In the course of a few years Twitter has evolved from a silly-sounding social networking fad to an Internet phenomenon used and appreciated by millions. Today, you’re just as likely to find some of the world’s top publishers, politicians and businesses online, as you are to find the stereotypical ‘boring idiot’ tweeting about eating toast. Stephen Fry may have been derided for his championing of the Twits, but his profile has never been higher, nor his opinion more highly sought.
As the West Port Book Festival coincides with the Edinburgh International Film Festival this June, Nicola goes to the movies with one most insightful books about the film industry which delves into the dark underbelly of Independent cinema.
The students of the University of Edinburgh were informed on Thursday that in order to accommodate the high volume of traffic the main library is receiving during this exam period (rejoice, oh those of you in the real world!), a lecture hall is being made available for study space.
Jeff Howe at Crowdsourcing asked the internet: 'What if everyone on Twitter read one book?' People answered - and the answer was not 'the internet will end.' It was much more exciting than that.
It's no secret that the West Port team are fond of curling up with a book to read - but what do we choose? First to divulge what they're reading right now is our general manager, Kay, who has no compunction whatsoever in owning up to being a comic book geek.
Part of the Edinburgh International Science Festival, 12th April, Informatics Forum. Prof. Richard Sharpe, Prof. Chris Kelnar, Prof. Richard Anderson.
‘Gender..? Man or Woman.' This was the first question of an equal opportunities form I found myself filling in recently. ‘Shouldn’t that say, ‘Sex...? Male or Female?’ my confused neighbour queried.
The gym is a frightening place. It is full of the abnormal shapes, sounds and smells of hulking weight machines crouched against the walls, thumping trainers on treadmills and dozens of sweaty bodies absorbed in working out. But more frighteningly, it is a not place that is amenable to books.
There is a historic relationship between literature and liquor that we, at the West Port Book Festival, are only too happy to endorse. It is not so much the intoxication that we enjoy, although that does have something to recommend it, but the ability to sit round a table and chat about the book festival, pint in one hand and pen in the other.
How transient is life, how vain is human glory, how long and fearful is death: unless of course you're a great Russian scribe, in which case you can join in this year's dance macabre, as you celebrate yet another anniversary from beyond the grave. Cutting the cake and lighting the candles are Nabokov, Chekhov, Tolstoy, and Pasternak, all celebrating anniversaries of theirs births, deaths or publications. The world watches, voices raised in praise or chuntering in dissension. The Russian greats look gaunt and superior, their thin hands gripping quills that dissolved long ago into dust.
It is not often that I break life up into easily digestible bullet points, but for this article I will make an exception. There are certain experiences in life that seem specially designed to turn even the sanest individual into a brainless android. Most of these seem to involve the government, or rather the behemoth called public sector bureaucracy, but at least a chosen few are delivered by the bloated incompetence of private sector ‘solutions’.
