Jo Walton - Among Others

No buns today.

Parcel from Daniel this morning, with Clifford Simak’s City and Frank Herbert’s Dune , neither of which look all that immediately appealing. It’s so great having plenty to read. Also, another ten pounds. I don’t know, if he’s going to send me ten pounds every time I mention wanting to buy a book I suppose it’s good, but it’s very unreliable. I talked to Deirdre about this, though it was hard to get her to open up, as money, and pocket money, is one of those taboo subjects which you’re supposed to talk about in oblique ways. But when she did start to talk, I could hardly shut her up.

“I get two pounds whenever we come back here. My mother says I don’t need any money because it’s all provided, but that’s daft. I know you’ve noticed I’m always borrowing your soap. There’s soap and shampoo and all that, and if you want anything at all at the tuck shop, even an apple. And if you don’t buy buns ever, everyone says you’re mean, or worse, knows you’re poor and patronizes you. Karen bought me a bun last term and said ‘I know you won’t be able to pay me back, but don’t worry about that at all’ in such a smarmy way. So I bought buns the first week after half term.”

I had noticed, because she bought me one too. “You don’t have to buy me a bun back, really,” I said. “Though of course it’s nice to have one.”

“Most of the girls have a pound every week, or even two pounds, some of them. I don’t know how they’ll manage if they ever really do change the pound notes to coins, because they send it in letters. Nobody talks about exactly how much they get, because it’s vulgar to mention specifics about money.”

Vulgar to mention specifics about money, but what kind of car your father has and what job he has and what kind of house and what kind of fur coat your mother has are common topics of conversation. I didn’t even know there were different kinds, let alone which are good. The first time they asked me I said fox, just at random, which seems to be plausible, though Josie asked me if I meant silver fox or just plain red fox. It was so obvious from the framing of her question that silver fox was good that I didn’t hesitate. Of course, my mother doesn’t have a fur coat at all, and if she did she’d probably torture the poor thing. Anyway, I think fur is wrong, and I said so. I said I’m never going to have a fur coat, not ever, because it’s wrong to kill animals just for the fur. I’m not a vegetarian, I think it’s all right to kill animals to eat them, because that’s different. They’d do that to us. There’s no need for us to take their fur just to show off.

There are five school weeks until Christmas, so if I divide this ten pounds into two pounds a week that would work pretty well. Though I might anticipate on it to buy a bra this weekend, because now I’ve noticed that I have breasts I can’t seem to stop noticing them, and it would be nice to have a harness to get them out of the way.

Letter.

I didn’t open it, but just touching it seemed to bring on the pain in my leg, it’s been very bad indeed today.

This morning I finished Up the Line as I was sitting here, and I didn’t have anything else with me, so I was going to get something off the shelf. Miss Carroll was bustling about shelving a consignment of new books that had come in, mostly in nonfiction, and I was sitting in my usual corner, where I have panelling on two sides and a bookshelf in front of me. Sometimes I sit one seat along, where I can see out of the window, but there’s nothing worth seeing today, grey sky and bare branches and endless rain.

I was about to get up and go to the shelves, when Miss Carroll came over. “I remember you were asking about Plato,” she said, and put down a brand-new copy of the Everyman edition of Plato’s Republic . She also casually left two other books on the table nearby, a most intriguing book by Josephine Tey called Daughter of Time and Nevil Shute’s An Old Captivity , which I have read, of course, it’s the Leif Erickson one.

The Republic isn’t as much fun as The Symposium . It’s all long speeches, and nobody bursting in drunk to woo Socrates in the middle. But it’s very interesting all the same. I keep thinking that it wouldn’t work, though, like Sam said. Human nature is against it. People just tend to behave in certain ways because they are people. And if Socrates thinks ten-year-olds would be blank slates for him to work with, it must have been a long time since he was ten! Put me and Mor in The Republic and we’d turn it upside-down in five minutes. You’d have to start with babies, like Brave New World , which I see now is influenced by Plato. You could have a lovely story about two people in Plato’s Republic falling in love and messing up the entire plan. Falling in love would be a perversion. It would be like being queer is for Laurie and Ralph. I prefer Triton or Anarres if I want a utopia. You know what I’d love to read? A Dialogue between Bron and Shevek and Socrates. Socrates would love it too. I bet he wanted people who argued. You can tell he did, you can tell that’s what he loved really, at least in The Symposium .

When I came back this afternoon and sat down here again, I noticed the Shute and the Tey were still there. She mostly doesn’t move my things, and if she does she tells me where they are, or gives them to me. But these were hers. All the same I started reading the Tey. I think she meant it for me. I think she noticed moving around was hard today and brought it over so I’d have something. I’m positive she ordered The Republic for me. I suppose I am the only person who actually uses this library for the purpose to which it is intended—no, that’s not fair, some of the sixth-form girls do use it to get books out for essays. I’ve seen them. But I suppose Miss Carroll must have taken notice of me sitting here all the time reading and done something nice for me.

I should do something nice for her. People sometimes buy teachers buns. Does Miss Carroll count as a teacher? Or maybe I could think of something to get her for Christmas.

My leg’s still not great. I wonder if I should go to the doctor again about it. Nurse has the prescription for Distalgesic, I could go to her and have one. I would, except it’s down two flights of stairs and then up one.

Who would have thought Richard the Third didn’t actually kill the princes in the Tower?

Letter from Auntie Teg, full of news. And now I understand the bra system, though if I have to be measured I don’t know about that. Maybe I should just try on some likely sizes and refine from that.

I went to Nurse in the end yesterday, and she gave me a painkiller and said I ought to go to the doctor and she was making an appointment for me. I don’t see the point, considering, but I didn’t argue.

I got Gill to put the letter in the kitchen dustbin for me. Having all the scraps and grounds and everything dumped on it will stop it being so strong, and soon it will be taken away altogether. I asked Deirdre first, but she wouldn’t touch it. Sensible of her really.

No wonder fairies run away from pain. They like to be entertained, and it’s awfully boring.

Tomorrow, I have to be fit to go to the library.

Only three things for me at the library. I picked them up and bought a get well card for Grampar and came straight back. Red Shift and a bra can wait until next week.