“Filboid Studge, The Story of a Mouse That Helped,” by Saki – From “The Complete Saki,” by Saki – Section: “The Chronicles of Clovis.”
Saki’s sense of humour lies in a twist ending, and a satirising of the upper middle class of the Edwardian period. He wrote about – as it is often distinguished and discussed to the point of repetitive, woodpecker knocking it into one’s skull (and yes I am also guilty of it); the golden afternoon that England had pleasantly enjoyed before the Great War. Filboid Studge is not a person’s name – the odd things people call themselves or what parents name their children these days and even back then, it comes to no surprise to myself that I had even considered the fact that, it could have possibly have been a name at all. Instead Filboid Studge is a breakfast cereal. Previously under the title “Pipenta.”
It is a horrible breakfast really. Something that I can only think to myself reminds me of grits, porridge (how I hated porridge as a child lumpy and warm sitting in a lucrative warm milk), or biscuits drenched in a watery gravy with bits of sausage in it. It all makes me shudder – breakfast has not and remains to this day and probably until I am dead; the most hated meal that I have ever eaten. I despise the cereals (though those children ones with cereal are good) but since I personally was young, breakfast never appeased me. Though there were the odd times of having eggs and toast, with a cup of coffee that I did find enjoyable. But usually I found it all quite disgusting and unfathomable. Who would force their stomach’s I wonder(ed) for such a long period of time, why people could desire to eat such things. Yes the sugary cereals marketed to children is good – but does not sustain the affects of hunger. It does quench that growling monstrosity in my stomach until lunch. Of course now day’s people eat yogurt and fruit for breakfast. But this vile fictional concoction that Saki has created is perhaps the vilest breakfast that I have had both the pleasure and displeasure to read about.
Our protagonist, Mark is a simple artist. He designs posters for products. He makes about two hundred dollars a year. Yes Gentle Reader two hundred dollars a year. It’s messily earnings but life was simpler back then. He wishes to be wed to Leonore an heiress and daughter of a businessman Duncan. Duncan our ill fated, businessman you’ll find if you read this story made a stupid investment in a foul tasting disgusting ruthlessly indigestible breakfast, that no one would buy. However Mark, sensing a way to help Duncan, and secure his proposed marriage to Leonore takes the opportunity to rebrand and redo the advertisement of the breakfast that was so vile and so disgusting that no one wanted it. So Mark does. Soon with his plain poster of the damned in hell, reaching for the now renamed and rebranded Filboid Studge, puritans everywhere are going out to their local grocers and buying the product. The salvation of their soul – at the cost of their stomach’s and the torture of their tongues; become top priority.
All in most ways or another turn out just fine for everyone – to a degree. Once money is made it can always provide a new spin on the perspective of life. Which is fortunate for some and rather unfortunate for others. Though in a sense or way everyone is happy after they get what they want. At least for those who get it – and in typical Saki style it’ll come at the price of the stomachs, the tongues, and the mouths of those foolish and puritan – in other words devoted enough to believe what they see in a poster and their thoughts on the salvation of the soul; enough to buy the foul crap that is sold to them.
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“Riding Clothes,” by Yasunari Kawabata Nobel Laureate in Literature of nineteen-sixty eight – From “The Palm-of-The-Hand: Stores”
“Equinophobia,” or “Hippophobia,” is the clinical term or the more appropriate term for the fear of horses. There has never been a negative experience in my life, about horses. Mind you I have never grown up around horses. Though I look at them as dumb and skittish animals. Odd looking with their legs and heads, and those sad glass marble eyes. What then people ask makes me worry or feel uncomfortable around horses. Maybe it is there strength of those hooves. One kick and your down for the count. Perhaps it’s those teeth. Take your upper lip off, or remove your finger. Either way it does not matter. It does not matter either way. I have no use for horses. Large lumbering creatures, of a skittish attitude, and unpredictable behaviour – much like any animal though or person. When people tell me they are going horseback riding – or trail riding a smile and a good luck wish, and a “have fun,” is all that I can muster. My fear and disgust of horses have what kept me from those creatures, and continue to. What use is a horse to me anyway?
