Halloween

"A gypsy fire is on the hearth,
Sign of the carnival of mirth;
Through the dun fields and from the glade
Flash merry folk in masquerade,
For this is Hallowe'en!"

Happy Halloween everyone! I am not sure what to say about this one. It is here too soon, in a way, I have been thinking about it since August, yet I feel like I did not prepare it enough. Halloween always comes both too late and too soon, and it always leaves too soon. But I am enjoying it anyway. The flat smells of pumpkin and candle, the Jack O'Lantern is smiling at me. He better does: I wrote his story. And I did my good deed of the night. As it is difficult to write more about Halloween especially since I have literally turned this blog into a Halloween shrine for the last two months, I thought I would just leave to my readership this anonymous quote, which I found in today's Nemi strip in the Metro. Nemi always has the right word, or finds it.

And for those who have time for a little bit of spooky fiction, here is a short animated film made by Michael Dougherty, titled Season's Greetings, which was the prime material for this movie. It is full of atmosphere, spirit, it also has a neat little twist at the end. My last, modest contribution to your Halloween 2011.

Un repas d'Halloween

En fait, je n'ai pas mangé cela ce soir, je n'avais pas la patience de cuisiner. Ce soir, j'ai soupé d'une pizza, comme je le faisais enfant avant d'aller faire mon porte-à-porte (y a-t-il une expression française pour trick or treat?). Mais j'ai pensé hier de souper avec quelque chose de plys typique. J'ai trouvé la recette de fondue dans Halloween fun and food de Sara Lewis (connais pas). Le bouquin n'est pas exactement LA référence en matière de gastronomie de l'Halloween, mais il ne m'a pas coûté cher (moins de cinq livres) et j'aime cuisiner des fondues. Et puis dans une citrouille, c'était comme qui dirait approprié.

J'ai légèrement modifié la recette. Elle exigeait du gruyère et de l'emmenthal, mais n'ayant pas de gruyère, je n'ai eu que de l'emmenthal, fondu avec ce qui restait de vin blanc, de l'aïl, des échalottes, du paprika et d'autres trucs. Ah oui, et le mélange déposé non pas dans un caquelon (on n'en a d'ailleurs pas), mais dans une petite citrouille vidée. Pour tremper: du pain et des pommes (l'autre fruit de l'Halloween). Ce n'est pas la meilleure fondue que j'aie mangée, mais avec une Hobgoblin et à cause de la valeur saisonnière, ce fut un souper très apprécié.

A good deed on Halloween night

It is Halloween now at last! Or maybe it comes too soon, I don't know. I thought to start celebrating, I would tell of a good deed I just made and in the meantime publish a great unknown line. I was walking home from work, I usually walk through a poor/working class neighbourhood on my way to the train station. There were a few children trick-or-treating. I love this tradition, which has a bad reputation in England, unfortunately. Just before I arrived at the station, I saw a young boy with his older teenage brother. The little boy barely had a costume: some bandana that was supposed to make him look like a pirate I guess. They had just been not answered at a door and the child's bag looked desperately empty. I had a piece of chocolate which I got from work (they were celebrating too there) which I thought to eat at home. I called them like this:

"Hey kid! I got a chocolate here from work, and I ain't gonna eat it, so you can have it."

Not the greatest unknown line, I know, but with the pseudo-American slang (it wouldn't fool an American, but it does fool Brits sometimes), spoken by a stranger clad in dark clothes, I thought it had an effect. Sometimes it is not so much what one says as how one says it. I was aiming for sounding both generous and detached. The child was intimidated, but thanked me, and the big brother said "Cheers!" So it was my good deed of the night. I brought a bit of the spirit of the season and this proud tradition that is trick-or-treating here.

Question existentielle (85)

Joyeuse Halloween tout le monde! La question existentielle de ce soir:

-Quels sont vos souvenirs les plus vivaces de l'Halloween?

