What would Jesus do?

I cycled into town with my son today and bumped into my friend and studio-mate Lynette. I haven't seen her for ages because, having been frozen out during the recent cold spell, I have been at home working on the revisions to the novel. I promised her I would be in next week and we'd grab a coffee and catch up.

There was an extraordinary piece in the Guardian magazine this weekend in which American Christians explained how they squared their belief in a man who said 'Turn the other cheek' and 'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone' with their desire to summarily execute anyone who crossed them.

Why is it that so many Christians seem to be obsessed with an Old Testament desire to smite their enemies? Lighten up. Why follow a philosophy of peace and then look for loopholes? There was someone interviewed who was far more interested in the fact that Simon Peter cut off the ear of the high priest's servant when Jesus was arrested, than he was in the more important fact that Jesus did not resist at all. Who are they following: Peter or Jesus? Who exemplifies the Christian ethos in that story? Peter or Jesus? It's like saying you are a vegetarian - and eating meat anyway because you like the taste and anyway, who the hell's gonna stop you.

There was that craze for stickers saying 'What would Jesus do?' a while back. Well I think we can safely assume he wouldn't be driving a 4X4 with a Colt .45 in the glove compartment. In fact we know what Jesus did do in the Garden of Gesthemene - if we can use the word 'know' at all - he told Peter to put his sword away. He was a man of peace.

To cap it all, these people are often described as 'fundamentalists'. Wouldn't a 'fundamentalist' Christian - someone who followed the fundamentals of Christ's teachings - be someone who owned very little, did no one any harm, wished no one ill and tried as best they could to help their fellow man, regardless of sex, colour, creed or political belief?

Or am I missing something?

One last tinker

I finally got the revisions to the ms of my new novel for Bloomsbury finished and sent off. There is always a feeling of relief tied to a desire to just have one more look and one last tinker. . .

But I promised I would have it back by the end of the month and I am always pleased to hit a deadline.

So what is it about, this novel? Well, as I have already said, it is set in the Victorian period and is about a boy called Michael Vyner who is orphaned and becomes the ward of a rich man - Sir Stephen Clarendon - whose life his father saved (at the expense of his own). The book follows Michael's visit at Christmas to his guardian's moated manor house in the fens - a grim and mysterious house called Hawton Mere.

Now I have a few moments to relax and then I have to get on and check the proofs of Tales from the Tunnel's Mouth. I saw the cover David has done when I saw Sarah Odedina the other day and it looks great - his best Tales of Terror cover yet, I think.

And I got an email from Ian Lamb telling about another award shortlisting for Uncle Montague's Tales of Terror. But more about that next week. . .

Paint it black

I went out for a drink with John last night. While we were waiting for our friend Malcolm Harding to arrive we managed to have a twenty minute conversation about the use of black in paintings. I hate to think what we sounded like to anyone else but I love talking about art. In fact there are few things I'd rather talk about.

A couple of posts back I was saying how art college squashed my admiration for the Pre-Raphaelites, but it wasn't a one way process. I think I made it sound quite negative, and that isn't how I think of it at all. In fact I think I am from a generation who came out of art college still believing in art; still trusting it.

It also opened my eyes and mind to lots of things I had previously not encountered or ignored. That process also opened my mind to other things - literature, politics, music. A valve was opened that has never been shut off and for that I am extraordinarily grateful. Thank you Manchester Polytechnic School of Art and Design (even if you have changed your name to the ridiculous Manchester Metropolitan University)

I have art college to thank for everything good in my life.

A pain in the neck

I sat down at my desk yesterday and my neck seized up and it became increasingly painful to do any of the looking up blankly into space that I normally do. I have been getting a lot of pains recently - in my left shoulder and in my elbow. It is either to do with the a) unsuitable seat I sit in, b) the fact that I am horribly old and worn out, c) that I am unusually stressed at the moment. Or all of the above.

But the show must go on. Being a professional writer/illustrator/cartoonist or whatever is obviously defined by getting paid for the work - but another big part of it is that you do it whether you feel like it or not. There is no mileage in throwing a sickie when you are self-employed.

My neck works a little better today after some exercise and ibuprofen. My friend Tom Pitchford - librarian from Hitchin Boys School - sent me a link I'm going to share with you. It is for a designer called M S Corley who has redesigned the Harry Potter covers in the style of old Penguins.

Take a look - they are very nicely done. The Lemony Snickets are good too.

Victorians

I'm enjoying Jeremy Paxman's series about the Victorians on the BBC. I have a bit of a soft spot for Paxman, but his style doesn't quite work here. He is fine when he is talking to camera or narrating, but his meetings with ordinary people are a bit strained. I don't get the impression he gets out much.

But the notion of looking at Victorian society through painting is a good one. Some of the art is execrable of course - and only interesting because of what it tells us about that world. But let's face it - much of contemporary art is execrable too, and tells us nothing except how much some people are willing to pay for so little.

My main art teacher at school was the infuriatingly moody Joe Taylor, who nonetheless was also funny and clever and passionate about art. He had a particular passion for the Pre-Raphaelites and I remember being very excited about the fantastic collection of Pre-Raphaelite paintings at the Manchester City Art Gallery. That was, until art college had taught me to be embarrassed by it.

Follow the link to the Pre-Raphaelite collection and take a look. It has Holman Hunt's Light of the World which used to grace the walls of many a Victorian nursery - and presumabley gave the creeps to many a Victorian child!

But Manchester is a Victorian city, full of Victorian treasures. Every Christmas, boards would be taken down at the art school in All Saints to reveal a magnificent Edward Burne-Jones tapestry (made by Morris & Co) of the Adoration of the Magi. It was hidden, I was told at the time, because it was too expensive to insure all year round. I don't know whether that was true - but it certainly added to the magic that it was hidden for most of the year.

Gog Magogs

We decided to have a day off from homework and novel-writing and went up to the Gog Magog hills to the south of Cambridge - to Wandlebury rings - the remains of a bronze age hill fort. It was teeming with people today, but that still couldn't extinguish the magic of the place. We have still yet to see the lesser spotted woodpeckers they claim to have there, but that might be to do with the fact that my son does tend to make a lot of noise crashing through the undergrowth and stick fighting with his father.

Pink and purple and read all over

The Japanese edition of Uncle Montague's Tales of Terror turned up today, courtesy of Rironsha. It looks great. The cover has a pink tint to it, but opens onto purple endpapers and then a bright red title page. I like it a lot.

And pint-sized pub singer Duffy has had great success at the Brit Awards. The Guardian tells me that she has been compared to Dusty Springfield. Hmmm. Yes - that surprised me, too. But on closer inspection, their names are almost identical. Duffy. Dusty. Uncanny, really.

They certainly couldn't have meant vocally. Dusty Springfield had a voice that is rich and accomplished and yet also heart-breakingly fragile.

While Duffy has a voice that sounds like a bluebottle trapped under a glass.