“Riding Clothes,” interests me as a reader for its location first and foremost. Yasunari Kawabata the Nobel Laureate in Literature of nineteen-sixty eight, is Japanese. Some might think of Japan as a nation isolated from the rest of the world. Reclusive to the influence of other countries. Always individual, and always strong. One however does not really think of Japanese people as the traveling type. Yet Yasunari Kawabata shows a different Japan then what some people may traditionally envision. The Japan depicted in Yasunari Kawabata’s fiction is a country in purgatory. A place of traditions, of beautiful and elegant customs, and at the same time, a country that is on the verge of modernization and has come to be influenced by other countries.
The short story “Riding Clothes,” takes place in both Japan – in the present tense; and presently in London, England.
The story is about a woman Nagako, and her unhappy marriage to a man by the name Iguchi, who had since lost his job, forcing Nagako to teach English at a Preparatory School, to support herself and her husband. However Nagako is unhappy in her marriage for the reason that she is married to her husband who reminds her too much of her father. Her father has left her with less than happy memories. She remembers her father sending her to old school mates with a latter. Each one shaking their head at the embarrassment of a grown man sending his daughter to send a letter instead of going there himself. This memory had left her with such an unhappy feeling, and his death only strengthened her feelings of discontent with her father, who she saw as a coward.
The title of this story comes when Nagako see’s an English family riding in Hyde Park, in the appropriate riding clothes. Their faces the epiphany of happiness. Something she herself could only touch and yet not have as her own.
Yasunari Kawabata’s “Palm-of-The-Hand: Stories,” are like small moments. Echoes if you will, of characters, trapped in moments of beauty and moments of the past, whispering and calling; yet like a candle quickly snuffed out by the current situation, or the reality of their lives quickly becomes tears down the moment of nostalgia or fantasy of what could have been, and should have been.
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“A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings,” by Gabriel García Márquez the Nobel Laureate in Literature of nineteen-eighty two – From “Leaf Storm: and Other Stories.”
When Gabriel García Márquez discusses what Magical Realism is, he stated that: “the most frightful, the most unusual things are told with the deadpan expression.” Which is quite true, in discussing the short stories that I have read by him. For one with the discussion or the reading of “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings,” it best to say that the above quote “the most frightful, the most unusual things are told with the deadpan expression,” is a great description of the reality of this story. In the simple discussion of the old man – who later is referred to as an angel, with his moulted and tattered wings; discusses with the most simple of deadpan expression, the very way Charles Dickens or Thomas Hardy or Émile Zola, would describe the conditions of the reality of their time. Just like the way when the angel is disturbed with a hot poker, pressed to his side, is described not with a sense of inhumanity or humanity; but instead described with that neutral way that Gabriel García Márquez uses in writing.
What strikes me as interesting in this story is not the way this angel is treated – well yes it is also interesting; but the way that the angel is just a common occurrence almost; or the way that when the crabs walk throughout the house, because of the rains and the consequences of the flooding, that has resulted of the rain. Another interesting aspect of this story is the description of this angel.
The angel has aged like any mortal creature – usually when a celestial being is described, in any narrative or any work of fiction; it is described well as ‘heavenly.’ It is described as beautiful. It’s a majestic being. It is something that mortals could never really comprehend in its aesthetic beauty. However with this angel compromised with this story, it is aged, its wings are tattered and look like a buzzards (no gold wings, or angelic dove like white wings of purity or cleanliness) there are only a few strands of hair on the top of his head, most of his teeth are missing. I assume he is underweight, starved and looks like some creature with an eating disorder. One can tell that this angel is not an individual of heavenly beauty or celestial power. If anything Gabriel García Márquez has invented a creature so pathetic and pitiful, that any predetermined concept of heaven as a paradise shows in some way or another is nothing but just like earth. The angels (the mortals there) age and follow the same concept as human beings.