Halloween and gluttony

I thought about blogging about it a while ago, not sure as I am typing this on how to deal with the subject. Tonight I had a cheese fondue in a small pumpkin, with a Hobgobling. Delicious, but sickening. Maybe blogging about it is unwise right now. But I am not a wise person. I think of how sickly it was, eating loads and loads of chocolates, smarties, marshmallows covered with chocolate (in form of Jack O'Lanterns, gosh I loved them), taffy, liquorice and many other things after going trick or treating as a child, especially since dinner before going trick-or-treating was often pizza (and not thin ones: stuff with thick base and lots of cheese), yet I survived. And I was thinking that eating and drinking in excess like I used to do and still do around Halloween was indeed an old, old, old tradition, a Pagan ritual that sneaked into the modern age deeply rooted in our psyche.

For instance, trick-or-treating is a ritual of sharing and a gesture of trust among neighbours. But more so, the treats we eat are the descendents of the perishable food gathered through the harvest that was needed to be eaten before turning bad or to make room for more recent stocks. Most holidays have this element of plenty, of needing to eat and fill one's belly while it is possible, while there is abundance. It is the case of Christmas, Easter, Halloween is of course no different. And as it also reminds of death, of the grave, of the shadows and fears that we face, there is a kind of defiance mixed with anxiety in the gluttony, in the eating excesses. "For life is short but death is long", as says a song I love to quote around this time of year (for me it is the perfect Halloween song). It is not incidential that Stingy Jack carries his lantern in a turnip, then a pumpkin and that he fools the Devil by having him climb into an apple tree. Turnips, pumpkins, apples, they are all products of harvest (and my allusions to gluttony in my take of the legend is not incidential either). This is one thing I love about Halloween: it is conscious of the fleeting nature of lively pleasures. So I love being gluttonous on that day and on the days leading to it.

La veille de la veille

Une petit observation comme ça: nous sommes la veille de l'Halloween, ce qui veut dire, littéralement, la veille de la veille de la Toussaint, l'Halloween étant "All Hallow's Eve". Il faudrait peut-être dire la veille de la Samhain, qui est le nom original de l'Halloween. Cela dit, comme l'Halloween a été adopté avec le christianisme, et c'est sous ce nom qu'elle a survécu jusqu'à nos jours, je crois qu'il faut la garder. Je dis survécu, mais l'Halloween s'est en fait développée et a pris l'ampleur qu'elle a aujourd'hui en Occident (du moins dans le monde celtique et anglo-saxon), avec son nom chrétien, si j'ose dire. Ce qui est ironique, vu que l'on essayait en fait d'éliminer une fête païenne, de l'étouffer sous l'austérité grise de la Toussaint. Que je suis content que ça ait foiré (sauf, hélas, en France). Ce qui montre qu'une fête abâtardie, sang mêlée, a une résilience certaine. Surtout que l'Halloween, je crois, nous permet de prendre contact avec une part importante de notre psychée, comme vous pouvez le constater en lisant ce blogue.

The Great Pumpkin

I usually watch horror movies during Halloween, but there is one movie I try to watch every year, which is all about Halloween and is not a horror movie, not even scary, yet I think it captures the season oh so perfectly. Other fans of Charles M. Schulz probably know that I am talking of course about It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown. There is everything and more in it: the automnal atmosphere, leaves falling down, the fiery colours, the whole childhood rituals of Halloween, rendered perfectly, a little bit of playful fear, plenty of Jack O'Lanterns, a bit of World War 1 recreation with Snoopy fighting the Red Baron (I think Schulz wanted to remind people about Rememberance Day), the little relentless cruelties of childhood (Schulz was a master at depicting them) and of course the Great Pumpkin, which is quite a profound concept. You can read more about it here. But even if you don't care about profound themes of cartoons, you can enjoy this one as a seasonal treat. Here are the first minutes:

Question existentielle (84)

Une autre question existentielle reliée à l'Halloween, après la numéro 83, laquelle n'a pas encore reçu de réponse:

-Quelle a été, ou quelle est, votre friandise préférée à l'Halloween?

Jack O'Lantern

I carved the Jack O'Lantern tonight. You can see pictures of it here and here (just how many pics of the same carved pumpkin can you publish on a blog? I am terrible). I love the whole ritual of carving pumpkins (well obviously), and of course the result. It smells of Halloween now: hollowed pumpkin and burning candle.

