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August Forward
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Tuesday 5
September
Those nice people from the Gay Page Awards have done it again! They have voted this site as the Season's Page for Summer 2000. When they gave me the Page of the Month award, I said that I was highly chuffed. This time, I can only say what the kids say these days: Wooooooohooooooo!!!
A new reader asked me a question which I have tried to avoid until now: If times were different, say you were 20yrs younger in todays climate, would you have gotten married?Well for a start, can we make that 20 into a 40, please? Twenty years ago I was already married, with two children. If I was 40 years younger then I would still be a teenager (just), and I would be growing up in very different world from the one that I knew. In many ways, it's a much better world. There is much more understanding of homosexuality. When I was a teenager, we were told that it was just a phase that some boys went through. It was assumed that we would grow out of it and become "normal". There were virtually no role models for gay young people to follow, and any form of homosexual activity was a criminal offence in Britain. I knew from about the age of 12 that I was attracted to boys rather than girls, but I didn't have any kind of framework in which to understand what that meant, so I never really gave any thought to the possibility of finding a male partner. Another big change is that, in some circles at any rate, there is much more tolerance towards gay people. I know that there is still far too much prejudice and hatred, but the young people that I know all have a very relaxed and accepting attitude towards their gay friends. Even for kids growing up in that sort of environment, it can't be easy to come out as gay; but it is something that I could imagine myself doing, whereas 40 years ago that certainly wasn't the case. When I think about my young online friends like Bryan, Tim, Corey and Scott, and the happiness that they have found with their boyfriends and husbands, I have to admit to a twinge of jealousy that I didn't have the opportunity for relationships like theirs. So would I have still got married, in today's climate? I said that I have avoided facing this question until now. The reason for that is that if I say "No, I think I would have looked for a gay partner", then it makes it seem as though I regret having married Mary. And the fact is that I don't regret it. After nearly 35 years of marriage, we have a very contented relationship, we enjoy each other's company, we hardly ever argue, and we look forward to supporting and comforting each other into our old age. There are not so very many couples, gay or straight, who can say that. Also, of course, we have two children that we are very proud of, and a cute little grandson. I think that I would be lucky, even in today's climate, to find a gay relationship that worked out so well. I think the bottom line is that sex, and sexuality, are not as important to me as they are to most people. That may seem a strange thing to say, given that I identify very strongly as gay (as this whole website indicates). But when it comes to finding a partner to go through life with, companionship and friendship are far more important to me than a sexual relationship. The only answer I can give to Simon's question is that if I was young and looking for a partner, in today's climate, I would hope to find someone as compatible with me as Mary is. And if they happened to be male, that would just be an added bonus.
I have updated my books page by adding links to all the books that I have mentioned in the journal. That reminds me that I promised last month to say something about the novel that I read while we were staying with Steve and Jo in July. I have noticed it on the reading list of some other journallers, and I would be interested to know if their reactions to it were as mixed as mine. I bought In Awe, by Scott Heim, about a year ago, having seen some enthusiastic reviews of it, and I put it at the bottom of a stack of books waiting to be read. By the time we set off for Spain in July, it had worked its way up to the top of the pile. I enjoyed reading it, though I have to say it's not your typical light holiday reading. It is a dark, sombre story, full of images of decay and destruction. It follows the lives of three damaged people, Boris, Sarah and Harriet, brought together in mourning for Harriet's son Marshall (who has died from Aids before the story begins), and united by the rejection and hostility that they face as unconventional individuals in a conservative midwestern town (Lawrence, Kansas). There are many strands to the plot, but the central story concerns 16 year old Boris's infatuation with Rex, a senior year boy in his high school who belongs to a gang of homophobic louts. Scott Heim conveys very well the anguish of Boris's hopeless love for Rex. One thing I liked about this book is that although one of the central characters is gay, this is not "just" a gay novel. A large part of it is concerned with the relationship between Boris and the rampantly heterosexual Sarah. There is also plenty of interest in the numerous subplots, and the story moves inexorably towards a grim climax. But there were several things that I found unsatisfactory about this book. For a start, Scott Heim's style is too florid for my taste. I can take an occasional sentence like It is dusk, clear at last of rain, and the horizon seeps a blood wound from the sun's scarlet bullet.But 300 pages of that sort of writing is enough to give me severe literary indigestion. Another criticism I have is that the voices of the three main characters are not distinct enough. Sections of the book are supposedly written by Boris, Sarah and Harriet. But they all write in pretty much the same overblown style as Heim, and you don't get a clear enough impression of three different personalities. The main complaint that I have with the book is one that is shared by several of the people who have reviewed it for Amazon. This is that the plot becomes less and less realistic as the book goes on. By the time we reach the melodramatic climax, the story is not just unconvincing but totally unbelievable. It becomes obvious that the author is manipulating the plot for his literary convenience without any attempt to make the story plausible. So I can't recommend this book unreservedly. But I liked it well enough to go out and buy Scott Heim's previous novel, Mysterious Skin. When this reaches the top of my pile of unread books, I'll hope to find it as gripping as In Awe, and a bit more believable. According to Amazon, In Awe is currently out of print. But, as usual, you will do better to go to Amazon UK, where the British edition is still available.
