Missed connections: the tube is a lonely place

Barry Stewart

I'm currently sat on the scruffy but comfortable seats of the Bakerloo line, and I am surrounded by strangers. A middle-aged man with hands the size of a small plate is sat in front of me, he is reading the Evening Standard while nervously pulling at a loose string of fabric on his red scarf. I notice a ring on his fourth finger and I wonder: Did he marry his high school sweetheart? Is he cheating on his wife? Is he happy or does he feel trapped in his wedding? Does he believe in love? Next to me, another stranger. An art student, judging by the canvas she is holding. Chances are, she goes to my university as we both went on the tube at the same stop. It appears that she has emerged from a 90s sitcom: her long green plaid skirt reveal mustard socks tucked in a pair of chunky black creepers; her fur coat is way too long for her and her hair is the exact copy of Gwen Stefani's circa the 90s. I look at her and I wonder if she is struggling with her art, if she is afraid of dying, or of success, if she admires or despises her mother. Truth is, I will never know. These days, taking the tube in London feels a lot like being deaf: you see but you cannot hear. Sure, you might strike up a random conversation with an even more random stranger, but either way you look at it, the tube is a pretty lonely place.

Having lived in London for more than a year, the tube is one of my familiar spots. I know which lines run the fastest, which lines are great for planking, which lines have the most cozy seats and which ones are best known for fire emergencies (Victoria Line -If you are wondering whether hell exists, yes it does and this is it). But what all these lines have in common is this: silence. Silence, fear and perhaps, yes, curiosity. Every time I am on the tube I cannot help but wonder: what is this person's story? Is he like me? We often forget that others have stories as complex and twisted as ours, that their personality is not flat, just like their thoughts and desires. I am always curious about others' thoughts as it is unfathomable for me to conceptualize another inner world but mine. I almost always wonder about their inner struggles; whether they have found their home yet, whether they believe in God or not -and whether it makes it easier for them to live, whether they are going home to someone or to themselves. I wonder about their secrets, their dark fears, their silly beliefs... and I also wonder if they will go home and think of me, if they ask themselves what my story is -if I am scared of heights or if I enjoy greek plays. It feels to me that if we are all thinking of each other at the same time, somehow, somewhere, there is a connection. A string that connects us all and makes us more than just meat machines riding the tube to go to work or university.

David Harris

Perhaps one of the most fascinating and intriguing idea is that we run into so many strangers at a certain given location and time, that some of them are bound to appear in our lives at some point. Last year was my first year at University of the Arts London (LCC) and I didn't know anyone when I first came to London. I have since then met a lot of people and created very special bonds with some of them -most of whom I now call family. When talking about our first encounter with each others, it appeared that the first time we talked was actually not the first time we met or ran into each other. A lot of my very close friends at university were at a Fresher's Party in LCC last year, which I attended as well. What this means is that we were all together in one same room, at the same time, without knowing each other, and without knowing that in a few months we would become friends. I probably passed one of my friend on the way to the bathroom, or smoked a cigarette next to another one... Who knows? You have certainly experienced something similar, or felt that the people in your life right now have been there the whole time -you simply didn't know them or saw them. This brings me back to the tube because it makes me wonder: how many of these strangers will make an impact on my life? Maybe this man reading the news will turn out to be my husband's father. Maybe this lady with her baby will be trapped with me in a faulty elevator. Maybe this man will become one of my university tutor. I never know, and chances are I never will, but spending so much time in the tube with a sea of strangers always makes me wonder what connects us as humans. And the answer is always this: stories. Everybody has a story to tell, but we fail to remember because, let's admit it, sitting in the tube is pretty damn lonely at the end of the day.

Life of Pi : Book review

Warning: Contains spoilers

Whenever I buy a new book, I always read the last line. It's a perverse pleasure, I despise myself for doing so, but more so, I loathe myself for enjoying it. Yes, I suppose you could call me a masochist with severe emotional issues. Life of Pi is written by Yann Martel, who won The Man booker prize, and is currently being adapted to the hollywood screens by Ang Lee. 

The last line of this novel goes like this: "Very few castaways can claim to have survived so long at sea as Mr. Patel, and none in the company of an adult Bengal tiger". In my book, this is what I consider a satisfying last line- revealing of the plot but also not ruining the book. Everyone knows that the hero of this novel survives; it is, after all, a tale of survival, as described in the summary. Consequently, because this last line did not shock me and make me question the whole plot twist, I decided that this book was worth a long read (which means that I would read it on several days and not in one go). I read some chapters in the tube, some in class when the seminars got dull, walking to work, during breakfast and snuggled up in bed. It was a great read, and I was satisfied with the narrative, until I read the last chapter. It was so unexpected  and left me hanging so quickly that I marveled at Martel's talent to sneak up on the reader without him noticing it. I was caught off guard and was left wanting more (we have an expression for this in french: Rester sur sa faim -to stay on one's own hunger). The ending is, for me, what really elevated the novel from satisfying to genius, and Martel does an excellent job playing with the reader.

The story begins with Pi, the son of a zookeeper in India, who recounts his childhood. He remembers his fascination with the animals-especially the dangerous ones, and his curiosity with absolute faith, leading him to practice Hinduism, Christianity and Islam at the same time. The first part of the book is mainly focused on science and this little boy's perception of religion. The reader knows, then, that the book will evolve around religion, faith, but mostly- about choice. With Pi explaining the traits of each religion he finds attractive, the reader is forced the choose to either believe or not. Although Pi's childhood is a large part of the novel, the narrative eventually shifts to the main story: the sinking of a cargo ship in the Pacific. 

