Russian sojourn

Here I am again, apologising for absence of letters.  If truth be known, so relieved to have found creative energy to continue with Granny Elena's memoirs that have allowed myself to be immersed in writing.  But comments from followers about wanting to hear from me have prompted me to write again.   As I wrote in last letter, after stresses of pending trial (see posts: June 6: An ongoing trial; May 7: Trial begins), was in desperate need to return to Moscow to see family.

Wanted to fly but, despite being related to famous Mikhail Bakhtin,  brought up to be economical whenever possible and as it was too late to get cheap flight, decided to go by train via Brussels, Cologne and Warsaw. 

 A delightful thing happened on the overnight train from Cologne and Warsaw.  My compartment was empty apart from one other traveller who turned out to be a famous writer, Prospelov.  On finding out that Bakhtin was my grandpa he invited me to have dinner with him.  Buffet car was charming: mahogany furniture, linen tablecloths and cosy lamps.  It was dark and snowing.  Had fascinating conversation with Prospelov.  He asked to read my memoirs of Aunt Mischa from my Notebook, then commented that he’d like to be my mentor.  As I hesitated, knowing I couldn’t afford to pay for a mentor, he explained that he was currently researching relationship between mentors and mentees, and therefore wouldn’t charge as I’d be helping him.  Readily accepted and we agreed to meet face to face several times a year and to skype in between.  Although was looking forward to getting to Moscow and seeing my aunt, was almost disappointed when train arrived in Warsaw.

Aunt Mischa met me at station and drove me back to apartment - wonderful place with high ceilings and walnut furniture.  Uncle Stanislav was antiques dealer before dying of heart attack while attempting to move a neo-Renaissance cabinet.

After dinner first night, noticed funny smell in bedroom.  Seemed to be coming from my rucksack which I hadn't unpacked.  As I emptied it out, sprang back when I heard a groan from the bottom.  Miaowed to Aunt Mischa who came scrambling through.  Another groan emerged from rucksack.  Aunt Mischa helped me empty it onto the bed. 





The last thing to fall out was a white, inert object reeking of alcohol.  Old readers will know immediately that this was flatmate, white mouse, Neville.  He opened his eyes, burped and rushed off to loo, presumably to throw up.  On the bed lay a note from another flatmate, Saussure, explaining that Neville was so overcome with guilt at having bought doctored cat nip (see post of 30th October: Retreat to Moscow) that he felt he owed it to me to spend time in Moscow, acting as my assistant (though it didn't state how Neville thought he could assist me).

Aunt Mischa made Neville drink a thimbleful of water and found one of Uncle Stanislav's thickest scarves for him to sleep in.

 

Purrs, Bakhtin

Retreat to Moscow

Did something stupid after libel case postponed for two weeks.  Went home and took large amount of catnip.  This wouldn't have been problem in itself as impossible to overdose on it.  However, unbeknownst to me, there were also some eucalyptus leaves and these, as any cat lover knows, are toxic to cats.

When Saussure came home from giving lecture on Socrates, he found me groaning in agony in basket and immediately dialled 999, forgetting this was emergency number for humans, not animals.  When services realised it was a cat in need, they arranged for emergency vet ambulance to fetch me, and I was admitted to Hospital for Small Animals (attached to University of Edinburgh).  Had stomach pumped.

Hospital kept me in for several days so I could undergo psychiatric evaluation. Suggestions this was a deliberate attempt to end my life are rubbish but couldn't convince staff of this.  Of course, they all knew about court case and thought whole thing had been too much for me.  Psychiatric evaluation showed that although I was somewhat quirky and stubborn, there was nothing wrong with my mood or self-esteem.  I could have told them that.  After all, haven't I been busy writing my Granny Elena's memoirs?  Nevertheless, when hospital recommended holiday was what I needed, decided they were right, and it was time to return to my beloved Moscow to see my family.  Consultant said he'd write to my advocate, Justice Chatterton, to say I wouldn't be fit to resume court case for several months.