One of the benefits of living in Leeds is that once every three years the Leeds International Piano Competition takes place. The early rounds of the competition are held in the University, and I always take some time off to sit in on a few of the sessions. The first round of this year's competition was last week, and I was too busy to go to hear any of it. But this week is less busy, and I hope to go to two or three sessions of the second round of the competition. I went to the morning session today, and heard three competitors each give a 50 minute recital. One of them was a 15 year old Russian boy, Ilia Rashkovsky, a phenomenally gifted young pianist. I suspect that his name will be as well known as Rachmaninov or Horowitz one of these days. It's amazing how Russia continues to produce streams of prodigiously gifted pianists, chess players and mathematicians. They are such a talented people, and yet their country is in such a mess. The final of the piano competition (where each of the six finalists is the soloist in a piano concerto) takes place on Friday and Saturday of next week and is a major event, covered live by BBC Radio 3, but the early rounds are very poorly attended. There were probably only 50 people in the audience this morning, most of them elderly women. Even among the minority of people who like classical music, piano enthusiasts are a small minority. But then that's a situation I am well used to. Name any group that I belong to, and you'll find that I am in a minority of a minority of a minority within it. Tom has been mentioning in recent entries that as a sports-loving gay man who identifies himself as a bear, he is in a minority among minorities. But I believe that as a left-handed married gay mathematician who likes classical piano music, I am almost surely in a worldwide minority of one. Or is there a fellow spirit out there somewhere? No wonder I call myself lobo solo.
Mary has been saying that I need a holiday. No, seriously, I mean it. You might get the impression from this journal that I spend more time abroad than at home, but the way she sees it we have not had a proper holiday together this year. She doesn't count the visits that we made to London, Copenhagen or Barcelona because they were business trips for me. She doesn't count the week in Scotland, of course, because she didn't come with me for that. The two trips to Málaga to see Steve, Jo and Tom don't count because we were just visiting family. That still leaves the holiday in the Canaries in January to be explained away. But that was so long ago that she has forgotten it. So, she says, we need to go away for a few days. Who am I to argue? There are still two weeks to go before the University term starts, and this is as good a time as any to take a short break. Mary wanted to spend a few days in Amsterdam, and we shall be going there tomorrow. It really will be only a short break -- we arrive on Sunday morning and leave on Wednesday afternoon. But I am looking forward to seeing Amsterdam. Neither of us has been there before. In fact, we have never been in the Netherlands at all, except for stopovers at Schiphol airport. It is the only country in the European Union that I have never visited, until now. There is just one hitch. Amsterdam is famous as the gay capital of Europe, and it doesn't look as though I shall get to see much of that side of it. I mean, I know that I ought to take a more serious interest in the cultural attractions of the city, and I'm sure that I shall enjoy seeing the paintings in the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh Museum, but it will be frustrating not to be able to see a bit of the city's gay nightlife. Mind you, I'd need to be about 30 years younger to make the most of the nightlife. So maybe for once I should reconcile myself to the reality of being a sedate middle-aged tourist. I'll let you know how that works out.
We enjoyed our brief visit to Amsterdam, which was having a few days of fine late summer weather with temperatures in the mid 70s. In the mornings, we did what tourists should do, and visited the art museums. The Rijksmuseum was packed to the doors with people, so that we could scarcely get to see the paintings. It turned out that we were visiting it on the final day of a special summer exhibition "Glories of the Golden Age", for which their usual collection of Rembrandts, Vermeers and Halses was augmented with loans from many other museums. Some of the paintings were spectacular, but after half an hour struggling to get through the crowds, Mary was exhausted and had to go back to the hotel to rest. The Van Gogh museum, next door, was very different. The paintings were set out in large galleries with a tranquil atmosphere, and there were wheel chairs available for disabled visitors. I pushed Mary round in one of these, and we were both very impressed with this collection. One of the main attractions of Amsterdam is the canal buses. We got day tickets for these little motorboats which chug around the canals and provide a very good way to see the city. Our hotel was in a quiet back street near the Leidseplein, a pedestrian square lined with cafes and surrounded by streets which consist entirely of restaurants from all over the world. You can eat at Argentinean steakhouses, Mexican cantinas, Zorba's Greek restaurant, Japanese sushi places, and dozens of Indian, Italian, Chinese and Thai restaurants. We were told that the best places to eat are the many Indonesian restaurants (dating back to the times when Indonesia was the Dutch East Indies). We went to one of these for dinner on our first evening, and I had an excellent rijsttafel, a plate of rice surrounded by a whole assortment of spicy meats and vegetables. On the second evening we went to a Thai restaurant and on the final evening we tried the Yakitori Japanese restaurant. Neither of us had ever eaten Japanese food before, so it was an interesting experience. But I didn't altogether like the sushi dish that I ordered.
