psychic origins…

Tuesday, June 1st, 2010
twisted trunk...

twisted trunk...

Been somewhat busy of late engaging with a massive restructuring of my garden – involving the moving of many tonnes of earth and the building (by stone masons) of some rather lovely retaining walls of local stone… but that’s for a future blog – when I shall attempt to express my delight in natural materials and the skill and craft of human hands…

Now I would like to share what I believe about an aspect of the origins of the individual psyche… This goes to the roots of what I understand about my own psyche.

It could be the case that a psyche is like soup – to which experience is added as ingredients that constantly change its flavour. By this reckoning, it should be possible, by adding a little pinch of this, a little pinch of that, to sweeten the soup if it is to bitter; to add a dash of bitterness if it is too sickly – and thus to transform the psyche to a perfect balance…

Alas, my experience of therapy suggests to me that this is not possible. Instead it seems to me that the psyche is like a seedling that grows into a tree. At any point in its life, the form this tree takes is the sum of all its experiences: the sunlight of love that has fallen on it, the nurture that it has been able to draw up through its roots from the soil in which its seed fell, the storms it has endured. But it is clearly the case that the further back to the seed we go, the more fundamental are the influences on its future form. In its adult form, the psychic tree will need a gale to tear off one of its branches. By contrast, as a seedling, a glancing blow might be enough to take that branch off in its embryonic form…

No form of healing can hope to replace a branch lost in ’seedlinghood’. What therapy can do is to bring awareness of how small that injury was – though it came to have such massive and lasting consequence – and thus a psyche can come to understand, accept and value the shape it has, without regret, as the natural consequence of its life experiences…

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TV live interview/ entrevista viva…

Friday, May 14th, 2010

live interview in Portuguese, Feira do Livro, Lisboa © RTP 2010...

Aqui, com a permissão de RTP, está a entrevista viva que eu fiz da Feira do Livro em Lisboa… Os limites do meu português são bem demonstrados *sorriso*

Here is an interview I did live for Portuguese TV (shown here with the kind permission of RTP) from the Lisbon Book Fair. It is in Portuguese – so it may not be of much use to those of you who are non-Portuguese speakers, however it does show me in motion – and proves, if proof be needed, that I am in fact a real, live person and not a puppet as has been rumoured… *grin*

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a review by Caroline Mullan…

Monday, January 25th, 2010

Eastercon 2007 - Caroline (centre)

Eastercon 2007 - Caroline (centre)

A friend of mine, Caroline Mullan, emailed me a review of the Stone Dance and though I might have wished that she’d enjoyed the books more, I liked it enough to ask her if she would mind me putting it up on my site – and she was kind enough to agree…

(I have appended an extract from my email reply to Caroline as a comment on this post…)

The Stone Dance of the Chameleon – Ricardo Pinto (1999, 2004, 2009) – a review by Caroline Mullan

This is a very long trilogy, each volume of which has over 700 pages.

The first volume, The Chosen, was published in 1999, and my partner read it and was impressed (My partner is not often impressed). The second, The Standing Dead, came out in 2004, and I bought copies of the first two in paperback so that I would have the trilogy to read when the final volume appeared. The last, The Third God, was launched at Eastercon last year, by Ricardo in person, and we have the hardback Ricardo inscribed. So, I have read all three volumes back-to-back and feel entitled to an opinion.

I, too, am impressed. But I wish I liked them better.

We first meet our hero Carnelian aged 15, secure among his family in his childhood home, greeting unexpected visitors. With breathtaking speed his home is dismantled round him, and he embarks on the two thousand page journey across his world that will take him to adulthood, and bring him to full knowledge of good and evil. He travels as a child, initially, subservient to powerful others. Later he makes his own decisions and choices. Throughout, his acts arise from ignorance and hope, and are undertaken without knowledge or understanding of possible consequences. His journey has disastrous consequences for his world. (I think this is quite rare: Stephen King’s The Stand might come close, but even in fantasy few authors grant their protagonists such powerful destructive agency.) Carnelian’s journey and his world’s catastrophe proceed inexorably and entirely convincingly from their premises to their conclusions.

