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Lyra's Oxford
Oct. 18th, 2005 11:19 pmI've had such a good night. Despite it being the least-well-publicised event in the history of the university, I met Philip Pullman! Eee!
Sigh. Such fun. I had a not-so-good day mostly spent feeling guilty for not doing my Logic - more on that later, once I've, um, done my Logic - and at half six went into hall with the others but didn't anything. In the end I ran out of college all in a flurry, looking rather vampish in my big silly duffel coat, and ran into![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kuteki in the lodge at Exeter. It's only natural that they were doing this at Exeter, as it's not only Philip Pullman's own college but also the one that is Jordan College in the universe of Northern Lights. Actually, Jordan is sort of Exeter and Lincoln combined. I was pleased to discover that Balliol does exist in Lyra's world, but rather stripped of its importance.
Anyway, I arrived in the lodge only to find the man himself standing about looking lost - I didn't recognise him! - and finally we all trooped out to the room they were holding it in. It was organised by OWLs, the Oxford Writing and Literary Society, and they'd got us a small, cosy upstairs room full of squishy armchairs and cushions and sofas. We were on trust not to spill any red wine for fear of never being allowed back. "We" was only about twenty people, because of the lack of advertisement - I only knew about this throughkuteki - and we were just getting curled up and ready when I remembered to run down to the lodge to retreive jacinthsong and withiel, and I got back they were all ready to begin.
He didn't give a lecture or a talk, per se. It was more like a prolonged question and answer session, with his going off on tangents and digressions whenever he wanted to. He talked about the process of writing, and how he read English for three years at Oxford and then the day after sitting his exams in Exam Schools (where I have all my lectures) in full sub fusc, he started to write novels. In between serious commentary on writing and how to do it, he told all kinds of random anecdotes - one of my favourites was a story about meeting Tolkien when an undergrad at Exeter. Apparently there were three of them, Philip Pullman, two friends, and Tolkien, who was an austere professor type who asked them first about how they were teaching Anglo-Saxon these days, and then how they enjoyed Lord of the Rings. At which point one of the friends confessed, "I've never read it," and it all went downhill from there.
He also told a story about a letter he received before The Amber Spyglass was published, with a picture of a cute and fluffy squirrel. "Finish the book," said the letter, "or the squirrel gets it."
All in all, it was lots of fun and very interesting. Someone asked the obvious question - what would his daemon be? To which he said it would be some sort of bird, the kind that steal shiny things, and then he pointed out one of the illustrations in Lyra's Oxford. Which is of a raven. It made me squee a bit. If anyone's interested, and I don't see why they would be, I still think my own daemon would be a raven, or possibly a big crow. I have my reasons.* Tell me about your daemons, go on. Give me your reasons.
There was also the inevitable discussion about the religious aspect of the trilogy, and I love that, I really do. I was never fond of the Narnia Chronicles, even when I was younger, because even when fairly young I could see the allegory. And if I liked the stories before, the presence of the allegory tainted them for me ever after. His Dark Materials is probably the only sequence of books written for children that celebrates atheism as a real philosophy, as a way of life, that it's okay not to believe in that sort of thing. And it celebrates all sorts of other things - people, for one thing, and the resilience and strength of ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. And the angels revenge their lovers and in the end they make the world anew, and there's one bit that I always like, near the end of the last book. I think it's one of the angels speaking, and he says something like: "We have to build the republic of heaven where we are, because for us there is no elsewhere." I love that; I love the resonance of it, how it opens up a world of possibilities. Talking of possibilities, he talked a bit about the book he's writing at the moment. It's called The Book of Dust, and shows us Lyra in her own Oxford, aged about sixteen. I can't wait.
In short, it was a wonderful evening, and at the end a girl put her hand up shyly and asked if he would sign her book. I'd been too afraid to ask. But he signed all the books that people had brought with them - there were only about five - and now my copy of Northern Lights is signed, squee.jacinthsong got him to sign her diary. Her name is Laura. At this point I asked him if he had ever met a real-life Lyra, and in answering me he absent-mindedly inscribed Laura's diary to Lyra. I think that's cool.
And just when we were all in a state of squee, someone came up from downstairs. They'd been having an important meeting in the college, something about the London Business School and the editor of the Economist (who, having heard that Philip Pullman was upstairs talking to students, wanted to defect), and there was food left over. If we didn't go and eat it, they'd have to throw it away. Student life is all about taking advantage of opportunities such as this. So we ate it happily (I hadn't had any dinner) and then I walked dreamily home down Turl Street and across the Broad. Such a lovely night. Probably to make up for how horrible tomorrow will no doubt be.
*Not to break up the flow of the entry, but I do have my reasons. Ravens and crows are intelligent birds, but they're not beautiful or graceful. In fact, they're bright and socially inept. And they're stubborn. I'm re-reading Northern Lights, so tell me about your daemons!
