Monday Message Board

Time as usual for the Monday Message Board. Post your thoughts on any topic. Since some commenters have been getting heated in recent weeks, let me remind everyone of my policy requiring civilised discussion and no coarse language, and raise the discussion starter: Does coarse language make for a coarse culture?
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What I'm reading and doing

I’ve spent most of the weekend at our annual karate training camp. As a result, I’m both stiff and bruised, but still, a good time was had by all. The camp was at Tallebudgera, one of the most pleasant places on the Gold Coast. We stayed at the Recreation Centre there, which has been extensively, and expensively, upgraded since last year. The 1950s bunkrooms are gone. The new ones are much brighter and airier, and include their own bathrooms as well as what appeared to be Internet ports, though I didn’t have any capacity to check on this. The other main essential has been dealt with, as the centre now has a cafe. The high point of the weekend, after some rugged training on the beach was to walk past a tree full of rainbow lorikeets – I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many so close.

Although most of the non-training time was spent sleeping, I managed to get a bit of reading done, finishing Gil Merom’s book on democracies and small wars (on which more soon), Tiffin and Gittins How Australia Compares and Stephen Bell’s The Money Mandarins

, certain to be the standard work on the Reserve Bank for years to come.

What I'm reading and doing

I’ve spent most of the weekend at our annual karate training camp. As a result, I’m both stiff and bruised, but still, a good time was had by all. The camp was at Tallebudgera, one of the most pleasant places on the Gold Coast. We stayed at the Recreation Centre there, which has been extensively, and expensively, upgraded since last year. The 1950s bunkrooms are gone. The new ones are much brighter and airier, and include their own bathrooms as well as what appeared to be Internet ports, though I didn’t have any capacity to check on this. The other main essential has been dealt with, as the centre now has a cafe. The high point of the weekend, after some rugged training on the beach was to walk past a tree full of rainbow lorikeets – I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many so close.

Although most of the non-training time was spent sleeping, I managed to get a bit of reading done, finishing Gil Merom’s book on democracies and small wars (on which more soon), Tiffin and Gittins How Australia Compares and Stephen Bell’s The Money Mandarins

, certain to be the standard work on the Reserve Bank for years to come.

What I'm reading

The Small House at Allington

by Trollope. I’ve always found this the least satisfying of the Barsetshire novels, defying the conventions of the “happy-ending” romantic novel, but without the Romantic desperation of, say, the Brontes. When her fiancee, Adolphus Crosbie dumps her, as a result of the discovery that her expected inheritance will not be forthcoming, the heroine, Lily Dale, does not, as would be expected in a romantic novel, accept the man who truly loves her, but abandons all hope of marriage. But the introduction to the Folio edition, by Margaret Markwick, supplies the missing motivation, arguing that the real meaning of the text is that Lily had a full sexual relationship with Crosbie, regarding herself as his wife from the moment of their engagement. Hence, in line with romantic convention, she can never marry again.

Of course, Trollope couldn’t say this explicitly, or even in a generally-accepted code, but Markwick suggests that at least some of his Victorian readers would have got the point. By contrast, we expect, nowadays, to have such things spelt out for us.

What I'm reading

The Small House at Allington

by Trollope. I’ve always found this the least satisfying of the Barsetshire novels, defying the conventions of the “happy-ending” romantic novel, but without the Romantic desperation of, say, the Brontes. When her fiancee, Adolphus Crosbie dumps her, as a result of the discovery that her expected inheritance will not be forthcoming, the heroine, Lily Dale, does not, as would be expected in a romantic novel, accept the man who truly loves her, but abandons all hope of marriage. But the introduction to the Folio edition, by Margaret Markwick, supplies the missing motivation, arguing that the real meaning of the text is that Lily had a full sexual relationship with Crosbie, regarding herself as his wife from the moment of their engagement. Hence, in line with romantic convention, she can never marry again.

Of course, Trollope couldn’t say this explicitly, or even in a generally-accepted code, but Markwick suggests that at least some of his Victorian readers would have got the point. By contrast, we expect, nowadays, to have such things spelt out for us.