At Least Three Counts of Heresy

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

We met this morning at Trafalgar Square again and were instructed to look around at the various statues that stand in the square. The main monument, of course, is the enormous pillar with a statue of Admiral Nelson on it. The others were also of various Napoleonic War era military types, and one statue of George II. There was also one formerly empty space known as the Fourth Plinth, which was supposed to house a statue of William IV, but it was never built. Instead, it is the site of a rotating exhibition pieces. So, out of place amongst all the military heroes was a brightly colored Plexiglas model for a modern hotel. I’m not sure how this earned a spot on this coveted platform, because I don’t think this hotel will ever be built, and it doesn’t exactly match the aesthetic of the square.
In any case, we met by the fountain and discussed the qualifications for getting a bust or statue in the square, and then in the portrait gallery behind us. I loved the National Portrait Gallery. We began in the 16th century, and I saw many famous Tutor portraits (a beautiful one of Catherine Parr, an impressive Henry VIII, several famous portraits of Elizabeth I). I saw the famous portrait of Shakespeare, which nearly made my heart stop. I had to go back and see it twice before I left. Chad made sure that I saw the portrait of Milton, but I’ll admit that it was not the religious experience that I thought it would be, since the portrait was of him as a teenager and it didn’t have quite the same impact. In the Romantics room I saw the same portraits of Shelley, Mary Shelley, and Byron that I remember from my textbooks. The room dedicated to Charles I certainly did its job. I was truly moved by all the different depictions of the trial, execution, martyrdom of the king. Poor Charles. It reminded me of depictions of Jeanne d’Arc and all of the depictions of her story I’ve seen over the years.
I then moved on to the more modern paintings—a portrait of Queen Elizabeth II done by Andy Warhol, a couple paintings of Prince Charles, and then even some contemporary portraits of pop culture icons and sports heroes.
In trying to answer the question “Who gets to have a portrait?”, I found that the portraits basically follow the money, and show the change in power from monarchy to church to politicians to pop culture. In the Tutor era, the portraits were all of royalty or their favorite noblemen and statesmen. A little later, the circle opened to include the notable artistic and literary minds of the time. The next room had more religious figures than secular statesmen and royalty. During each age, the circle of influence seemed to shift and expand. By the time I reached modern day, there were fewer portraits of royalty and more of actors, singers, and pop icons like Twiggy, Tilda Swinton, David Bowie, and David Beckham. The styles also became more modern, making the pictures more about the artist and technique than the subject (One example was a very minimalist cartoon of the artist, but the picture was on a screen and, if you watched, the picture was breathing). I did, however, like the “portrait” that was made of spots of the “artist’s” DNA. Cheeky.