When got home, big question was why we had catnip plant doctored with eucalyptus leaves.  Eventually Neville owned up to having bought it from a door-to-door salesman as present to cheer me up.  He was distraught when he'd heard I'd been admitted to hospital.  Had been too frightened to visit me in case any of the staff arrested him. When we teased him about this, he told me he'd got as far as the reception area when he'd seen a police car, so had gone straight home.  He'd spent three days hiding in tartan shopping bag with wheels




Had lovely meal with Saussure, Notsaussure and Neville before flying to Moscow following day.

More in next letter.

Purrs, Bakhtin

An ongoing trial

What a trial is this trial.  With stress of case being adjourned until new jury sworn in ( see post of May 7: Trial begins), find myself wandering round flat muttering riddles, adages.  Keen to get on with my life.  Relieved to receive letter informing me trial reopening on June 5.

At court, watched jury being sworn in: 8 humans and 7 animals.  Delay had been due to finding jurors who hadn't already heard something and could therefore be impartial.  New judge also appointed:  a giraffe, which made me hopeful that case would be ruled fairly.


Case began with opening speech from prosecution.

'The prosecution will prove that regularly throughout the first year, the accused committed libel by writing defamatory comments in his publicly available letters that the lecturer had an obsession with the highly-esteemed French philosopher, JacquesDerrida.  This has caused the lecturer distress and interfered with her ability to deliver the creative writing programme in the way it should.'

My advocate then followed with his speech.  This is what he said:

'Members of the Jury, on a point of law, the Scottish legal system, does not distinguish between libel and slander, and all cases are simply defamation.  Our case is straightforward, so straightforward, in fact, that it should never have been brought to court.  My client, Bakhtin, a gifted writer, if ever there was one, such genius being displayed in his regular letters, never, in any of these letter, identified the lecturer by name.  Moreover, I have read each of those quite brilliant letters and the language used is mild and should not have caused offence or distress.  Lastly, and I quote the definition of defamation:  publication must be a statement which claims to be fact.  My client was merely expressing an opinion, something to which we are all entitled.'  

Justice Chatterton then sat down and conferred with the two lawyers seated behind him.  I tried not to smile too much, but it was hard.  Hadn't realised until now how eloquent my advocate is.

Could see there was consternation in the prosecution side: raised voices, wild flapping of arms.  

'Is there a problem?' the judge asked.

'Yes, My Lord, there is,' the prosecution advocate said.

'Do share it with us,' the Judge said, struggling to conceal his yawns.  (The yawning also made me feel better - suggesting he, too, thought the case was a joke).

'It's a matter of.... some sensitivity,' the prosecution advocate continued.

'I'm intrigued,' the Judge said, yawning again.

My client has objected to... to'

At this point the lecturer called out:  'I object to having a giraffe as a judge.  This will prevent the trial from being impartial.'

The Judge replied:  'Why did your advocate not announce this at the start of this morning.'

The lecturer replied:  'He has problems with erm, aphasia, my Lord.'

The Judge said:  'An advocate who struggles from aphasia?  Most original.  But addressing your concern, if the Judge were human, then the defence could legitimately make the same complaint.  And as, to my knowledge, there are no practising judges who are half human/half animal, we have reached an impasse.  Unless, of course, we appoint a second judge who is human.  I will have to consult for judicial precedence.  I will therefore adjourn this case for two weeks.'   

The Clerk then announced: 'All rise for the judge.'

We did, and the giraffe hobbled out of court.

Of course, the press, waiting outside in their hundreds, had a field day.

Purrs 

Bakhtin

Trial begins

Readers can imagine what a state was in over weekend.  With trial rapidly looming, suddenly realised implications even if found innocent of committing libel.  As saying goes: mud sticks.  If get to stage of having memoirs of Granny Elena published, will sales be affected, any potential buyers wondering if have made up facts?  At lunch time on Sunday, flatmate Saussure nipped round to pet store to buy Feliway, (safe) plug
in product reputed to calm cats down.  Notsaussure convinced this would have no effect.  For once negative flatmate right.  If anything, made me more twitchy. Ran round flat scratching at sofa upholstery and paintwork, much to Saussure's concern - contract for flat rental in his name so he has overall responsibility for condition of our home.