This poor angel who has – at least according to a neighbour; come for the child who was in sick health; has been so old was beaten down by the gusts and the rain and fell into the mud trapped. This leads to his dual nature of becoming a guest and a prisoner in the chicken coop, of Pelayo and his wife Enlisenda. Pelayo took the angel in out of a sense of fraternity. Not the sense of the two being bond in some brotherhood; but rather that Pelayo is a kind and generous man who would welcome and accept anyone into his home, and help them out as needed – though in all honesty as well he is a little bit reluctant in helping the Old Man but at the same time is willing to. Enlisenda wife and family woman, is the one who comes up with the concept of charging a fee to for people to see this old man and his wings – a prospective angel who Father Gonzana has his own theory and suspicions is a fake. However Enlisenda money making becomes a bit of a problem when she needs to clean up after the crowds of people. However in the long run it pays off.
In the end the old man and his wings – though an ugly, pathetic and pitiful creature; finally loses his lustre and appeal. When a new ‘freak show,’ comes around and adds a new sense of wonder to the work other than that of the old man – who quite frankly did nothing. However with his fame done, his lodgers can now get their due rent.
The ending of the story is perhaps the best part of the story. It is not rushed. There’s a great sense of – not a happy ending, or a pleasant ending; but an ending which one can look back at as one does with their own life and give a slight smile to those wistful moments. For it is when the old man is described like a “senile vulture,” in the story it becomes slightly amusing to picture both a senile vulture, but it also adds to the grotesqueness of the old man himself.
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“Child’s Play,” by Alice Munro – From “Too Much Happiness,” by Alice Munro
Alice Munro’s greatest strength is her foreshadowing. How her pen becomes a brush. How the brush paints the scene. An odd scene. Not even the most friendliest scene. It’s dense with atmospheric emotions, muted in sepia and other olive hue tones. Like that of memory itself. Her stories may not be that far away from the past, and yet there is a sense that they are distances between the reader and even the character and the past. Many praise Alice Munro’s ability to weave a story. Her theme of using both women’s strength’s and their vulnerabilities against them. However for myself, the long shadow her pens casts across the page, as she writes out the scenes, makes the characters react and respond accordingly – though not always appropriately. Accidents, depression, absurd situations, despair, adultery, divorce – all of these aspects of life, lead one to unanswered questions. Yet each of the characters, face them as they like anyone else, is forced to. There is nothing they can do. They cannot hide from them. They cannot runaway. They cannot disappear, or wish them gone. They are part of their lives.
“And the name Verna – I dislike that. It doesn’t sound like spring to me, or like green grass or garlands of flowers or girls in flimsy dresses. It sounds more like a trail of obstinate peppermint, green slime.”
That is what there situations are: “obstinate peppermint, green slime.” Slithering into one’s mouth, forcing that sickening taste down one’s throat. Reminds one of those sickening candies their grandparents give them when they are children – some rather enjoy(ed) them; in fact it wouldn’t come to much shock, surprise and awe that most even enjoyed them; however I found (correction still do) find peppermint a sickening creature. Upon reading that quote it became apparent that it needed to be slithered into this review somehow. My utter distaste and dislike – no more like hatred for peppermint (not only the taste for it but also the smell of it!) was just a necessary to fit in. Let it crawl in, and be known.
However this short story by Alice Munro for me was one of her bests. The detachment and foreshadowing was appropriate. It allows for one to realize and see the emotional sterility of the narrator and characters themselves. However what I thoroughly enjoyed by this Alice Munro short story, was a sense of literary academia.
