With most adults (with my mother, in particular) there came a point, after the third or fourth question in a row, when they stopped answering; or, more often, the answer they gave would be no answer at all - ‘because it just is!’ or some equally frustrating variant.
- Chapter 2 - Iridium-193 - p. 31
He was also quite a strange man. In his own way, he was probably as weird as Dr Weir. As well as being a neurologist, he was also a committed Buddhist. This meant that he didn’t believe in God or heaven but he still thought that we should all be nice to each other because this was the most skillful way to get through life. He also believed that regular meditation made you a better, wiser person (though this was not the primary reason he suggested it for me). He said that meditation helped you rely on your own inner resources to cultivate happiness and guide you through life’s various stresses, and in the godless Buddhist universe, being able to rely on your own inner resources was particularly important.
- Chapter 4 - Electrical Storms - p. 51
In case you didn’t know, in secondary school - especially in the early years of secondary school - diversity is not celebrated. In secondary school, being different is the worst crime you can commit. Actually, in secondary school, being different is pretty much the only crime you can commit. Most of the things the UN considers crimes are not considered crimes at secondary school. Being cruel is fine. Being brutal is fine. Being obnoxious is fine. Being superficial is especially fine. Explosive acts of violence are fine. Taking pleasure in the humiliation of others is fine. Holding someone’s head down the tiolet is fine (and the weaker the someone, and the dirtier the toilet, the finer it is). None of these things will hurt your social standing. But being different - that’s unforgivable. Being different is the fast-track to Pariah Town. A pariah is someone who’s excluded from mainstream society. And if you know that at twelve years of age, you’re probably an inhabitant of Pariah Town.
- Chapter 6 - Welcome to the Monkey House - p. 81
My mother, of course, had already lectured me at length on the appallingness of that word. So had Sam, who was usually more moderate when it came to such things.
‘It’s a vulgar, obnoxious, male word,’ Sam said, which confused me for quite some time.
‘Why’s it a male word?’ I asked.
Sam looked at me for a few moments to gauge whether or not I was being deliberately stupid, then said: ‘You do know what that word means, don’t you?’
‘Of course I know what it means!’ I searched my mental thesaurus, ruled out every alternative, then said: ‘It refers to the part of the woman where babies come out.’
‘Exactly! And you can see why that’s demeaning, can’t you? You can see why it’s so offensive?’
I thought about this for a while. ‘No, Not really,’ I concluded. ‘I mean, I wasn’t actually using it in that context. Also, surely what’s so offensive is that the word’s so offensive, rather than the word itself?’
Same made me repeat this sentence, then told me I was being pedantic and perpetuating a sexist mindset. I felt quite aggrieved by this.
‘I didn’t make it the worst word in the world,’ I said.
- schooled after using the word cunt - Chapter 12 - Piercing - p. 160
I suppose that’s always the way with funerals. Funerals aren’t for the dead. They’re for the living. Chapter 13 - Death - p. 194