Weekend Gems in Oxford

This weekend was my last weekend in Oxford before leaving for traveling and home, and while I'd been invited to go do some fun things around the UK (someone had invited me to a big Thanksgiving dinner in London on Saturday, and a friend of mine was heading up to Stratford-Upon-Avon today and urged me to go with her) I ultimately decided to stick around Oxford to buckle down and work on my end-of-term paper. Study cave time. I braced myself.

And so I headed to a cafe yesterday morning, then met some friends at the library to buckle down all afternoon yesterday… but that doesn't mean a few other fun things didn't wind up happening, some of them unexpectedly. First of all were a few lovely lunch and dinner dates at St. John's, which has suddenly decked out its hall with a gigantic Christmas tree and some garlands and other Christmas decorations. With the American Thanksgiving festivities officially over, I'm much more in the mood for Christmas and felt very much like I'd walked into the Great Hall getting ready for the Yule Ball in Harry Potter (or almost -- these Harry Potter references never get old). Food and good company: as warm and merry and enjoyable as always.

Then a few friends and I, after heading out on a long walk around the area near Blenheim Palace last weekend, decided to escape from our studies and take another tramp out in the English outdoors this afternoon. We headed out from Oxford this time, walking through the University Parks past some sports teams at play (some of them shirtless in the cold afternoon weather -- what?) and out into some farmland and sprawling fields and open space. We crisscrossed several of those fields, chatted and walked past herds of curious cows, then eventually made our way back to a glorious late-afternoon burst of sun over the meadows. The conversation had veered over several topics over the course of those hours, and we'd wound up talking about cartwheels and backflips and other aerobic exercises (while discussing physical fitness requirements for the U.S. military) -- so there we stopped, in the middle of that meadow, and let loose. One of my friends taught us what she knew, and we all tried our hands at cartwheels and backbends and handstands and then, grass-stained and a bit exuberant, headed back home in the golden sunset, probably one of the absolute prettiest I've seen thus far at Oxford. That pure, rich, beautiful light! Nothing like the UK to make you appreciate the sun.

I had planned on returning to my paper then, but one of the friends from my walk this afternoon mentioned that she was headed to see Ian McEwan speak at her college, Hertford, this evening. "No way," I said. "Ian McEwan? Why didn't I hear about that?" She urged me to go with her, and I waffled, saying that I didn't have a sign interpreter. She persisted, saying she'd write out what he was saying for me. I should come! It was sorely tempting. I've read McEwan's Atonement and have had a few of his other novels on my to-read list for a while. I'm also going to be studying him in a contemporary literature class next term. And… he's Ian McEwan. Sure, why not. I knew the communication might not be perfect, but thanked my friend and told her I would go.

Ian McEwan is thin, lanky, and wears an expression of thoughtfulness. He looks extremely astute while he is speaking, but although I'd positioned myself near the front so I could fix my gaze upon his face, I unfortunately can't say that made his British accent any easier to understand. My friend, bless her heart, took notes for me the entire time, and while looking over her shoulder I was able to get the overall thread of McEwan's thought. He talked about literary realism from the perspective of the mistakes and factual errors writers inadvertently make in their writing, which prompted him to share several passages from his own novels and share several stories of letters from readers checking his facts. As someone who is fascinated by the use of narrative detail in literature, it was a great talk, or seemed like it was. I sorely wished I'd been able to get every word, but even the bits I did gather were provocative. And I got a book signed by him afterwards! And I met him face-to-face and breathed the same air he did. (Literary groupie alert, even while in another sense I remain mystified by the exact relationship that exists between writers and their readers/adoring fans.)

Even if I had to stave off the disappointment that arose from not quite being able to access the entire lecture as well as I would have liked (GAH IAN McEWAN IS SPEAKING AND I CANNOT UNDERSTAND HIM), I still walked out feeling stirred by what it means to be here. Not only stirred by Oxford's stellar range of speakers and events and opportunities, but also stirred by the generosity and considerateness of the friends who do everything they can to include me, even when that means giving their time and their energy when the situation is not ideal. I've met many of those people here and am so reassured and so inspired by their kindness.

A great weekend, indeed. Now, back to the paper, as ever.