For those who have been busy preparing Samhain and may not have had time to read this blog much, I made my own version of the Jack O'Lantern legend, if you have any patience and time to spare please read part 1 and part 2 and tell me if it is any good. I think some of it was a bit rushed, but it is the first piece of genuine fiction written by yours truly, on a blog called Vraie Fiction. And it is my contribution to the Halloween season.

J'ai pris une citrouille...

J'ai pris une citrouille
J'en ai fait un lampion
Lampion couleur de rouille
Le nez en tire-bouchon

C'était un poème que l'on apprenait en troisième année dans le temps de l'Halloween, je ne me rappelle plus du reste, sauf de la fin: "De gros yeux immobiles et le sourire fade". Enfin bref, ce soir j'ai pris une citrouille et j'en ai fait un lampion. Le nez n'est pas en tire-bouchon, c'est un nez somme toute assez classique. J'ai décidé de faire les yeux énormes pour faire changement. Je n'étais pas très sûr du résultat, mais finalement Jack O'Lantern est très réussi. La bouche n'est pas géniale, mais dans l'obscurité avec ces yeux elle se marie bien avec le reste.

The legend of Jack O'Lantern (part 2)

Part 2 of my take of the legend (pat 1 here), and what did I get myself into? Maybe we can wait for next Halloween for the rest, it is taking a lot of space and burying other posts. Anyway here it is...

Seven years later, when the Devil came back to claim Jack's soul, Jack was no better than when he first met him. He had kept on going his wicked ways, unrepenting, and deserved Hell more than ever. Satan was waiting for him at the end of a village, by an orchard, this time persuaded that his prey would not slip through his grasp.But desperation make men cunning, and Jack had always been a cunning man. He had tricker the Devil once by appealing to his vanity, now looking at the apple trees around him, he decided to appeal to the Devil's gluttony (and his fondness of apples, which alledgedly dated back from the Dawn of Man, when he had tempted Eve).

I don't know exactly how Jack managed to convince the Devil, what words he used and which tone he had, I am not certain that as I am storyteller I would be able to depict faithfully what happened but nevertheless, the Devil, because he was gluttonous or because he liked the flavour of apples or for some nostalgic reason dating from his time as a snake in the Garden of Eden agreed to climb up that tree and pick up some apples. Now, going up and down a tree is easy for a man, a snake or a fallen angel taking the appearance of a man or a snake, but Jack had carved with his pocket knife (stolen a few days before) a cross at the bottom of the apple tree and Satan was stuck there. Jack had fooled the Devil twice. Satan cursed and threatened, but was powerless to do anything else. Jack agreed to destroy the cross only when the Devil promised never to claim Jack's soul ever again. Jack then scratched the cross away. Before he left to go back to the Underworld, the humiliated Prince of Darkness gave this warning to Jack:

"So you fooled me Jack, and just for this you deserve to be granted your request. But do not fool yourself: you have chosen your fate now, just as you had done so in your life. I will keep my word, but you will learn to be weary of Lucifer when he keeps his word."

Jack thought little of it at the moment. He had, after all, got the better of the most powerful being after God and he felt invincible. So he carried on his wicked way, unafraid of the fires of Hell, until after years and years of excesses his body could not take it anymore and died. At the Gate of Heaven, Saint Peter refused him entry. Jack was sorely disappointet: had he fooled the Devil for nothing? He plead and plead, until an impatient voice was heard saying: "Depart from me". Jack did not overstay his welcome. Saint Peter curtly pointed him in the direction of Hell, which Jack found easy enough to find (however tortuous was the path, it was rather large, and he felt he had known the way all along). He arrived at the Gates of Hell at dusk. The Gates of Hell was then at the end of a field of turnips. It was very cold outside and very dark, but through the keyholes Jack could see and feel the hot fires of Hell, which seemed almost welcoming after the long way down. He knew he was in a familiar place, he knew he belonged there. Yet the Gates did not open.

Jack shouted, plead, begged as he used to do so convincingly as a mortal, but the devils on the other side of the door would not accept him. He stayed there ages and the night was getting darker, when a terrible voice was heard.

"So the Old Man wouldn't let you in either?"

"Oh My Lord, it's you at last! I am sorry we had this silly misunderstanding a while ago, but I discovered I was wrong. People often told me to go to Hell when I was alive, this is where I should be as a soul, I think, and besides, didn't you claim my soul so many years ago? I am here to give it to you, freely."