Sigh. Such fun. I had a not-so-good day mostly spent feeling guilty for not doing my Logic - more on that later, once I've, um, done my Logic - and at half six went into hall with the others but didn't anything. In the end I ran out of college all in a flurry, looking rather vampish in my big silly duffel coat, and ran into
kuteki in the lodge at Exeter. It's only natural that they were doing this at Exeter, as it's not only Philip Pullman's own college but also the one that is Jordan College in the universe of Northern Lights. Actually, Jordan is sort of Exeter and Lincoln combined. I was pleased to discover that Balliol does exist in Lyra's world, but rather stripped of its importance.Anyway, I arrived in the lodge only to find the man himself standing about looking lost - I didn't recognise him! - and finally we all trooped out to the room they were holding it in. It was organised by OWLs, the Oxford Writing and Literary Society, and they'd got us a small, cosy upstairs room full of squishy armchairs and cushions and sofas. We were on trust not to spill any red wine for fear of never being allowed back. "We" was only about twenty people, because of the lack of advertisement - I only knew about this through
kuteki - and we were just getting curled up and ready when I remembered to run down to the lodge to retreive jacinthsong and withiel, and I got back they were all ready to begin.He didn't give a lecture or a talk, per se. It was more like a prolonged question and answer session, with his going off on tangents and digressions whenever he wanted to. He talked about the process of writing, and how he read English for three years at Oxford and then the day after sitting his exams in Exam Schools (where I have all my lectures) in full sub fusc, he started to write novels. In between serious commentary on writing and how to do it, he told all kinds of random anecdotes - one of my favourites was a story about meeting Tolkien when an undergrad at Exeter. Apparently there were three of them, Philip Pullman, two friends, and Tolkien, who was an austere professor type who asked them first about how they were teaching Anglo-Saxon these days, and then how they enjoyed Lord of the Rings. At which point one of the friends confessed, "I've never read it," and it all went downhill from there.
He also told a story about a letter he received before The Amber Spyglass was published, with a picture of a cute and fluffy squirrel. "Finish the book," said the letter, "or the squirrel gets it."
All in all, it was lots of fun and very interesting. Someone asked the obvious question - what would his daemon be? To which he said it would be some sort of bird, the kind that steal shiny things, and then he pointed out one of the illustrations in Lyra's Oxford. Which is of a raven. It made me squee a bit. If anyone's interested, and I don't see why they would be, I still think my own daemon would be a raven, or possibly a big crow. I have my reasons.* Tell me about your daemons, go on. Give me your reasons.
There was also the inevitable discussion about the religious aspect of the trilogy, and I love that, I really do. I was never fond of the Narnia Chronicles, even when I was younger, because even when fairly young I could see the allegory. And if I liked the stories before, the presence of the allegory tainted them for me ever after. His Dark Materials is probably the only sequence of books written for children that celebrates atheism as a real philosophy, as a way of life, that it's okay not to believe in that sort of thing. And it celebrates all sorts of other things - people, for one thing, and the resilience and strength of ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. And the angels revenge their lovers and in the end they make the world anew, and there's one bit that I always like, near the end of the last book. I think it's one of the angels speaking, and he says something like: "We have to build the republic of heaven where we are, because for us there is no elsewhere." I love that; I love the resonance of it, how it opens up a world of possibilities. Talking of possibilities, he talked a bit about the book he's writing at the moment. It's called The Book of Dust, and shows us Lyra in her own Oxford, aged about sixteen. I can't wait.
In short, it was a wonderful evening, and at the end a girl put her hand up shyly and asked if he would sign her book. I'd been too afraid to ask. But he signed all the books that people had brought with them - there were only about five - and now my copy of Northern Lights is signed, squee.
jacinthsong got him to sign her diary. Her name is Laura. At this point I asked him if he had ever met a real-life Lyra, and in answering me he absent-mindedly inscribed Laura's diary to Lyra. I think that's cool. And just when we were all in a state of squee, someone came up from downstairs. They'd been having an important meeting in the college, something about the London Business School and the editor of the Economist (who, having heard that Philip Pullman was upstairs talking to students, wanted to defect), and there was food left over. If we didn't go and eat it, they'd have to throw it away. Student life is all about taking advantage of opportunities such as this. So we ate it happily (I hadn't had any dinner) and then I walked dreamily home down Turl Street and across the Broad. Such a lovely night. Probably to make up for how horrible tomorrow will no doubt be.
*Not to break up the flow of the entry, but I do have my reasons. Ravens and crows are intelligent birds, but they're not beautiful or graceful. In fact, they're bright and socially inept. And they're stubborn. I'm re-reading Northern Lights, so tell me about your daemons!
