Monday, 30 March 2009
Victorin Hulot
From the mistfortunes implacably pursuing his family, Victorin Hulot recieved the hammering that makes a man or breaks him. It perfected Victorin. In the great storms of life we act like ships' captains at sea, and lighten ship by throwing the heavy cargo overboard. The lawyer had abandoned his inner arrogance, and his political pretensions. He grew to be Adeline's masculine counterpart. He resolved to make the best of his Célestine, although she was certainly not the wife he had dreamed of, and achieved a balanced view of life, realizing that we are obliged by universal law to be content with with a more or less imperfect approximation to the ideal. He solemnly vowed, in his profound sense of shock at his father's behaviour, to do all his duty. His resolution was confirmed as he sat at his mother's bedside on the day that she passed the crisis of her illness.
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Lalit Modi
The speed with which Lalit Modi has taken the IPL away from India and confirmed South Africa as the host nation next month has been simply breathtaking, establishing him beyond doubt as one of the most effective sports administrators in history.A tournament that was in danger of collapse because of Indian security issues has been rescued by Modi's foresight, decisiveness and staggering self-belief. It is one thing to recognise a solution, it is quite another to make it happen. England may talk at times of his arrogance, but his dynamism has lessons for us all. It is salutary to reflect on how much most of us achieved by comparison in the 48 hours or so between Sunday afternoon, when Modi pronounced that the IPL would not be staged in India, to Tuesday afternoon, when South Africa were chosen ahead of England to host the tournament.
Modi, like many successful businessmen, bows to democratic processes when things are running smoothly, but he could not be more autocratic when a crisis hits. This rarely matters. When decisions carry dangers, others are so fearful of the pitfalls that they are happy to hide behind someone brave enough to put their reputation on the line.
When Modi decided to act, his tactics were perfect. He probably knew from the start that South Africa was his preferred option, but he also knew that dealing with a sole bidder gave him limited room for manoeuvre. So he called up England as an alternative and cleverly, gratefully and with the certainty of someone with a good product to offer, played one off against the other.
He was at his shrewdest in repeatedly insisting that a decision had to be made by Tuesday. All around him, there was an urge to slow things down. But with reflection would come doubts and with doubts would come a loss of impetus. The only option was to force through the decision and then address the logistical problems that will now become apparent.
He saw a problem and dealt with it: rapidly, straightforwardly, emphatically, with not a sub-committee or viability report in sight. He deserves a tournament to remember.
Modi, like many successful businessmen, bows to democratic processes when things are running smoothly, but he could not be more autocratic when a crisis hits. This rarely matters. When decisions carry dangers, others are so fearful of the pitfalls that they are happy to hide behind someone brave enough to put their reputation on the line.
When Modi decided to act, his tactics were perfect. He probably knew from the start that South Africa was his preferred option, but he also knew that dealing with a sole bidder gave him limited room for manoeuvre. So he called up England as an alternative and cleverly, gratefully and with the certainty of someone with a good product to offer, played one off against the other.
He was at his shrewdest in repeatedly insisting that a decision had to be made by Tuesday. All around him, there was an urge to slow things down. But with reflection would come doubts and with doubts would come a loss of impetus. The only option was to force through the decision and then address the logistical problems that will now become apparent.
He saw a problem and dealt with it: rapidly, straightforwardly, emphatically, with not a sub-committee or viability report in sight. He deserves a tournament to remember.
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
Charles Grandet
His first appearance at his uncle’s house, whether it were in Saumur of at Froidfond, must be made in suitable style, so Charles had put on his choicest traveling outfit, the smartest one he had which had the elegance of simplicity, the most adorable, to use the current epithet for perfection in a man or thing. At Tours a hairdresser had been summoned to recurl his beautiful chestnut hair, and he had changed his linen and put on a black satin cravat and a round collar which framed his pale mocking face becomingly. A long overcoat, fitting tightly at the waist, was left half-unbuttoned to show a cashmere waistcoat with a roll collar, under which was a second, white, waistcoat. His watch was fastened to one of his buttonholes by a short gold chain, and negligently tucked into a pocket. His grey trousers were buttoned at the sides, and decorated at the seams with black silk embroidery. The freshness of his grey gloves had nothing to fear from contact with the gold-headed cane which he twirled with an easy grace. His traveling cap completed a picture in perfect taste. Only a Parisian, and a Parisian from the highest spheres, could fit himself up in this style, and not only avoid looking ridiculous, but even give to all his affectations an air of being modishly right, carrying them off with a gallant swagger, the dash of a young man who possesses a fine pair of pistols, skill in their use, and Annette.
It seemed to Eugenie, who had never seen such a paragon of beauty, so wonderfully dressed, that her cousin was a seraph come from heaven. She breathed the perfume of that shining head of hair, so gracefully curled, with delight. She would have liked to touch the satiny skin of those enchanting, fine, gloves. She envied Charles his small hands, his complexion, and the freshness and delicacy of his features.
It seemed to Eugenie, who had never seen such a paragon of beauty, so wonderfully dressed, that her cousin was a seraph come from heaven. She breathed the perfume of that shining head of hair, so gracefully curled, with delight. She would have liked to touch the satiny skin of those enchanting, fine, gloves. She envied Charles his small hands, his complexion, and the freshness and delicacy of his features.
Friday, 6 March 2009
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