Bursting out

Looks like the forecast for tomorrow has been revised to remove any mention of snow. That's a relief even though I didn't expect the brief dip below freezing to do any real damage. On our stroll yesterday evening, my horticulturalist neighbour advised keeping an eye on the natives because, unlike the imported ornamentals, "they're not fooled". I'm not sure if the columbine I have coming up in the hellstrip counts, as I can't remember now if it's the plain red-and-yellow of my youth or one of these fancy new varietals.

Everything seems two or even three weeks ahead of where it would normally be around now. Yesterday brought the first full-sized daffodils in bloom. I've noticed their buds swelling since last week, but I hadn't yet seen any open. Dutch irises are awakening, too, and I'm pleased to see the ones I planted along the alley edge late last fall returning despite the compaction from sloppy drivers over the winter. Elsewhere there are even Virginia bluebells leafing out. Rhododendrons are in bud, forsythia are just starting, and we may have magnolias soon.

I'm still not sure when to expect my saplings, but I suspect it could be as early as next week, so if the weather's at all good this weekend, I'll need to get digging. It would make sense to rebuild the retaining wall at the same time, but I'm also wondering if it doesn't make more sense to dismantle it completely and use those pavers to hold back the weight of soil and mulch from creeping over the narrow walk along the curb. Ah, so much I could accomplish if I only had the physique.

Divil a finer sentence

At some point in my reading of Borstal Boy, I attempted to compare it to my memories of the 2002 film adaptation and come to the realisation that I had none. I mean, I dredged up a few vague images and I remember something about a stage play, but I couldn't recall the plot. Or the character arc. Or the characters. Or the actors who played them. So I was pleased to find out from rereading my original entry that I apparently rather enjoyed it. That was over five years ago now, which is about twice as long ago as what it had become compressed to in my mind, so maybe I shouldn't fault myself for forgetting so much.

In retrospect, the movie was spot on in having the central character move away from radicalism rather than toward it. Ebert faulted this in his review, but unfairly so, since that's very much the impression Behan leaves you with. Yes, his young self is defiant until the end, but there's absolutely no indication in the closing chapter that this is the same man who would attempt to assassinate two gardaithe within a year of being released. I also faulted the compression in the film, but Behan sums up his last two years in six pages after having spent 230 on his first year in borstal and 130 on a few months imprisonment before that.

Dramatically, the biggest change is to have the film build up to a violent climax when it's the opposite with the book: the most vicious violence occurs in the first hundred pages whereas the last hundred have none at all. In my review of the film, I mentioned "short shrift" being given to the straight romantic subplot, but that's quite understandable considering that the object is a character that barely merits a walk-on in the book. The homosexuality is, as expected, dealt with rather more cagily in print, and it's hard to tell how much this reflects Behan's own youthful naïveté and how much a grown man's prudence.

It's a smashing read. Behan has a fantastic ear for dialogue and true way with words--poetical and very Oirish without getting too aye-and-begorra. For once an Irish novel with a fair bit of the Irish language in it and all of it correct (ignoring the lack of accents, for which doubtless blame the printer). I am now a treasure trove of mid-20th-century English prison slang, such as "judy", "snout", and "graft china". Wonder when that might come in handy.