How To Build A Boat by Elain Feeney
Published by Harvill Secker
Terry asked lots of questions in religion class about his soul, because it is the one class you have free time to talk, it is actively encouraged by this young deacon from Harrisburg, who goes by the name of Logan, and allows (demands) a lot of enquiry. Logan goes on at great length about celibacy, the sanctity of marriage, and the destruction of the world due to abortion and also yoga, that seems to be a big nonono, as it lets in things we cannot control (no idea yet about what they are but will find out, and as a male I won’t need an abortion, so I do not need to over-concern myself with worry about that) and it seems terrifying in his class. On holy days we have prayed for the souls of the dead babies for the entire class, encouraged to visualise them. Which was an image that lasted all week when I closed my eyes.
I have done some research, and yoga seems like a very happy and bendy place (for most people, and one very happy woman with a dog on YouTube seemed very friendly and kind). I am not at all flexible either, but this is the make-up of the male body apparently, so I am reassured by this at the very least. That said, I don’t know when it happened that I could no longer touch my toes. And I did try some of the yoga stretches, and I got closer, to the big toe, but I noted it too had begun sprouting hair, and might be the most crazy location of hair to date on my body. But maybe this will work in time. I am not sure why Father Faulks needed to mention it as being sinful, yoga, but again, I have more research to do here, and abortion seems far different from the perspective of the broader medical community. There is a lot, and I mean a lot, of information on it. And a lot of emotion. Logan also, like Father Faulks, seems full up with emotion and tales, and has few quantifiable tips to go on to protect us from becoming emasculated and I looked this up, and I am in grave danger of emasculation. So I spoke with Terry who encouraged me to join in the chants for the rugby team again this week at lunchtime and it was ferocious roaring. But I could see that everyone was very engaged.
I too have watched some of Mr Peterson’s clips on YouTube but he mostly seems to obsess about input-output and the inclinations of the male brain versus the female brain, and he goes on about lipstick in the workplace, and Marie doesn’t wear any. He does sound at first very intelligent, and even more so than Mirzakhani (at a stretch) his articulate enunciation is excellent, and he dresses very well,
sometimes he wears two microphones on a suit, which is good preparation. But then I get really confused. He seems to have no space for outliers. I have no doubt that maybe he is intelligent, but again, I find myself at a place where I would like some practical application of what I should actually do to safeguard myself and to enter manhood fully formed. Most pressing is Terry, he needs to know urgently
what taking action really means. We think he should get someone to set an alarm system in his home maybe, for when he’s at school, and perhaps he should sit in another room at night to his mother with her soap dramas, and not be influenced by them. He hates soap operas.
We learned about chivalry in the Middle Ages with Mr Sweeney, who laughed about chivalry and said who needs to worry about women and children when they took him to the cleaners when his wife left him last year. This is a metaphor, Terry said, for her taking all his money. But how much money can a teacher really have? They always seem concerned about money.
Harrisburg Logan answers all our enquiries by telling us to put our faith in god, and he does much smiling, and dipping his head to one side. He is a small man, and bald, and though he is only in his twenties he wears giant shoes with Velcro. Maybe Terry can have faith in his god, as Terry really believes in a god and goes to church all dressed up at the weekends, the church next door to the Turkish kebab house. I told Harrisburg Logan that I don’t believe in god, and he smiled and dipped his head to the side, and told me to put my faith in the journey. And that he was very sorry. I said I was OK, that when I die I am donating my body to medical science. And he told me that I would be taken up to heaven anyway. I told him that I would rather not be, and he said, ah, well, it is not a choice you have, young man, and he dipped his head to one side again, and said, no choice at all. And when I asked about free will, he groaned, dipped his head and made no sound whatsoever. He did not even smile. And then asked, what will I do with you? I suggested I go to Mr Foley’s workshop to continue on the boat, and he shouted and said, it is not a question. So I think there are finite questions too. Not just statements.
