Golem in Translation

Macedonian Edda

I received an early Christmas present this year.  My kids’ book came out in Macedonian a month ago and I received my three copies in the mail from the publisher, Vermilion Books .  They did an excellent job on the cover, putting Edda’s favourite painting on it: Una and the Lion, by William Scott Bell.  For those of you not in the know, Edda is the main character in How to Make a Golem (and Terrify People) and she’s a budding young artist.  At least she would be, if she could get over her fears.

I have to say it’s pretty darn exciting to see my words translated not only into a different language, but into an entirely different script.  Macedonian uses a version of Cyrillic.  To hear what it sounds like, check out this video of a reading of Macedonian Golem:

Thank you Vermilion for choosing to translate my book!

Being 11th is Good Enough

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The story of not being enough runs through our society, from individuals up through the organisations we create then back down onto people again in a perpetually reinforcing circle.

The organisation I am embedded in right now is the University of Edinburgh. This university came 11th in the Times Higher Learning World University Rankings 2012-2013 for Arts and Humanities, which is something to be immensely proud of, something to celebrate.  But the buzz of winning soon fades even for organisations.  Now the university is starting to crave another hit, something bigger and better.

This morning one of the higher-ups came to give us a pep talk. Of course she referred to our achievement of ranking #11, but she also suggested we aim our efforts higher. No one challenged her assessment.  If you’re number 11, the obvious next chapter is to compete your way into the top 10.  No one stops to ponder whether being 11th out of 100s of institutions across the whole wide world might just be good enough.

I did my my PhD on the other side of the Atlantic at a university equally obsessed with rankings, in its case the Macleans University rankings for Canada.  Carleton University is not even in the top 200 in the world.  If it suddenly found itself 11th, its higher-ups would think they’d hit the jackpot.  So why does Edinburgh feel that 11th is not enough?  Because it’s caught in the same story each of us is caught in, the story of scarcity.

In a university, people are the “natural resources”, so when a university wants to ramp up production, its staff are the ones that get mined.  We are the ones that ultimately are not enough, not doing enough, not producing enough, not teaching well enough.

But the rank-climbing plotline is not the only possible story to tell.  The university could aim to maintain its position while making improvements elsewhere such as in job satisfaction, or staff work—life balance, or reducing its carbon footprint, or…you get the picture.

I left the pep talk feeling more drained and exhausted than I had on arriving.  But  my experience this morning was not unique in any way.  In fact, I want to suggest exactly the opposite.  The story of scarcity dominates every sector from the knowledge economy to the service economy to the natural resource economy.  To tell a story of being enough in the face of this global myth of scarcity is to engage in some seriously radical storytelling.

House-warming: An Experiment in Living with Less

PIctures from home

I moved to Edinburgh from Canada five year ago with my husband and my dog.  We traveled light when we came here, bringing only what we could take on the plane for free: which back then was 2 checked bags and a carry on.  The month before our move was taken up by sorting through everything we’d accumulated, selling some, giving some away and putting everything we thought we might need again into storage.

There have been a few things we’ve come to miss, some of which we’ve fetched back to Edinburgh after trips home.  But there’s more, much more, that we’ve forgotten about, that we no longer need and that we’ve now given away. The pile in storage shrinks with each visit.

A year ago, almost to the day, we put down roots in Edinburgh, buying a flat here.  Once they’d reconciled themselves to the fact that we were going to be in Scotland for a while, my parents started talking about buying us a new lazy-boy love-seat, the same gift they’d given us as a wedding present.

Houses are built on a different scale here.  Our 1930s housing has a tiny front door, a narrow entrance stairway and a sharp 90 degree turn into the flat itself.  No way of getting a monstrous piece of furniture designed for a North American house in here.

But they still insisted on getting us something.  We didn’t need anything new.  But there were a few things back home we did actually miss, things too big to fit in a suitcase.  Our house-warming present arrived from Canada a few weeks ago: the artwork that used to hang on the walls of our place in Ottawa.  The diving loon poster I bought as a teenager from the Canadian Wildlife Federation (http://www.cwf-fcf.org) and got framed as an adult.  Our wedding photos, which are mostly of Japhur (our dog).  The elephant painting we bought off an art student going door to door to raise money for a trip abroad.

Art matters. It houses our memories.