January is a hard month around here. We’ve just sat through two Atlantic storms in a row, which flooded roads, brought down trees aplenty and knocked out the power grid in our rural townland for nearly 24 hours. Not that we found that part hard. In fact, it was a joy to be relieved of the Internet for a day, and to have to light candles and lamps instead of flicking switches. Suddenly time opened up again, and the day operated on the kind of rhythm I remember from childhood. If you’re my age or older, you might remember the concept of ‘boredom.’ It’s a state both relaxing and inducive to creativity, and it used to come about when there was nothing to do. These days, the phone on your hip will always give you something to do, and you will thus be so agitated and entertained that you will never be creative again.
That 24 hours without power convinced me of the case that philosopher Jeremy Naydler has made, that the coming of electricity marked a shift in our relationship with reality that changed everything, and not for the better. I wrote about that in this essay last year.
Anyway. January is wet and windy, and yet rarely cold enough to entirely stop the cycles of nature. The trees are budding out there and the first crocuses appearing. This ought to offer hope and light, but in fact it just induces stress, because I have so much hedge cutting and bramble hacking to do before the birds begin nesting, which will be soon, and I am behind again because of all this writing and reading.
But there are always compensations. Tonight I stepped out of my back door to see a giant halo around the moon on this still and silent night. An owl passed over, hooting softly as I took this photo. Earlier I had surprised a badger trotting heavily along the road. This is the stuff of life. It will outlive the fragile grid.
I am currently on a deadline for the book I am putting together of all my essays on the Machine - which of course is another source of stress. No writer should complain about being able to publish a book, of course. Still, I have to get it done by April, and that means that the Abbey will be moving slower than usual for the next couple of months. I’m sorry about that, but I will not leave you bereft, and I’ll keep you updated with my progress. After that, I have a lot of ideas backed up. I hope you’ll stick around for them.
In the meantime, it is time for the monthly open floor, in which readers set the agenda. You can say whatever you like about whatever you like. Talk about moons or badgers or storms, or anything else at all. Here are a few things that have piqued my interest recently:
An article about the ‘cosmic racism’ of H. P. Lovecraft, a writer I have been gripped by for a couple of decades now, long before he became a meme bandied about by Internet edgelords. H.P’s moment seems to have come, though this may not be a good thing, given the world he created. But what a world. I think my favourite of his stories is ‘The Whisperer in Darkness’. Feel free to tell me why I’m wrong.
More on literature, as John Duggan writes for First Things about the recent Irish Booker-winning novel ‘Prophet Song’, and why its premise - the wokest country in Europe suddenly becoming a fascist dictatorship - does not convince.
A new friend of mine, Canadian trucker and benevolent troublemaker Gord Magill, writes for Newsweek about the recent Canadian high court ruling that Justin Trudeau’s persecution of his political opponents during covid was unlawful. Two years too late, but I suppose it’s better than nothing. Speaking of unlawful persecutions, satirist C. J. Hopkins, who wrote some of the most blistering attacks on covid authoritarianism to be found on Substack, was recently prosecuted in Germany for comparing the regime to Hitler’s. Yes - actually prosecuted. For satire. In more good news, he has just been acquitted. You can read his powerful statement to the court here.
Finally, for some extra January cheer, I note that the ‘Doomsday Clock’ has just been set at 90 secords to midnight - the closest to doom ever, apparently - due to a combination of threats, including old favourites (nuclear war), relative newcomers (climate change) and radical new entries (AI.) Best to go out and just look at the moon.
The floor is yours, my friends.
Paul, may I ask: have you ever read Vonnegut's Player Piano or Cat's Cradle, Miller's A Canticle for Leibowitz, or O'Brien's Voyage to Alpha Centauri? Just curious.
Thanks Paul, shit is hitting the fan over here
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