The Terror of London! - Who is Spring-Heeled Jack?
Those who would judge me based purely upon what a series of A4 certificate frames might hold would be forced to deem me qualified in the fields of both Ancient History and English Literature up to the Honours level, specialising particularly in the areas of Greek and Roman Literature and Creative Writing, and not much else besides. What those extortionately expensive sheets of paper truly represent, however, is over half a decade spent refining the abilities of critical evaluation, progressive argument, and their demonstrable expression. One persistent trait which this interval utterly failed to eradicate – despite the best efforts of many great lecturers – was a predisposition toward overtly formal and convoluted sentences. For this the blame lies squarely with my personal interests.
Though my taste in literature varies greatly in terms of both form and era, I am consumed with an especial fascination in the fiction of the nineteenth century, particularly that of the gothic, horror, and early science-fiction genres. Owing far more to eccentricity than being genuinely precocious, mine was an adolescence tempered by the likes of E.A. Poe and Bram Stoker, which has ever since expanded to include such other notables as A.C. Doyle, Oscar Wilde, R.L. Stevenson, and H.P. Lovecraft. More generally, my interests reach out like squamous tentacles to encompass fields as broad as history, philosphy, and art, throughout the diverse mediums of videogames, televsion, and of course film.
As someone who prides himself on being a thinking person, who has an opinion on virtually any topic conceivable, and with an ability to examine my own reasoning gleaned from university study, there is very little I enjoy more than to thrash out an argument with other opinionated individuals.
Having briefly outlined my background, I should now like to offer some enlightening notes upon how this relates to my choice of nom de plume. Those among you with whom I share the status of purveyors of useless marginalia will recognise the folkloric character of Spring-Heeled Jack from the late nineteenth century, when he attained notoriety through a series of seemingly pointless antics throughout London. A trickster-figure who augmented his remarkable ability to leap from street to rooftop with random acts of slapstick violence and a generally anarchic demeanour, Spring-Heeled Jack is, in many ways, a paradigm for my own intellectual activity: jumping from one subject to another with little regard for the great voids which often separate them, delighting in the random instigation of contentious debate with unsuspecting individuals around me, and caring little for the usual demands of qualification and specialisation as the basis of merit for expressing one's opinion.
Spring-Heeled Jack also encompasses much of what interests me most about history, literature, philosophy, and their intersection in everyday life. As a phenomenon that would ultimately take place across several decades – from the first reported sightings, then the adoption of the character in popular fiction, and its final status as one of the staples in contemporary urban legend – the figure of Spring-Heeled Jack represents a curious nexus of fiction derived from reality, that reality itself becoming informed by the fiction it created, and all the myriad complex interactions that take place until the sequence of cause and effect is finally untraceable and the poles of fiction and reality can no longer be discerned with any certainty.
In closing, I share with you a personal motto of mine:
Sentience is having an opinion; Intelligence is knowing why.
The Bingster's Film Reviews
Oh and a quote that I quite enjoy is;
"Work is the curse of the drinking class"
- Oscar Wilde
Over.Exposure
In response to your words of appreciation, for instance, this would seem particularly appropriate:
"Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative"
I say that because if you enjoy my rambling, disconnected writing style, you'll certainly have much to look forward to in the near future!
Paper Cover
Talk Oscar Wilde and I will listen. Talk Edgar Allen Poe and my ears prick up.