After walking so long through the museum, we got hungry. I walked around the area with Leah, Chad, and Liza trying to find food and eventually ended up at a pub called The Blue Post. The décor was standard “pub,” but the food was really good. I ordered a Jacket Potato with Vegetable Curry. Think baked potato covered in curry. It was heavenly.
Then we went back to the Arran House, and Leah, Chad, and I decided to get our rail passes and British Library cards. Getting our rail pass was easy, although I did freak out a bit when I couldn’t find my passport photos and thought that I would have to get yet another set taken. But it all worked out, and now I will be able to get on the train to Oxford!
The library cards, however, were not so easy to acquire. The building of the British Library is nothing to stare at, although it is very big. However, when I walked in and saw the King’s Library collection, I nearly passed out. It is a three-storey glass room with the book bindings facing outward. It was beautiful. It gave me such high hopes for the place. Unfortunately, the idiotic bureaucracy of the Reading Registration Office made the process far more complicated than getting a library card ever should have to be. They basically tried to deter us from getting a reading pass. In order to get a pass, you need two forms of identification, one showing proof of address and the other an example of your signature. Then they make you go to a computer and jot down examples of the types of books you would want to look at. This requires you to have at least a vague idea of what you want to research. After you find a few titles, you have to fill out an application on another set of computers. Then you are given a number, and you have to wait until your number is called so you can meet with a representative who asks you questions about why you need to use the library, for what research, how long, etc. Then, after taking your picture and reviewing all of your information, the representative is required to go over all of the rules about how to use the reading rooms, how to request books, etc., even though all of this information is posted on large posters on the walls of the waiting area, and you are pretty much forced to read them because there is nothing else to do for the fifteen or so minutes you are waiting there. Finally, after all of this nonsense, you are given your card, instructed, one more time for good measure, about the importance of keeping it with you.
Ok. I understand that is not your standard community library. It is a research library designed for serious work. But how can Britain consider this the “national” library if they don’t want people using it? Sitting in the waiting room, I saw several people get turned away from the application process because they “didn’t really need to be there.” One woman was an art student who wanted to some research, and the secretary told her that she’d be better off going to some other library. They have stacks of pamphlets and several wall posters advising people to try the “public” libraries. It shouldn’t be that hard to get access to the most extensive collection of books in the country.
Leah, Chad, and I consoled ourselves by seeing the public exhibit. Upset as we were by the bureaucratic nonsense we had just endured, this exhibit definitely made us forget our woes. We saw letters from Elizabeth I; a diary entry by Edward VI; Shakespeare’s First Folio; Jane Austen’s journal; a hand-written copy of Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles; a few pages of Da Vinci’s journal; beautiful medieval illuminated manuscripts; scores by Mozart, Handel, and Chopin written in their own hand. There were gorgeous pieces from all over the world—beautifully illustrated Buddhist texts, guilt Hindu pieces, ancient Korans. I can’t even remember how many amazing pieces I saw. I was, of course, most moved by Milton’s Commonplace Book. I nearly cried, and spent a good five minutes just staring it at it. I’d like to think it stared back at me from behind the glass. I managed to make out some of his 17th century scrawl and found it very funny. He was writing about the way French monarchs seem to be elected, and he kept moving seamlessly from English into French and vice versa. I found this amusing.
The highlight of the exhibit for me, though, even more than Milton, was seeing a Gutenberg Bible. Here, Leah and I both wept, and Chad bounced up and down like a kangaroo. I honestly can’t describe what it was like to see the most important book ever made. And it was just stuck in the middle of the “History of Printing” cabinet, between 9th-14th century examples of Eastern block printing and some other early Western works. No reverence, I tell you! Just another old book. Yes, I realize that there were things in that exhibit that were far older than the Gutenberg Bible. Yes, I realize that printing went back hundreds of years earlier in the East before it ever reached Europe. But as someone who intends to make her living off of publishing, and as someone who swoons not at the sight of Brad Pitt but at that of a room full of old books, seeing that book was basically a religious experience. Leah and I even waved goodbye to it before we left.
Oh yeah. We saw the Magna Carta, too. Take that, England. See how it feels when someone belittles documents important to you?

On the way out, we stopped at Marks & Spencer and bought pasta, sauce, and salad. The we returned to the Arran House, made and ate dinner. Which reminds me, I owe Chad money.

Later that night, Lauren, Jen, Katie, Chris, and I went to a swing dancing club in Holborn. It was different in than the Green Door in that people didn’t seem as willing to switch partners, and we were basically the awkward Americans in the corner. Also awkward because I was the only one who really knew how to dance. Some nice old men asked Katie, Jen, and Lauren to dance during the night (this is not as creepy as it sounds). At one point, I did ask some random guy to dance. At home, you strike up idle conversation, so, I told him my name, and he told me his…but that was it. He looked at me like I was weird for trying to talk. So, I basically danced with my friends the whole time, teaching them what Jeremy taught me at camp. Luckily, everyone seemed to have a good time, or at least told me that they did. I think if we go back it might be easier, especially if we bring more guys. There was a lack of males there. If we go again, maybe people will actually talk to us.
I’ve been loving my time here, but what I really want to do is meet Brits. I want to get out of this Dickinson bubble and experience the culture from an insider’s point of view. I feel like I’d feel more…here…once I start talking to Londoners. Maybe I should go out more.