At 8 pm doorbell rang.  Told Saussure to leave it, Notsaussure agreed, convinced it wouldn't be anyone we wanted to speak to.  Doorbell rang again, then heard Neville squeaking in hall.  White mouse not strong enough to open door, but obviously keen to know who was there.  I sighed and went through.  Neville continued squeaking until I opened door.  Steps down to street filled with friends from college:  Maya, Véronique, Cindy, Henri,  Oscar.  Even Chi-Chi and Wilfred, reader and writer in residence respectively were there, although by doing so, it demonstrated not only were they not supporting lecturer taking me to court, but their sympathy to my plight.

'Surprise, surprise,' they called out, before rushing into flat.  Went straight to kitchen to find containers for food they'd brought:  cartons of cream (laced with brandy, seemingly good for nerves),  fresh mackerel and tuna and several lots of catnip.

Had wonderful evening.  Neville taught us some new breakdancing steps which he hopes to include in his follow up DVD:  breakdancing for elderly cats.  Henri didn't once talk about his book: Guineapigging out.  Even Notsaussure joined in the fun.

Consequently when turned up in court following morning, felt buoyed up.  Seemingly, huge public interest in case as most uncommon to have human bringing action against animal.

Problems started when jury about to be sworn in.  Lecturer threw wobbly, saying there was imbalance of animals amongst them.  Thought it was only defendant who could object to members of  jury.  As this  almost unprecedented situation, judge ruled in favour of prosecutor and case been adjourned until further  notice.  Suspect there may be more to it than this, as normally additional potential jury members waiting to be called up.

Purrs
Bakhtin

A worrying time

As date for trial grows nearer am becoming complete nervous wreck.  Sleep ruined by nightmares of being strangled by annacondas whilst giving evidence in witness box.  Most loyal supporters  - all of whom determined to speak on my behalf  - also experiencing anxiety.  Henri, guinea pig, developed itchiness and has consulted dermatologist on what cleansing products to use.  Neville, mouse, can't stop shaking.  Even Oscar, chimp - most academic of we creative writing students - has nervous tic which is excruciating to watch.

As we were complaining about our latest ailments one day in Princes Street gardens, who should suddenly appear but my barrister, Justice Chatterton.  Told us we needed to get away from Edinburgh and has since organised Easter celebration in Perthshire - near a loch.  Most moved by his kindness.  Event will last for most of the day and will involve lots of eating and games.




   Purrs

   Bakhtin

Date for trial

Have decided should change name of blog to 'Infrequent letters from Bakhtin' due to long gaps between writing.  Perhaps just suffering from problems of self-esteem. Waiting for court case is harrowing experience.  However, have now been given date:  May 6.  Barrister, Justice Chatterton, assures me he has prepared watertight defence and chances of being convicted for libel are remote.


To new readers, am creative writing student at Fritzonian Institute, and have been accused of libelling principle tutor by implying in my letters that she is obsessed with famous Jacques Derrida and incapable of delivering lecture without his name being mentioned at least six times.  Am fortunate to have support of classmates, most of whom see little connection between literary theorists and practice of writing.

For the uninitiated, Derrida was French philosopher who developed theory known as deconstruction.  He was post-structuralist and associated with postmodern philosophy.



To help me, Maya and Cindy (canines) have formed study group.  Met first time last week.  At Maya's suggestion, topic was post-structuralism (yawn, have tried to get to grips with this before).   Agreed she would lead discussion. To demonstrate increasing confidence, she put together information without checking notes or resources.  Began by telling us that post-structuralism, contrary to what intellectuals believe, is about rethinking the concept of an envelope, and coming up with something more robust which can't be chewed by dogs or cats when dropped through letterbox when occupants are out.  Should add that Cindy not pointiest needle in sewing box, and often misunderstands literary concepts (even more than I do).

Discussion broke up quickly with Cindy asking why we keep discussing post-modernism and post-structuralism.  If we haven't got it by now, we never will.  Have to agree.  Decided to keep meetings for social activity and forget about becoming pseudo-intellectuals.


