I find myself in need of some measure of menial academic assistance. 2, possibly 3 positions as interns should do it. Candidates should be educated to postgraduate (though not necessarily doctoral) level in a civilised discipline, be meticulously polite and deferential, and possess whatever organizational or research skills I deem fit. I would expect a minimum fluency in at least 3 major European languages (certainly not the lesser 'dialects') and certificates of hygiene and health from bespoke medical personnel.
Applicants from good family should send me their full curriculum vitae preceded by a 50 character synopsis to allow me to decide whether or not to endure the lengthy version. Photographs are required, as I am not by temperament inclined to share my 'space' with the aesthetically challenged. References from substantive academics (3) are required.
Extreme flexibility is essential, so that successful candidates may be able to rapidly respond to my whims at any time of the day or night. Candidates should be under no illusion that their thoughts and opinions are required - they are not. Total unquestioning compliance is essential.
It seems unnecessary to point out entering my service should in itself provide sufficient reward those candidates deemed successful and, as such, no pecuniary emoluments shall be involved.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo
I am distressed, though not overly surprised, to learn that a compatriot has entered the distasteful 'blockbusters' market. I refer, of course, to one Stieg Larsson and his 'Girl with the Dragon Tattoo' trilogy.
Not only have these oeuvres acquired bestseller status at those hideous 'airport stores' but they have also been rendered into frightful movies of the most appalling character. Not even this is enough to plumb the depths of the infernal pits; apparently the movies are too Swedish and must be remade in Hollywood for a broader and far more stupid audience. With American actors, no less.
The plots, such as they are, center upon a deeply dysfunctional woman who nonetheless has formidable computing skills. Of course she has. Add a dash of pioneering 'journalists' with unnecessary sexual predilections, a sinister and shadowy State conspiracy, and diverse sundry lowlives and there you have a recipe for offensive calamity. Sprinkle with gratuitous violence and bake in a tin dish for far too long. The editors (if any) should be dispensed with forthwith and cast into outer darkness.
There are, of course, those desperate and doubtlessly well-paid reviewers who insist that Larsson brings Swedish literature in toto to a wider audience. This is disingenuous drivel. There are none of the commendably ponderous leitmotifs associated with such Art, nor any of the stupendously pedantic if not densesly rewarding detail for the robust reader with stamina. Instead these 'novels' burn in fits and starts, with lengthy spells of tedium interrupted only with inexplicable bursts of 'action'. Neither fish nor fowl, we plough through wastelands of torrid scenery with no edification whatsoever.
You may rest assured that I shall be throwing the full weight of my prestigious postion behind the backlash against these dreadful 'books'. I fully intend to make urgent complaint to my fellows in the Swedish Academy of Literature and file a motion condemning such trivial lightweight nonsense. Nothing less, I fear, will suffice.
Not only have these oeuvres acquired bestseller status at those hideous 'airport stores' but they have also been rendered into frightful movies of the most appalling character. Not even this is enough to plumb the depths of the infernal pits; apparently the movies are too Swedish and must be remade in Hollywood for a broader and far more stupid audience. With American actors, no less.
The plots, such as they are, center upon a deeply dysfunctional woman who nonetheless has formidable computing skills. Of course she has. Add a dash of pioneering 'journalists' with unnecessary sexual predilections, a sinister and shadowy State conspiracy, and diverse sundry lowlives and there you have a recipe for offensive calamity. Sprinkle with gratuitous violence and bake in a tin dish for far too long. The editors (if any) should be dispensed with forthwith and cast into outer darkness.
There are, of course, those desperate and doubtlessly well-paid reviewers who insist that Larsson brings Swedish literature in toto to a wider audience. This is disingenuous drivel. There are none of the commendably ponderous leitmotifs associated with such Art, nor any of the stupendously pedantic if not densesly rewarding detail for the robust reader with stamina. Instead these 'novels' burn in fits and starts, with lengthy spells of tedium interrupted only with inexplicable bursts of 'action'. Neither fish nor fowl, we plough through wastelands of torrid scenery with no edification whatsoever.
You may rest assured that I shall be throwing the full weight of my prestigious postion behind the backlash against these dreadful 'books'. I fully intend to make urgent complaint to my fellows in the Swedish Academy of Literature and file a motion condemning such trivial lightweight nonsense. Nothing less, I fear, will suffice.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
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