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broken english ~ notes on narrative in games and fiction by karl hodge ~ skip to content about me copyright subscribe as if by magic, the shopkeeper appeared saturday, july 9, 2016 hearing the bell, the shopkeeper hid behind a rail of coats. a man in a dark suit came through the door and stood before the gun metal till. the merchant dropped to his knees and crawled behind the counter, unseen. he waited. there was much to look at in the old shop, many racks to peruse and flick through. the customer pressed the lapel on a scratchy tweed jacket, stroked it with pink fingers. he took the jacket from the hanger with both hands and held it close to his face. as he sniffed the lining, the shopkeeper rose silently to his feet. “may i help you?” he said. the customer’s bowler hat fell from his head. he replaced the jacket and then his hat, straightening the brim carefully. “yes,” he replied, eyes vertical and narrow, “i’m looking for a costume”. “certainly,” said the shopkeeper, adjusting his weskit, “what do you have in mind? a stone age tribesman? a chef? a native american brave?” “perhaps this,” said the well dressed man, standing in front of an astronaut’s suit. “a very good choice,” said the dapper little shopkeeper, “would you like to try it on sir?” “no thank you,” said the man, “just wrap it up for me and i’ll take it home”. a breeze blew through the store, like winter finding its way home. it smelled like frozen mothballs. “you should really make sure it fits. the changing room is just over there,” said the shopkeeper. his tiny moustache twitched. “i think it will be fine,” said the man. “but, sir,” said the shopkeeper, his voice a fraction too loud, “the changing room is right there ”. the man placed his hands flat on the glass counter. “i can see that. i can see it very well,” he said, “i’ll take the suit now, please”. as the well dressed man left the shop, cradling a paper bundle in his arms, the merchant’s gaze turned to the changing room door. his eyes were laced albino pink. *** later that evening, in his house on festive road, the man took off his bowler hat. he took off his stripey tie and black jacket. he put on the space suit. with the flicker of television reflected in the visor and foil plated neoprene chafing his skin, he began to wish that he had gone into the changing room after all. the costume was far too small. then, as tears prickled dry ducts, he sneezed inside the helmet. filed in fiction | | comments (0) the fourth kelamote thursday, july 7, 2016 in the beginning, two or three doratones were more than enough. then came devices with many more doratones. tens of doratones. hundreds. finally, we started seeing these things that could contain a thousand doratones. a thousand doratones. that’s what we call a kelamote. i must seem like a ghost to you. why don’t we just pretend, you and i, that we’ve never seen the word “kelamote”. even though you – from my future – use it every day. it is read and said, uttered softly and screamed aloud. you, from my present, you know about kelamotes too – if only in a vague way. if only from advertising and hoardings and scans. there’s a third case, of course. you, from the far future. from a time when i have long since ceased typing. from a time when i have long ceased. we are ash and echoes to you, the kelamotes and i. let’s pretend that when you look at the word – the word “kelamote” – you see an unfamiliar arrangement of symbols. a word, yes, you’re quite sure of that, but its meaning is null. you look at this word, which is as common as air, and no neurons fire. jamais vu, a race called the french used to call it. the sensation of seeing for the first time. but wait. oh, this is quite delicious. isn’t it strange how you can sometimes see all the captions, but miss the headline? because of kelamotes, there is a fourth possibility. you may not be from my present or my future at all. you could be reading this in the past. you could be reading this before kelamotes were even invented or discovered! you could be reading this before i was born! that would be marvelous. you have so much to look forward to, don’t you? and, much to lose. so many ideas to change, so many of your values. even those words – “change” and “value”. they mean so little to us, now. i should say no more. it must be a surprise, or it will never happen. i dearly wish that i was you. filed in fiction | | comments (0) food as metaphor in jhumpa lahiri’s “interpreter of maladies” friday, august 16, 2013 “interpreter of maladies” is the title of a 1999 short story collection by jhumpa lahiri. born in the us, but of indian extraction, the collection explores issues of diaspora, culture ritual, otherness and difference. her prose is spare and her narratives expose the drama in the every day. this text is from an oral presentation that explores the role that food plays in lahiri’s collection, as metaphor and cultural signifier. as such the language is less formal than you might usually expect from an academic paper. — food plays several roles in jhumpa lahiri’s work. my intention here is first pick out the main signification before moving on to smaller ways it manifests as meaning in stories featured in lahiri’s collection “interpreter of maladies” . in doing that i think we see some of the themes that run through the other stories too. there’s an overarching sense throughout this collection that food – its preparation and the rituals of consumption – are representative of the dislocation of indian culture. lahiri’s description of the making and then the serving of meals serves as a shorthand for “diaspora” – the transplantation of people from one culture into another. there’s often a contrast between the food prepared and the settings in which food is eaten. for example “you made rogan josh” shoba observed, looking through the glass lid at the bright paprika stew” pg 9 “a temporary matter” then, a little later, there’s this description of the meat. “it’s ready,” he announced. the microwave had just beeped when the lights went out and the music disappeared the western technologies of the microwave and hifi are set here against another life, rich in other ways, where another set of values is important. i think it’s interesting that when the food is ready, the lights go off. as the story progresses, the couple bond over this shared part of themselves – a shared culture through food – that is at its purest when there’s no electricity to power the “american side” of their lives; the computer shukumar retreats to when they were both grieving, for example. that’s made explicit in an observation that shoba makes on page 10 where, as they eat in the dark, she says “it’s like india” later, in the story “when mr. pirzada came to dine” – the sense of shared culture between mr. pirzada and lilia’s family is underlined by the meals they take together – even though he is pakistani and they are indian. again, that’s contrasted against the trappings of the culture that they’ve been transplanted into. “we did not eat at the dining table, because it did not provide an unobstructed view of the television set. instead, we huddled around the coffee table, without conversing, our plates perched on the edges of our knees. from the kitchen my mother brought forth the succession of dishes: lentils with fried onions, green beans with coconut, fish cooked with raisins in yoghurt sauce” pg 30 “when mr. pirzada came to dine” and this continues as an almost sensuous description of the meal – one that emphasizes its diversity and exoticism and the family’s identity.. however, by placing the family in front of the television as they eat, it also becomes a metaphor for dislocation and diaspora. — analysing more deeply, food can be seen to stand in for more specific aspects of, mostly, indian culture: family – especially in when mr. pirzada came to dine love – in a temporary matter and home – in mrs sen’s (which is about mrs sen’s house, her world as much as mrs sen – h

