I return to the news that Valerie Minjsk has announced the publication of her memoirs, Inclined; the title based on a complaint made by her ex-husband on reading through a draft. ‘You use the word inclined far too much’ he is said to have said. Thus a title was made – and thus a marriage died (the title is, though, the important thing, no?)
I am inclined to believe that I too use the word ‘inclined’ excessively. I so often find myself leaning towards it as a word, unstable though it may be. Indeed, I think it’s the instability I like about it. Do I fear solidity? As the fly fears the amber, the stone the chisel and the clay the kiln. Which is to say: maybe.
One is of course reminded of the first line of Jens Staenig’s otherwise lacklustre autobiography, All Work is Play:
‘All in all it seems to me that, to a certain extent, I remember perhaps the sense that something of this sort might possibly have occurred, in a fashion not unlike the one I now present to you, to the best of my somewhat lacking abilities‘
On a clearly related note, some of you may be wondering what has happened to my own memoirs, which I started working on a year or so ago. Alas, I am still haunted by the lost notebook– unable, as things stand, waddle and sit, to continue my efforts in that direction. I am inclined to feel that many liquids will be forced to complete sub-bridge manoeuvres before normal service resumes.