six months. I worked at the table out the back of my own house. On my laptop. I wasn’t a frontline nurse, or a construction worker, or delivering food on a pushbike in the rain. I’m a lecturer, I was literally just talking about books and movies on zoom. And yet… I couldn’t keep myself awake. Naps in chairs, on beds, on yoga mats, in baths… I was unstoppable. And I didn’t come to the end of the year one bit less tired than when I came into it. I would say that I had failed at the end goal of napping, but perhaps the kip is the journey? And if this is the case then I have discovered bourgeois slumber and I will never go back to regular peasant-arse siestas again. I bought an expensive and scientifically fancy eye mask for my son (an insomniac) who immediately hated and discarded it and to avoid waste, I gave it a go. The bliss. The dark, acupressured bliss. I could fall asleep more quickly, deeply, for longer. How have I lived this long without an eye mask? Don’t believe that any Kmart, pug-printed, silken number will do however, it must be over-priced and come with such luxe accessories as detachable icepack eye patches and lavender-scented aromatherapy sachets. Also, I don’t talk to ordinary people anymore.
(It is the Manta mask btw, you can buy them online).
Stick and poke - Is there a better idea to fill the time of lockdown than to buy a DIY tattoo kit on eBay and imagine that it might imbue one with artistic talent one did not previously have? There is not. I now have three extra handmade, reasonably straight tattoos all on the left side of my body. From a distance, they look kind of cool in an unsophisticated AD 793 sort of way. I’m available for your very small, uncomplicated tattoo needs at a reasonable price.
The truth is out there - I had no taste for film or television this year. I burned myself out last year streaming every possible piece of content. That isn’t to say I was in anyway a paragon of self-control when it comes to consumption, I spent most of my free time on TikTok, but I was more circumspect when it came to watching long form content. Mostly I just watched old episodes of the 90s phenomenon The X-files, which has been remastered to show Mulder and Scully in all their sexually repressed glory. It is still magnificent. What this amounts to is the fact that my top 10 in film and television for 2021 is not a result of wide or calculated viewing, but rather a list of everything I bothered to watch.
The X-Files (favourite episode Humbug S2:E20)
Squid Game (I died in episode 6)
Kim’s Convenience (Sneak attack!)
Fresh off the Boat (Jessica Huang is my queen)
Yellowstone (so is Beth Dutton)
Only Murders in the Building (so is Martin Short)
The Witcher (good lord, Geralt)
Lupin (it’s silkily French)
Utopia (weirder than me)
Wheel of Time (the books were better)
Crap bird photography – You know when you see a bird doing something hilarious or being exquisitely beautiful, or just dive-bombing your neighbour’s kid on their scooter, and you take a photo only to discover a blur of grey, the Eye of Sauron or a puff of feathers? They are notoriously difficult to take amateur photographs of, and yet we all continue to try. I do anyway. I do it with other people’s pets too. My phone is full of substandard animal photos. Someone on FB, I can’t remember who, but bless you, suggested I join the ‘Crap Bird Photography’ group for its comedic value and YES, my kindred spirits with their terrible images and im-peckable captions are poultry-in-motion. Here is one of my most recent photographic masterpieces from NYE where I tried to capture a seagull eating from my hand and instead it pecked me in the head.
Funny how you said it was the end, yeah – Mostly I spent the year listening to French Rap and Lil Nas X but right near the end, bam… this one absolutely f*cking magnificent song appears to win 2021 for me:
HNY. May you live in Interesting Times my loves. xL