Search results1 – 4 of 4
This article is based on a briefing paper originally issued by the National Housing Federation and Sitra as an update to their members on Supporting People and the future…
This article is based on a briefing paper originally issued by the National Housing Federation and Sitra as an update to their members on Supporting People and the future of housing‐related support. The article considers the current issues in providing housing‐related support and offers a range of measures to help connect housing, health and social care more effectively and ultimately to offer improved services and better commissioning. The article ends in a summary of the actions that the two organisations will be taking to help protect and preserve local Supporting People services and to make sure that Supporting People will develop, adapt and respond to future needs.
ONE MUST BEGIN with Dickens. A chapter by Christopher Hibbert in Charles Dickens, 1812–1870: centenary volume, edited by E. W. F. Tomlin, and The London of Charles Dickens, published by London Transport with aid from the Dickens Fellowship, make a similar study here superfluous; both are illustrated, the latter giving instructions for reaching surviving Dickensian buildings. Neither warns the reader of Dickens's conscious and unconscious imaginative distortion, considered in Humphrey House's The Dickens World. Dickens himself imagined Captain Cuttle hiding in Switzerland and Paul Dombey's wild waves saying ‘Paris’; ‘the association between the writing and the place of writing is so curiously strong in my mind.’ Author and character may be in two places at once. ‘I could not listen at my fireside, for five minutes to the outer noises, but it was borne into my ears that I was dead.’ (Our Mutual Friend)
IT WOULD NOT BE beyond the powers of exaggeration to claim that James Joyce is one of the greatest writers of the twentieth century. But it would be doubly difficult—difficult, even, for a star‐spangled Dubliner whose lips had been royally touched—to substantiate such a claim within the limits of a single sentence. It is true Joyce wrote a great number of pages, but he did not write a great number of books. He was a great humorist in the true Irish tradition: a savage satirist in the manner of Swift (though subtler in his technique) and a natural parodist and punster. He could perform miracles with words, and just as Wilde was a master of the epigram, so Joyce achieved endless subtleties and successes with the pun.