In the second part, Pi and his family are moving to Canada, where they are planning on selling their animals. To do this, they must travel with them on a cargo ship. The ship sinks and Pi find himself thrown on a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger, a hyena, a zebra and a female orang-utan. What follows is an amazing journey through faith, life and death -punctured by occasional disturbing and fascinating events. Seven months later, when Pi's lifeboat finally touches ground in Mexico, he is interviewed by two japanese men. He recounts his tale the way we read it, the way we believed it throughout the whole book (although we are asked to take leaps of faith). He recounts how the tiger killed the hyena, the zebra and the female orang-utan, how he had to train the tiger to survive, and how he found a magic island that seemed to swallow anything that set foot on it. This is the version we are being told throughout the whole book, the version we are inclined to believe. It is the adventurous version, the brave version, the one that makes us believe in faith, survival, strength and life. Beautiful words that do not seduce and convince the two interviewers. When faced with their incredulous questions and their disbelief, Pi finally gives account of another version, a darker, more sinister yet more realistic version. 

He was thrown on the lifeboat with his mother, a sailor, and a cook. The same facts are taken into account, but without any animals this time: this story is far more brutal and savage. The interviewers slowly realize that each of the animals correspond to the people on the lifeboat : the mother, the cook and the sailor. What also comes into light is the parallel between the Tiger and Pi, who, in this version, killed and ate them for his own survival. From this point, the reader is forced, like the two interviewers, to make a choice: which version do they believe in ? In the end, the interviewers choose the animal version, just like Pi. 

When asked about the structure of the novel, Martel admits that it was specifically designed so that the reader would be forced, subconsciously, to choose whether he would believe or not, so that the ending would be theirs. He is, throughout most part of the book, asking us if we have faith or not, and if we are ready to walk that extra mile to believe, despite the turn of the incredible events. He argues that the core of the story lies here : in this choice. Choosing the better story- the one with animals or the one with people. Interestingly enough, this choice is also at the center of his religious faith: choosing the better story.

What Martel makes us question eventually, is reason over faith -the ultimate debate. However he rejoices in the fact that he is making the choice extremely difficult for the reader. Jumping from one story to another is what Martel wants us to be doing- jumping from faith to reason; and to make this choice even harder he wrote the incident of the magic island, where the meerkats' bones were found in Pi's boat at the end. This episode occurs shortly after Pi, who has become blind for a period of time, encounters another blind survivor, at lost in the Pacific as well. At this point, disbelief kicks in and the reader is trying to make sense of the story, thus asking reason to come in. The reader shakes his head in disbelief and asks of the author the truth; yet when he is given one reality of the truth he is cornered in his own trap: asking for the truth results in being given a darker version, an uglier version of the story, with only flesh and blood.

For Martel, who exposes this post-modernist view, subjectivity is truth. There is no ultimate truth to Pi's survival, only what you believe. And in Pi's own words, let me ask you this: "Which is the better story?".

Movie review: A single Man

Tom Ford is one of those men around who ambivalent opinions and critiques emerge: You either love him or hate him. He is either a pretentious well-dressed man or a genius with artistic talent. Since he is mostly known for being a fashion designer, I only knew him -up until now - for his sharp designs and his controversial adverts promoting his perfume, carefully placed between a pair of tanned and oiled-up female legs. After that, the hate was obvious. Overrated and over-priced clothing joined with bad advertisement is a no-no in my book of men to love and lust about. However, I recently came about to watch his cinematic debut: A single Man, and could not help but be baffled with awe at his genius and artistic sense. Everything, from the colors, to the soundtrack, to the neat skinny black tie; everything made me want to melt in a luscious cloud of beauty, drinking whiskey with a sharp sense of loss.

Loss remains the main word whispered throughout the whole film. We follow George, an english professor, who is unable to cope after the sudden death of his partner Jim. Before you say anything about how cliche this may sound, set yourself back in the 60s. Although we do not get the immediate pressure on homosexuals from George and Jim's relationship, the oppressive and heavy atmosphere is quickly set up by the environment.

Colin Firth does an excellent job at playing a cynical English professor at loss with his own identity -constructing and deconstructing himself all throughout the film simply to be able to "wake up in the morning". The one great scene that elevates the film from simply great to brilliant is near the end, when Firth contemplates the naked body of one of his students, Kenny (played by the excellent ex-Skins actor Nicholas Hoult), who is passed out on his couch. The look on Firth's face tells it all for me. He manages to capture the whole promise of the film in one glance -loss, survivor's guilt, survival, lust, longing, sexual desire, grief, numbness, sadness, life, and, ultimately, death. And his gaze is so human, so naked that one cannot help but feel tears in one's eyes.

Firth and Moore

Tom Ford also offers us luscious scenes, from the one in the gas station where Firth is being seduced by what looks like an Italian model, over a cherry-champagne colored sky; to the opening scene, where Firth is seen floating naked in water, in trance, a voluptuous yet naked tableau. As to the women, they are as charming as a skinny black tie: George's best friend Charley (played by the very excellent Julianne Moore) is a sharp and exuberant divorcee who drinks her way through life. She is beautiful, cynical... and yet somehow she is not enough. Ford likes playing with this idea that to certain people, life is not enough, and you end up deconstructing yourself, falling into fragments. Of the few shots of Charley, she is seen one half of her face pampered with make-up and the other naked, she is seen dancing for one second, before bursting into tears and hysteria, she is seen with longing eyes that are quickly clouded by mistrust and hurt. Fragments. Sometimes hell is within.

The movie's structure is even more so fragmented, the audience is introduced to a gun in the first few scenes, but Ford succeeds in distilling that tension into pastel colored skies, champagne, and cigarettes. Which is why the audience is more than surprised at the ending, which is, coincidently, the climax of the movie. Ford's mastery of colors and style even makes us forget the plot of the movie, which is superbly acted out by first class actors. A big bravo to Ford, consider me converted now!