It should come to no surprise that Alice Munro is usually depicted as a former house wife turned writer, whose writing is characterized by the mundane, and the subtleties of text that show the underlying struggles but determination that the modern women must face. Such problems can vary. From the women facing herself against the collective group of society or her own self, and her own mistakes. A woman fighting change or embracing change, but being penalized by those around her for embracing change in an, otherwise oppressive and somewhat fiscally conservative landscape (not conservative in the political sense, but the concept of tradition the ways aspects of life “have been done,” versus the way that aspects of life “should,” or “what is going to be deemed done.”) But it always done through the mundane. The life of these women, which is beyond ordinary to the point of banal – and yet it never become banal. The gothic undertones at times, the ensure there is something darker. More captivating just below the surface. Like a fat juicy earth worm to be eaten, after all that top soil has been sifted thoroughly. Did I ever get a thick fat juicy worm with this story though.
The protagonist Marlene is a university or college educated woman. She has never married, and is childless. She studied anthropology and as a child was greatly paranoid by a rather “special,” kind of person by the name of Verna, whose mental incapability’s were frightening to the narrator as a child. She is a horrible turning point for the narrator as well. Changing her life forever. Her friendship to her ‘twin,’ Charlene, as well as perhaps a sense of an obsession with the fact of mental incapacitated people, and what is deemed normal functioning people – at least in a social sense.
“The words ‘Deficient,’ ‘Handicapped,’ ‘Retarded,’ being of course also consigned to the dustbin and probably for good reason – not simply because such words may indicate a superior attitude and habitual unkindness but because they are not truly descriptive. Those words push aside a good deal that is remarkable even awesome – or at any rate pecuniary, powerful in such people.”
That is what I thought was enjoyable. For such a brief moment was a abandonment of the mundane, and for a second it felt like the narrator was actually quoting an extract from her fictional book “Idols and Idiots,” which dealt with people like Verna. One cannot help but feel a sense of guilt, being confessed, and washed away – or at best an attempt at redemption trying to take place between the narrator and the character Verna through that fictional book.
What came as a real shocker was the ending. At times, it felt like there were two stories being told and run through this one story, but once they had collided, as so, it worked out nicely and adequately. Beware however Alice Munro is not a sentimentalist, or a sensationalist. The narrator discusses the facts with the coldest and at times cruellest of matter of fact way of speaking. All guilt, grief, desire for confession, and redemption had failed, and had long since been abandoned. Reality and the personal history had sunk in. No matter, what she did – be it confess, or flog herself – would ever change that.
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“(Autumn) The municipal pigeon,” by Italo Calvino – From “Marcovaldo or The Seasons in The City.”
There certainly is a sense of sardonic humour – that arguably could be seen as resembling to being irony; in Italo Calvino’s short stories. That being said humour is something that one should always state is quite difficult for an author or writer or anyone for that matter, to communicate or present across through any written text. Humour can be situational. It can become physical. It can become vicious. But one aspect of humour that it truly be stated to become difficult and even next to impossible to do, is provide a substantial humours effort in written text. There is no physical or active proportion. One does not clearly see the way the characters voice contorts to shock and awe and a humours or comical way. One does not to explicitly see the awkward position in which the characters will find themselves in. This leads to an explicitly difficult sense of writing for an author who wishes to achieve a comical writing. However Italo Calvino does achieve this, in writing’s own special and unique way. It does not make one laugh out loud, with their stomach cramping at the humour, but one does certainly give a slight smirk or even a smile at the way the story unfolds.
Marcovaldo really is the little William Kempe or a happy Pagliacci. Though slightly miserably in his surroundings. Marcovaldo would be more content in the countryside. Paradise would be working on a vineyard. Having the lush green grass surrounding him. However his situation is not that at all. He must endure the fact that he is surrounded, by cement, steel, brick, smoke and other wonders of the man made beehive that he finds himself living in.
To make matters so much more worst Marcovaldo is a poor man. An uneducated general labour simply working at a factory. A job he despises, in a city he despises. To add some more grief upon that, poor Marcovaldo tries his best to improve his situation. He does his best, to allow his family to eat well. He does all he can for them. Though explicitly stated on the back of this collection of short stories: “the results are never the anticipated ones.”