"But I swore never to take your soul, Jack. And I told you I would keep my word. Your soul has no value to me anymore. This is where you belong, but you willingly and rather foolishly refused to enter there when you had the chance. If God doesn't want you, why should I? And what satisfaction would I have to torment you forever? Your torment, Jack, is where you will carry it. You shall spend centuries and centuries on this earth you did not want to leave as a mortal, but you will not drink anymore, you will not enjoy life, sinful or virtuous, you will until the End of Time walk this earth as a shadow, cold, weary but condemned to go on. Now depart from this place."

"But my lord, it is dark and I wouldn't know how to find my way."

The gates opened slightly. Jack could now see the Lord of Darkness, or a glimpse of him. He was a huge, towering figure, winged, who seemed made of burning embers. He threw a burning piece of ember at Jack.

"Take this, Satan said, put it in one of those turnips and use it as a lantern. The name the Old Man gave at me at the beginning of time was Lucifer, the Lightbearer. May this flame bring you light, so you shall see what you can never have anymore."

Jack took the flame in his ghostly hands and placed it in a turnip. He managed to fins his way back to the land of the living, travelling mostly at night. Since then Jack placed the flame from Hell in a pumpkin (he found it in America). You can still see him on cold autumn nights, travelling around the world, hoping to find a road that will lead him away from the land of the living.

Question existentielle (83)

L'Halloween est presque arrivée, alors ce blogue va se consacrer à la fête pour les prochains jours, sans doute exclisuvement (quoique ce soit déjà le cas). Allons-y aujourd'hui d'une question existentielle:

-Quel a été votre costume préféré à l'Halloween?

The official beer of Halloween

I cannot believe I never blogged about Hobgoblin before! Well, I did, indurectly, but I never wrote a whole a post about maybe my favourite English beer. Shame on me. This picture was taken a long time ago, back in 2008, the label on the bottle is now slightly different, but it gives you an idea.

I first discovered the Hobgoblin in Montreal, around that time of the year, at the SAQ on Saint-Denis. Strange than a British microbrewery had managed to find its way to Québec. I loved it then, I love it now. I even won a t-shirt of it in a draft, with the famous hobgoblin. I discovered later on, when I came to England, the Wychwood Brewery and its other products. I tried most of them at least once, although for some I was not quite sober enough to appreciate them. I love the unapologetic attitude of the microbrewery, the firm stand they take for traditional real ales, the way they mock lagers in their advertisement. "What's the matter, lagerboy, afraid you might taste something?" is now one of my favourite mottos. But especially, I love how they use folklore to brand themselves. So it is my favourite beer here, or one of my favourite. And they now have labeled themselves, or self-proclaimed their beer the official beer of Halloween. It might sound arrogant, but in a country that does not celebrate it as it should, I am glad there is a beer that wants to be part of the season. In Québec,  my personal beer for Halloween is St-Ambroise Pumpkin Ale. Here, it is the Hobgoblin.

Les feuilles d'automne (encore)

Voici une autre photo de Bath en automne, pour illustrer le sujet de ce billet. Bien sûr, tout les endroits ici ne sont pas aussi magnifiques que Bath peut l'être en automne. En fait, à n'importe quelle saison, je me demande si quelqu'endroit que ce soit est aussi magnifique que Bath, à quelque saison que ce soit.

Enfin bref, je m'ennuyais au travail aujourd'hui. C'était une journée tranquille. Quand je m'ennuie, il m'arrive de jeter un coup d'oeil à la fenêtre (ça vous arrive aussi?). Et puis j'ai remarqué une autre fois les arbres couverts de feuilles flamboyantes. Jaune et rouge ne sont jamais aussi jaune et rouge qu'en automne. et même les feuilles brunes et desséchées ont quelque chose de vivant. Il y a surtout du jaune là où je travaille. L'entreprise où je travaille est dans un parc industriel, au milieu d'un quartier qui a l'air passablement débâclé, tout est brique, verre et impersonnel. Pourtant, les arbres en automne donnent de l'âme à des endroits qui n'en ont pas. Et j'ai pensé aux villes où j'ai vécu ici, les villes que j'ai connues. Même les moins jolies, comme disons Liverpool (j'adore Liverpool, mais elle n'était pas jolie partout), Reading ou Milton Keynes, ont un certain cachet en automne. Je me rappelle avoir marché dans les quartiers des affaires à Milton Keynes, tout briques et béton aussi, et c'était presque joli en automne. Bien sûr, quand une ville est déjà belle (disons Bath), elle devient irrésistible en automne.