Apart from that, I have to say that I was disappointed with the gay side of Amsterdam. It's probably very different at night, when the clubs get going. But in the afternoon, the only activity in the gay areas is frankly sleazy, consisting of porno cinemas and rent boys. I sampled the cinemas, of course, but after my experience in Barcelona a couple of months ago, I was careful to avoid giving any encouragement to the rent boys there. Overall verdict: Amsterdam is a great place to for a few days' quiet enjoyment of a civilised, attractive and cultured city. But if you want to know what makes it the "gay capital of Europe", I really can't tell you, because I have the feeling that I completely missed out on that side of it.
Monday 25 September His future in my hands?
To take the last question first, I most definitely like to feel in control of every situation. To put it simply, if I am in a car then I always want to be the driver rather than a passenger. I think there are two different sorts of power: control over one's circumstances, and control over other people. I certainly try to organise my life so as to be in control of my circumstances, but when it comes to dealings with other people I am only comfortable with situations where there is an equal relationship. I strongly dislike being in a position of power over someone else, and I am equally unhappy if anyone else tries to exercise power over me. When I was thinking about these questions during the past few days, one incident kept coming back to me. I think of it as both the most powerful and the most powerless situation that I have been in. Some time during the 1970s, when I spent a sabbatical year at the University of Pennsylvania, I taught one of their standard math courses, Calculus 241 or something like that. It was a large class and I did not get to know many of the students by name. But there was one particularly good looking boy called David in that class, and he always caught my eye. After the final exam, I had to give grades for the class. These days, after many years of grade inflation, most students reckon to get an A or a B for their courses, but back in those days things were tougher. I think that I graded the course reasonably generously, but some of the students had done really poorly in the exam and I had to give a fair number of Cs and even a few Ds. I was disappointed that the delightful David ended up among the Cs. On the day that the results were posted, David came to see me in my office. He looked shaken, and was obviously shocked to have got such a low grade. He told me that he had been close to a straight A student until this course. He wanted to know why he had done so badly, and he asked me to go through his paper to show him where he had gone wrong. I agreed to do so, but this was probably not a good thing to do, because when he saw how many serious mistakes he had made on the paper it made him feel even worse. He pleaded with me to raise the grade. I explained to him as gently as I could that it would be unfair to the other students to award him a grade that had clearly not been earned. As I talked to him, I remembered an incident that happened to the eminent mathematician Irving Kaplansky, in the days when he was a junior professor at the University of Chicago. This would have been back in the 1950s, when he was teaching a low level calculus course there. In his class there was a very attractive but idle girl who came to see him a few days before the final exam. She was struggling to understand the course, having neglected to study for most of the semester, and Kaplansky did his best to help her. As she got up to leave, she smiled coyly at him and said "Gee, Professor Kaplansky, I'd do ... anything ... to get a good grade for this course." Kaplansky smiled at her. "You mean ... anything?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Anything, Professor Kaplansky." Kaplansky looked at her and considered the situation. "We-e-lll," he said eventually, "How about ... work?" A big tear ran down the delectable David's cheek and splashed onto his knee. He said in a shaky voice that a B in Calculus 241 was a requirement for admission to the Wharton Business School. He had set his heart on this, and a C in my course meant that his hopes would be dashed. I would have liked nothing better than to put my arm around him to comfort him, and use the power that I had to raise his grade as he wanted. But I knew that if I was going to be able to live with myself, I had to retain my professional integrity. Like Irving Kaplansky, I had to resist the temptation to take advantage of this position of power. On the face of it, I had the power to determine this boy's whole future. But in practice, I felt totally powerless to be able to do anything to help him. I had to tell him that the C had to stand. Do I like being in a situation where I have that sort of power over another person? Absolutely not. I lost a lot of sleep over that decision, and I worried for a long time that maybe I had been too harsh in grading that course. Looking back on it now, I like to think that maybe I saved David from a life of servitude to some soulless multinational corporation, and liberated him to pursue some more fulfilling career. Of course, I never saw him again. I would love to know what happened to him.
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Only
in the Netherlands will you find a display of cannabis flavoured chocolate
by the supermarket checkout. Of course, we had to buy several bars of it,
some to sample for ourselves and some to take home to friends. In fact,
I don't believe that it contains any psychoactive substances. The list
of ingredients includes nothing more exotic than "roasted hemp seeds".
In
the afternoons Mary needed to go to the hotel to rest, and I was free to
explore Gay Amsterdam. To start with the more positive side, it was really
nice to be in a city where you could see young gay couples walking round
hand in hand without anyone bothering them (and not just in the gay areas,
as in Manchester, but throughout the city). One of the first things I did
was to visit the