It was fitting to choose this story based on its season. Autumn, the time of harvest. A time of bonfires, Halloween – and in Canada thanksgiving. Autumn (also my favourite season) is also a prelude to what is about to come. Soon there will be the long thin icicle fingers of winter slithering around on the ground. That old breath sighing heavily on windows at night. It’ll soon come to that time when one must take out the snow brush, and scrape off, the frost that had accumulated the night before. Let the car warm up before driving off to one’s destination.
This is also the season of the bird migration. Already it can be seen in the sky the geese flying away. Flocking away squawking and honking their goodbyes, as they head south for the winter – much like lizard like old people do as well. The woodcock bird, is what grabs Marcovaldo’s eye migrating. This almost gets him run over and the scorn of his foreman at his job. However upon retelling his story of his foreman, the foreman remarks that he would head up to the hills and hunt the woodcock like a hunter. Marcovaldo had a different approach in mind. Laying birdlime on the roof, and the laundry lines, Marcovaldo had hoped to catch woodcock, and have the birds for his own greedy purposes of a necessity of devouring them, like a king at a feast. However poor Marcovaldo is left with a bit of a disappointment. Instead of the delicious meaty game bird of woodcock, he is left with more a more meagre scrawny urban pigeon, trapped in his birdlime. However food is still food, to Marcovaldo, and he devours the bird. Though his meal comes a with a bit of a price.
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“Three Popes Walk into a Bar,” by Amy Hempel – From “The Collected Stories,” by Amy Hempel – Section “Reasons to Live”
“Three Popes Walk into a Bar,” first came to my attention after reading an interview that Amy Hempel had done by the “Paris Review,” back in the summer of two thousand and three No. 166. It is in that interview that Amy Hempel had discussed the inspiration of the short story “Three Popes Walk into a Bar.” Amy Hempel had discussed how in order to help her write a memorable short story, and would help her later on, was enjoying the company of stand up comedians. She had informed the interviewer (Paul Winner) that upon watching the stand up comedians, she was able to observe some of the most crucial aspects of a story and stand up comedy itself. Amy Hempel describes how she witnessed “nuance, inflection, timing, how the slightest difference mattered,” all of which can clearly be seen in her work – along with her own traits of leaving right information out. On one such occasion, Amy Hempel had relayed to the interviewer the inspiration or the event that helped shape the short story “Three Popes Walk into a Bar,” when she met Steve Martin at Boarding House in San Francisco, back in the green room he was getting sick. It is there she had confessed that she had admired him, and told him she would not be able to go out there and make people laugh if she were sick. Steve Martin replied “Don’t be silly—you couldn’t do it if you were well.”
This anecdote is used within in the story itself. It is used specifically in the story where the narrator discusses talking with her friend Wesley a standup comedian who is by all means necessary not a humorous funny person, off stage. In fact it could be seen that he himself has grown tired of performing standup comedy and grown quite sick of it – a dark shroud of depression can certainly be sensed forming around him. However the real question is, is Wesley sick of doing comedy on his own choice, that the desire and the dream of it all has come and past or is he growing tired and sick of it because his girl friend Eve a former topless dancer, now a journalist who writes a column about fallen stars – or has been celebrities that is titled “Where Are They Now?” which the female narrator remarks they all called “Why Aren’t They Dead?” Eve wishes Wesley to give up standup comedy and for the two of them to buy a boat and to put it simply “live it up.”
One aspect of Amy Hempel’s writing that I am beginning to understand is that Amy Hempel’s writing deals with powerlessness in relationships, deception, lies, falseness, doubt, and self-deception. All of this can be seen here in this short story. However what Amy Hempel does in these stories though is how the characters try to mend what is broken in their lives. They try to fix those broken aspects of their lives. Mend those bridges. Paint over the bruises. Find a sense of meaning. This is what leads to some form of self-deception. That, the characters are so happy and so easily comfortable with their situations that they cannot accept the fact that the relationship is doing them no good whatsoever.