URL analysis for brokenenglish.co.uk

http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/hyperreality/
http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/2009/07/
http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/category/notes/
http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/2012/07/
http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/2013/02/
http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/the-fourth-kelamote/#respond
http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/copyright/
http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/2009/09/
http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/simulationday/#comments
http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/the-fourth-kelamote/
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http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/page/2/
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http://www.brokenenglish.co.uk/cloud-atlas-the-movie/

Whois Information

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Domain name:
brokenenglish.co.uk

Registrant:
Karl Hodge

Registrant type:
UK Individual

Registrant's address:
The registrant is a non-trading individual who has opted to have their
address omitted from the WHOIS service.

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Registrar:
UK2 Limited [Tag = UK2NET]
URL: http://uk2.net

Relevant dates:
Registered on: 13-Jun-2007
Expiry date: 13-Jun-2019
Last updated: 06-Jun-2017

Registration status:
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WHOIS lookup made at 10:25:20 24-Mar-2018

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SERVERS

  SERVER co.uk.whois-servers.net

  ARGS brokenenglish.co.uk

  PORT 43

  TYPE domain

OWNER

  ORGANIZATION Karl Hodge

TYPE
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ADDRESS
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DOMAIN

  SPONSOR UK2 Limited [Tag = UK2NET]

  CREATED 2007-06-13

  CHANGED 2017-06-06

STATUS
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  ULTRA103.UK2.NET 77.92.66.25

  ULTRA104.UK2.NET 77.92.66.26

  NAME brokenenglish.co.uk

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