                                              


Following day Neville scuttled into my basket, put his paws on my tummy and squeaked at me to wake up because he had urgent matter to discuss.  Over Christmas period, attention had been focused on Henri and his trauma of being accused of plagiarism in one of his recipes from Guineapigging Out.  Neville, partly wanting some attention, partly wanting to make the point that Henri isn't the only creature with ambitions, has decided to remake his video about breakdancing for elderly cats.  And this includes having professional photo of himself on front cover.  Unknown to us, he's already approached a photographer, and is gearing up to attending photo shoot.  However, he has huge concerns about what to do to be better groomed and whether he should have surgery on his nose to give it more distinguished appearance.

Agreed that as small risk attached to having general anaesthetic, should consult with Saussure and Notsaussure - flatmates - when they return from skiing in  St Moritz.

Purrs

Bakhtin

A mishmash Christmas

A belated "Happy New Year" to my followers.  If only I knew at this stage it would be happy one for me but next few months will be stressful.  More on this in next letter.

Spent Christmas with flatmates Saussure, Notsaussure, Neville and Henri.  Henri not originally going to be with us, but felt he couldn't be left on his own.  When Saussure tactfully asked him why he wasn't spending Christmas with his family, he admitted he was currently source of ridicule because his book Guineapigging Out, although successful with most animals species, had been received with lukewarm praise by most respectable guinea pig communities.

Additionally, accusations of plagiarism lodged at him from deranged centenarian French woman hadn't done anything to help reputation with family. Conditions of Henri joining us were that we wouldn't talk about his recipe book.  This was obviously difficult: kept opening mouth to say something then closed it again.  Several times found him in loo, peering at said plagiarised recipe:  Timbales de poireaux crémeux de noix, muttering to himself: garlic flavoured crackers, Marsala, said ingredients which made his recipe different to hers.  In fact, by lunchtime Henri in such a state that flatmates and I convened rushed meeting in sitting room and agreed that to make him feel better, would allow him to cook both versions: the old lady's, and his.  Spent afternoon trying to find correct ingredients.  As most shops were closed, had to contact friends, neighbours and fellow students to achieve this.

All ingredients found except walnuts.  After texting everyone we know in Edinburgh, as last result, Neville had inspired idea of contacting Wilfred.  To new readers, Wilfred is reader-in-residence on Masters in Creative Writing course at renowned Fritzonian Institute.  He is dear, gentle creature, a Tibetan Yak who hails from Ladakh.   Replied immediately to say he had five kilogram bag of finest, organic walnuts and we were welcome to come round.  He lives on a farm south of Edinburgh.  I phoned for taxi and was on point of leaving when Saussure, Neville and Henri insisted on joining me, curious to see how a yak lives.  Notsaussure convinced this would be boring journey, but persuaded by his twin, Saussure, it would be fun to visit a farm on Christmas Day.

 

By time we'd arrived at farm, it was snowing heavily.  Found Wilfred in barn, decorated like Buddhist temple. Intended to collect the walnuts and leave immediately but Wilfred persuaded us to stay.  Spent several hours there, being taught about Buddhist philosophy, and how to meditate.  A clever fellow, he managed to introduce literary theory, making connection between Buddhism and French literary critics, in particular, Roland Barthes.  Neville particularly enchanted by Barthes' saying:  "Creativity is an ongoing process of continual change and reaction."  White mouse so inspired, is now determined to be more imaginative in ideas for communicating with Granny Elena in Moscow.  Decided that instead of doing this via rusty pipes under kitchen floorboard, will try something more ethereal.

Got home at sixish, which gave Henri time to produce both versions of Timbales de poireaux crémeux de noix.  When they were ready, realised had too much food, so at last moment, invited Cindy, Véronique and Maya, all of whom had returned from spending day with respective families.  Suddenly remembered Oscar might be on his own, so got him round, too.  Finally ate at 8 o'clock.  While cheese and leek dishes were cooking, Henri assembled questionnaire, to allow us to evaluate both versions of recipe.  Almost everyone agreed that versions were strikingly different from each other - thought to be due to marsala wine added to Henri's recipe.

Neville had fifteen helpings of Henri's dish, got drunk, scampered round flat squeaking "Jingle Bells" and eventually fell asleep in my paws by fire.


Purrs,  Bakhtin