Part of this can be seen in the scene where Wesley shows the unnamed narrator of the story a commercial film he did for a company, for a product that seals concrete – a sense of sealing or healing what is chipped, cracked and broken. If memory serves correct (and I do not feel like going and searching throughout the story to find it to see if I am right – I read it and lunch time with a bunch of people talking around me.) Wesley cannot bare to watch himself on the video. He covers his eyes. One can take this a sense of Wesley’s inability or desire to change his current situation – to fix it like the cement seal that he himself had helped advertise.
Friday, 28 October 2011
Wednesday, 26 October 2011
The Short Story Review No. VII Introduction
Hello Gentle Reader
It is a question, which most writers would probably ask themselves. The Nobel Laureate in Literature of nineteen-sixty eight, had commented that the true essence of his writing, was to be found in them. In the beginning of her career, it distressed Alice Munro. Some authors can use it to their advantage; others miserably fail. Arguably Edgar Allan Poe had turned it into an ‘art,’ form. Yes Gentle Reader, it is the short story. The bastard cousin or the middle child of the novel. Its constrained. It is like poetry, only it tells a story. It has little room for any complexities of plot. But it can do certain things that the novel cannot do. It is more comprehendible then that of the poetic form of literature. It is less longer, less complex, then that of the novel. It is highly underrated as well. Some of the greatest authors of fiction, of the twentieth century wrote in the short story form. Franz Kafka, Rudyard Kipling, Anton Chekhov, Alice Munro, Angela Carter, Nadine Gordimer, Doris Lessing, Joseph Conrad, Jorge Lois Borges and Naugib Mahfouz, all wrote in this form of literature. It is a complete separation from that of the novel or poetic form of literature.
Where novels have a plot, short stories will have a story. Poetry does not even have either one of those two. Poetry is more of a technical form of literature, with a specific use of form, and an experimentation of language to create a musical or otherwise different use of language. With a novel, the plot can on one more plots, running parallel with each other, before drifting and smearing together to form a consecutive or more coherent, plot. The short story can only have one story running – and sometimes it might all out together get rid of that idea of a short story and move towards the aimlessness, of what real life amounts to. Those moments, of thoughts. Those emotional responses. These reactions in the day to day life like the chemical reaction taken place in the beaker of a chemist’s lab. It might focus on the beautiful atmosphere that is experienced through the character, which gives through an emotional response to the reader, which then connects for the briefest of moments that the short story and the reader share that emotional bond. That slight almost bewildering connection. That is if the short story form is done more correctly. If it is not done correctly that it is failing miserably. That can be seen with Patricia Highsmith’s and Will Self’s collection of stories, where something was left undone. A screw loose. A board out of place. Arguably something was not right. Therefore it failed miserably. While other authors like Yasunari Kawabata, Alice Munro, Amy Hempel – are able to grasp the concept of the short story and using its particular form, its sense of fragmentation, and its ability not to focus on comprehending the entire concept of the universe or society, but rather to simply zero in on those moments. Those moments that touch, to use a single grain of sand, and see the entire concept of the universe there in its very small peculiar way.
Steven Millhauser of the New York Times comprehends the short story form in his following passage from his essay about the ambitions of the short story form:
“A world in a grain of sand": "In that single grain of sand lies the beach that contains the grain of sand. In that single grain of sand lies the ocean that dashes against the beach, the ship that sails the ocean, the sun that shines down on the ship, the interstellar winds, a teaspoon in Kansas, the structure of the universe. And there you have the ambition of the short story, the terrible ambition that lies behind its fraudulent modesty: to body forth the whole world.”