Carnelian himself is an ignorant, spoiled, self-indulgent brat who takes a very long time to grow up, and there were times when I wanted to throw the book across the room in order to avoid another episode of his repeated, tortured indecision. (Thinking as I write this, I realise that I should have more sympathy for someone refusing to grow up, but that was not how I felt at the time.) Even the best of the other characters
are scarcely more sympathetic, and the worst are fully-realised monsters of tyranny and cruel self-indulgence. The books are violent, unpleasant, and filled with people damaged physically and emotionally from living in a brutal and dysfunctional society, saturated with and fascinated by death and its surrounding rituals.

However brutal or macabre, Carnelian’s world is fully-realised, its landscape, people, economics, politics, sociology and iconography developed rigorously and convincingly as a fascinating, working world. It is this discipline, this rigour and this fascination (the fact that the book is science fiction, rather than fantasy, if you will) that kept me reading to the convincing and bloody end.

(In interviews, Ricardo tells us that he spent years in therapy in order to be able to complete these books. I first met him at the 2008 Eastercon, where we talked about reading Tanith Lee, and Jung, and I’m not in the least surprised.)

Despite taking twelve years to write, this trilogy is all one book. Despite being all one book, the three volumes are very good at taking their individual stories forward without requiring continuous checking back for detailed knowledge of the previous volumes. Technically, it may be one of the best-constructed trilogies I have ever read.

So I cannot in honour recommend you read this trilogy for enjoyment. But as a work of literary art, I think it will stand the test of time, and as an exercise in building and revealing a world it is superb, and on that basis I will recommend it unreservedly to those who read for those qualities. But make sure you can set aside long hours to read it. You will need them.

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who wants to live for ever…?

Tuesday, December 15th, 2009

Damien Hirst skull

Damien Hirst skull

I used to passionately desire immortality. I would argue its benefits: the ability to experience so much more, to achieve so much more, to produce so much more artistic work. I wanted this so much that I remember getting quite manic reading Raymond Kurzweil who believes that we’re on the verge of being capable of halting ageing – and that, once this is achieved, it would only be a matter of time before rejuvenation became technologically available – and youthful immortality would become a reality. He is pursuing this dream so hard that, each day, he consumes a smörgåsbord of pills: vitamins, anti-oxidants, etc…

When I emerged from 5 years of gestalt therapy, I no longer desired immortality. Why should that be? Well, it seems to me that the reason is because I had ’slain my demons’ – or at least come to an accommodation with them. I am now pretty certain that the pressure for immortality came from a realization that I had these demons to deal with; had been on the planet for 40 years and, in that time, I had made no progress whatsoever with them. On this basis, projecting forward, it was obvious – to my unconscious – that it was going to take an infinitely long time to deal with them. Thus the need for immortality.

The quest for immortality now seems to me not only hubristic, but another example of how out of touch with reality we have become. Here we are on a planet that is not really capable of supporting our population as it is, and that will soon have to support 2 billion more – and Mr Kurzweil is proposing that people (no doubt the rich) should stop dying… It is utterly, utterly insane!

And then I read an interview with Kurzweil in which he was bemoaning that he had never got over his father dying and that he wants to bring him back to life. I am with Jung on this… beyond midlife, the purpose of living becomes to accept loss – and in that loss to find individual fulfilment. To everything there is a season. Without death, I believe that life becomes essentially pointless – a ship at sea with no course or destination…

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personal gravity…

Friday, December 4th, 2009

a mass distorting space-time © NASA

a mass distorting space-time © NASA

My brother has a concept of ‘personal gravity’ that he uses to describe a quality that a person demonstrates towards others. Specifically, he has used it as a stick to beat me with: complaining that I have such strong ‘personal gravity’ that I never “leave my own planet to go and visit other people’s” (ie. his)…

I think that this concept can be generalized to some advantage. Gravity – in the sense that Einstein defined it – as the distortion of space-time caused by a mass, allows parallels with a person’s ego. All masses draw other masses to them: as egos do. The greater a mass, the more likely it is to trap other masses in orbit around them: as egos can do. If the mass is great enough it will draw everything to it, including light – there is, perhaps a parallel here with an ego so massive it destroys those that come anywhere near it. Further, if we expand the analogy to the whole universe – a procedure that I imagine Jung would have considered plausible – then we have the conjecture that, if the universe were to contain enough mass, it would fold so much that its space-time would become ‘closed’… A person too ego-centred (and I do not mean this in any pejorative sense) could become folded in on herself/himself – so that she/he would become closed to all other egos…

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