The legend of Jack O'Lantern (part 1)

So here is the first part of my take on the legend, as have promising, I hope you enjoy, it's a work in progress...

Jack was a very wicked Irishman, known for being a drunkard, a thief, a trickster and overall an unpleasant man. A sinner, in Catholic terms. It is surprising that Jack never became a werewolf from all his wickedness as a living, but he suffered a fate far worse than what scientists called lycanthropy.

One night that Jack had drunk too much (one of many nights, he never spent much time sober), he was out of money but still thirsty. As he was still thirsty (Jack never felt he could be drunk enough), he decided to use one of his old tricks to get a few pennies: begging. With his dirty grey beard and his ragged clothes, Jack knew he looked like a beggar anyway.

There were not many people in the streets of the little Irish village on that dark October night, except, at a crossroad, by a dim streetlight, a handsome young man in expensive clothes. Even drunk, Jack could tell the man was filthy rich, so he decided to try for the stranger's compassion. In the dim light, Jack could see the features of the man more easily: he was clad in rich dark clothes and was holding in his right hand a burning match that didn't seem to consume.

"Can you spare a penny my lord?" asked Jack.

"I will lend you more than a penny, Jack, replied the man with a sly smile. A golden coin, in fact, enough for you to pay all the whisky in Ireland, if you can drink that much, but later I will ask for something in return, as payment. Nothing comes for free in this world, even to a thief."

In his drunkenness, Jack did not notice that the stranger had called him by his name. And Jack did not mind being called a thief, not even for a penny, let alone a golden coin and maybe all the whiskey in Ireland! From his left side pocket, the stranger produced the golden coin, which he threw at Jack's feet. Jack kneeled down, ceased the coin, thanking the man profusely.

Jack got very drunk that night, and the night after, because of the stranger's generosity. He did not drink all the whiskey in Ireland, but plenty of it, and lots of stout, and cider and other alcohols which names he couldn't even remember. At the end of the week, Jack was painfully trying to treat the worst hangover he ever had (he had even started drinking water, a liquid he always hated), when the strange man came to ask his due.

It was on October 31st, the evening was falling and the man was standing at the same crossroad. Jack was walking, hoping that the autumn air would cure his terrible headache. He recognised the stranger. The man hailed him:

"It is time to pay your due, Jack!"

"I will if you don't speak so loud! My head is killing me."

The stranger smiled broadly.

"Your current suffering is nothing to what's waiting for you where you are going. Last week you accepted a coin in exchange of payment. Tonight I am here to claim your soul."

Hearing these words, Jack knew who was talking to him. Drunk, Jack could easily get in trouble, but sober, even sick, he could be shrewd and cunning. He knew that even the smartest creature had an Achille's heel, and that the Devil was known to be vain.

"I know who you are claiming to be, said Jack, but why should I believe you are Old Nick? I mean, you have a golden coin, so what?  That's hardly proof of anything."

Hearing this, Satan entered in a diabolical fit of rage.

"You fool! Doubting me is as bad as doubting the old man upstairs. For this you will suffer."

"Well, according to you, my Lord, said Jack in a mocking tone, I am already going to hell. What fate worse than this one is expecting me, if you are the Devil? If you are, just show it by, I don't know... Producing a golden coin is easy enough, what about turning into one and getting into my pocket?"

So that is why Satan did. In a few seconds, the stranger turned into a mist of fiery red and black smoke and shrank into a golden coin that flew into Jack's pocket... Where a little silver crucifix was waiting for him. Jack had stolen it from a priest. He thought he could have melt it and sold it and was he glad he had not done it yet. The Devil was trapped. Satan cursed himself for being so proud and for letting a mere mortal get the better of him. But there was nothing else he could do but beg Jack to free him. Jack did, but only after he made the Prince of Darkness swear that he would not claim his soul for seven years...