Steven Millhauser is right in what he describes. The short story, who views the world at the miniaturist form of that tiny grain of sand, does not wish to devour it like the novel, but more expertly, it see’s the world in just these little details. These moments, are grasped in the short story form. The molecules of the grain of sand are not just the molecules, atoms, and particles of the single grain of sand, it is the database the building block of what all life is, in just that speck of almost nihilistic nothingness. A grain of sand that in the void and incomprehensible universe of the world, laughs at it all, and understands that the world cannot be comprehended in just a singular way but more expectedly it is built up of just moments. Moments upon moments. Rather than being the novel that wishes to make the universe more comprehendible, or grasp all the moments and all the greatness of the world; the short story takes one single grain of sand and see’s the world, in all its miniature moments. As if creating an epiphany with subtle beauty and modesty. That is what the short story is.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
P.S. Gentle Reader, I came across the Steven Millhauser quote from this blog:
http://may-on-the-short-story.blogspot.com/2011/02/steven-millhauser-getting-closer.html
It is a question, which most writers would probably ask themselves. The Nobel Laureate in Literature of nineteen-sixty eight, had commented that the true essence of his writing, was to be found in them. In the beginning of her career, it distressed Alice Munro. Some authors can use it to their advantage; others miserably fail. Arguably Edgar Allan Poe had turned it into an ‘art,’ form. Yes Gentle Reader, it is the short story. The bastard cousin or the middle child of the novel. Its constrained. It is like poetry, only it tells a story. It has little room for any complexities of plot. But it can do certain things that the novel cannot do. It is more comprehendible then that of the poetic form of literature. It is less longer, less complex, then that of the novel. It is highly underrated as well. Some of the greatest authors of fiction, of the twentieth century wrote in the short story form. Franz Kafka, Rudyard Kipling, Anton Chekhov, Alice Munro, Angela Carter, Nadine Gordimer, Doris Lessing, Joseph Conrad, Jorge Lois Borges and Naugib Mahfouz, all wrote in this form of literature. It is a complete separation from that of the novel or poetic form of literature.
Where novels have a plot, short stories will have a story. Poetry does not even have either one of those two. Poetry is more of a technical form of literature, with a specific use of form, and an experimentation of language to create a musical or otherwise different use of language. With a novel, the plot can on one more plots, running parallel with each other, before drifting and smearing together to form a consecutive or more coherent, plot. The short story can only have one story running – and sometimes it might all out together get rid of that idea of a short story and move towards the aimlessness, of what real life amounts to. Those moments, of thoughts. Those emotional responses. These reactions in the day to day life like the chemical reaction taken place in the beaker of a chemist’s lab. It might focus on the beautiful atmosphere that is experienced through the character, which gives through an emotional response to the reader, which then connects for the briefest of moments that the short story and the reader share that emotional bond. That slight almost bewildering connection. That is if the short story form is done more correctly. If it is not done correctly that it is failing miserably. That can be seen with Patricia Highsmith’s and Will Self’s collection of stories, where something was left undone. A screw loose. A board out of place. Arguably something was not right. Therefore it failed miserably. While other authors like Yasunari Kawabata, Alice Munro, Amy Hempel – are able to grasp the concept of the short story and using its particular form, its sense of fragmentation, and its ability not to focus on comprehending the entire concept of the universe or society, but rather to simply zero in on those moments. Those moments that touch, to use a single grain of sand, and see the entire concept of the universe there in its very small peculiar way.
Steven Millhauser of the New York Times comprehends the short story form in his following passage from his essay about the ambitions of the short story form:
“A world in a grain of sand": "In that single grain of sand lies the beach that contains the grain of sand. In that single grain of sand lies the ocean that dashes against the beach, the ship that sails the ocean, the sun that shines down on the ship, the interstellar winds, a teaspoon in Kansas, the structure of the universe. And there you have the ambition of the short story, the terrible ambition that lies behind its fraudulent modesty: to body forth the whole world.”
