Smug.

Spent the weekend in Nanjing with W., and mostly regretted the decision. Nanjing in itself was fairly charming, slightly hot, but with that comforting feeling of early summer, encompassed by lush plane trees and other verdant foliages. Finally visited Sun Yat-sen’s mausoleum, they certainly picked a commanding spot for it, far more so than other similar mausoleums in the States or Britain. It was somewhat ruined by teeming hordes of tourists, most of whom seemed quite ill-bred. In contrast, the memorial to fallen revolutionaries was almost deserted, and thus fantastically serene. The concrete structures there showed that you can still built some rather nice-looking buildings with these materials, it’s all about the design, really.

Sunday morning was spent strolling around the former American embassy, an understated collection of villas with manicured lawns, now converted into a hotel. The republican-era houses around the neighbourhood were reasonably well-preserved by senior military families, along with the layout of narrow but leafy streets, giving it a faintly Japanese feel, rather ironical given the location.

Began to have second thoughts about the PhD programme, mostly because UCLA doesn’t possess the kind of prestige like Cambridge or Yale, a rather vain thought I know, but a relevant factor if one is thinking of a career in history. Also, the rent in LA is simply astronomical, reducing one into a state of pure subsistence. Not an interesting state to be in for the next few years at all.

That said, I haven’t actually active sought out alternative career paths. Furthermore, one should consider the difficulty of finding work with a degree from a second-rate university suffering from steep budget cuts as well. Although reflecting on my past trajectory, one must admit that much of the current angst are more or less caused by oneself. Bah. 

Finished reading St. Aubyn’s Melrose novels; a bit disappointed by it, as the repulsiveness of its characters were not adequately compensated by its plot or narrative, although sparkling lines did appear from time to time. Also these days, one has even less patience with rich but troubled characters, preferring to take a more Thatcher/Tebbit sort of stance in reverse with these people.

On the other hand, Zadie Smith’s essay collection was quite wonderful; she has the enviable knack of skilfully dodging clichés, furthermore, you can actually conjure up her voice through the flow of her writing, especially her marvellous essay Speaking in Tongues, which also partially reflected my thoughts on this matter. Not for the first time did she remind me of E.M. Forster, whom she also quite consciously models herself upon. Old school ties I suppose.

In other news, I accepted the fellowship offer from Los Angeles, which will mean five years of fairly certain penury, all for the sake of reading a DPhil. in history, a highly unemployable subject. The snobbish parts of me shudder at the idea of rejecting places such as Oxford and LSE, despite them being clearly unsustainable financially. But the more realistic half recognises the length of time needed for becoming a competent academic in the States or other parts of the English-speaking world, and am somewhat resigned to it. On the whole, it’s a somewhat depressing feeling knowing that one is voluntarily signing away one’s financial independence, at this rather late stage of life. Hmm.