Question existentielle (82)

Encore une question de nature gastronomique (et devinez ce que j'ai mangé hier):

-Quelle est la recette parfaite d'un grilled cheese?

This mid-term break I am not living

I remembered it today: we are now in the middle of mid-term break, for schools. In England at least as in Québec it is earlier in the month. When  used to work in schools here, I did not experience much: in my first job in an English school, I was only working part-time (i.e. on Monday) when 2009's mid-term, and my second school I only started working way after mid-term.

Which is kind of sad, because I think mid-term here comes at a perfect time: right before Halloween. I would have plenty of free time to prepare for it, to read and watch horror stories/films, to listen to spooky music, whatever I love to do before Halloween. Boy I would be an happy English child now!

And on a side note, it also shows how much my teaching career is way behind met: the thing about it I am most nostalgic about is the time when I was not working.

Passer du jour à la nuit

Lorsque j'ai quitté le travail ce soir, il faisait encore jour, mais le soir commençait à tomber. Une soirée automnale comme je les aime, fraîche et ensoleillée. Mon trajet en train est de vingt minutes environ. Une fois arrivé à destination, il ne faisait pas encore nuit noire, mais presque. Les ombres grandissaient et les lampadaires étaient allumés.

J'aime cette période de l'année particulièrement, lorsque le soir tombe vite, mais donne juste assez de temps pour pouvoir l'apprécier et apprécier les jeux d'ombre et de lumière. Plus tard, quand l'année avance, je rentre et il fait nuit noire, ce qui est moins plaisant. Ce qui est pire, c'est de passer d'une obscurité à l'autre: quitter le matin quand il fait encore nuit et revenir toujours dans la noirceur. Je le faisais encore il y a deux ans. Cw n'était qu'un jour par semaine, mais c'était déjà trop. Ces temps-ci, je passe du jour à la nuit en une trentaine de minute.

Free coffee (but I declined)

There was a van coming to work today, a new "food" van, well in that case it is a coffee van. They sell pastries and coffee. There are loads of small catering businesses on wheels like this one coming, but the coffee van has one thing in particular, apart from coffee: it comes in the middle of the afternoon. To introduce themselves, they were giving free coffee and it was a big success. Except for me. I did not go and pick up my cup.

I usually do not refuse a free drink or meal, but this one I thought I did, for a number of reasons. Firstly because at 2:00PM, I think that drinking coffee is ill advised on a week day, especially when one is quick to suffer from insomnia. I guess I could have taken decaf, but even the taste of coffee has a psychosomatic effect on me: I feel restless, almost on speed, just smelling the darn thing.Coffee has a bad effect on me. This is one of the reasons why I don't like it much and never managed to get hooked on it. My long time readers know that I don't like coffee, a dislike that sometimes grows into contempt. This was, of course, the second reason why I didn't accept the free cup. There is no point taking something free if I won't enjoy it.

I find it ironic that I discovered my dislike of coffee in a country that is now trading its traditional tea for coffee. I say this and I do enjoy sometimes a cup of coffee, to my great surprise, it is usually Italian related. But at 2 o'clock in the afternoon? No way. It is not worth the risk.

Un jeu d'ombre et de lumière

Cette photo a été prise à Bath en 2009, un 30 octobre pour être plus précis, lors de ma dernière visite dans la ville. je voulais la publier depuis un bout de temps, j'ai même considéré l'utiliser pour la photo du mois, mais comme elle a déjà été prise il y a deux ans je croyais que ce n'était pas approprié. Mais qu'importe maintenant, j'ai décidé de la mettre ici. C'est l'Halloween très bientôt et cette photo est pleine d'atmosphère saisonnière.

Ce que j'aime dans cette photo, c'est le mélange d'ombre et lumière, qui n'est pas contrastée: la pénombre s'installe, absorbe pour ainsi dire la lumière, le feuillage a des teintes de feu qui meurt, les oiseaux (des black birds comme dans la chanson des Beatles, je crois) sont une présence vaguement inquiétante. On ne voit pas le diable mais son oeuvre, commme j'aime à le répéter (même si ce n'est pas de moi).