Steven Millhauser is right in what he describes. The short story, who views the world at the miniaturist form of that tiny grain of sand, does not wish to devour it like the novel, but more expertly, it see’s the world in just these little details. These moments, are grasped in the short story form. The molecules of the grain of sand are not just the molecules, atoms, and particles of the single grain of sand, it is the database the building block of what all life is, in just that speck of almost nihilistic nothingness. A grain of sand that in the void and incomprehensible universe of the world, laughs at it all, and understands that the world cannot be comprehended in just a singular way but more expectedly it is built up of just moments. Moments upon moments. Rather than being the novel that wishes to make the universe more comprehendible, or grasp all the moments and all the greatness of the world; the short story takes one single grain of sand and see’s the world, in all its miniature moments. As if creating an epiphany with subtle beauty and modesty. That is what the short story is.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
P.S. Gentle Reader, I came across the Steven Millhauser quote from this blog:
http://may-on-the-short-story.blogspot.com/2011/02/steven-millhauser-getting-closer.html
Friday, 21 October 2011
A Booker Prize Crisis?
Hello Gentle Reader
The more I read into the Booker Prize train wreck/car crash – the more it becomes certain that its far from over, or may take a while for the prize to rise out of the smouldering ashes that has become of its reputation. It (could be argued) first started with the outrage one judge had over Philip Roth winning the Man Booker International Prize of two thousand and eleven. However John Le Carre upon finding out that he had been shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize of two thousand and eleven, had actually requested that he be removed from the prize shortlist because he does not compete for awards and prizes. The chair of the Man Booker International Prize of two thousand eleven, declined to fill out the request. Then there was the chairman of the Booker Prize Foundation, had thrown gas on the fire, with his remarks about the Nobel Prize for Literature, stating that the Nobel Prize for Literature was “political at best,” and further boasting the Man Booker International Prize as a “ever more competent component.” Not to mention that this year’s winner of the Man Booker International Prize Philip Roth had declined to even go to the banquet held in his honour – much like the judge who in a fit of outrage and decline refused to be there as well.
Just when one thinks, that the Booker Prize could not have gotten any worst after such mishaps, outrages, slamming of doors, and outright refusal to see each other, it became more of a circus show then before. Yet even before that, even before the outrage of the Man Booker International Prize of two thousand eleven. Back in the nineties apparently some “undeserving,” novels won the prize. However if one looks back into the archives of the prize, some of the novels did deserve to win. Though that past has since become something of a disgrace for the current events happening now, surrounding the prize. In fact it’s becoming apparent by some that the Man Booker Prize is not really about literature at all, but more about self-promotion.
Then with the annual Man Booker Prize taking place, there was slight outrage that Ali Smith did not even make the long list. The fact that Alan Hollinghurst did not even make the shortlist – though he did make the long list. Then of course there was the recently departed Beryl Bainbridge often referred to as the Booker Prize Bridesmaid – she could finally win a Booker Prize herself, with readers voting for one of her five novels that were shortlisted for the Booker, and the winner would be announced. Though in all honesty it could be it be said, that it bothered to do much of anything? Poor Dame Beryl Bainbridge however is deceased. What could the prize really do for her? Though perhaps it is more of an apology for never awarding the prize to the author. However a Nobel Laureate for Literature Doris Lessing never won the Man Booker Prize either, though she was shortlisted three times.
Once the shortlist of this year’s Man Booker Prize was announced there was criticism, which the chair of this year’s award Dame Stella Rimington fought back with. The Dame and the chair this year, fought back, stating that the Publishing world was like the KGB. Andrew Motion former Poet Laureate, gave a horrible review of A.D. Miller’s shortlisted novel “Snowdrops,” stating that it could barely keep his “eyebrows level.” Quite frankly though, this year’s Man Booker Prize had stated quite frankly that it had been the worst in decades. Though its popularity with the general reading public has been rather high.
Then of course came the announcement that Andrew Kidd and his friends and colleagues were going to open a new prize to rival that of the Man Booker Prize, and call it the “Literature Prize.” It’s a Literary Dispute, that has become quite an enjoyable spectacle after a while – and now it’s just becoming slightly awkward. Of course I am not hurt by either statements. If the “Literature Prize,” comes to pass, that just gives me more authors to look into reading. But the comments, the snide remarks, the criticism, the public tantrums, it all proves that this year’s Man Booker Prize (both International and the English/Common Wealth award) was more entertaining out of how it all was handled, rather than the Book that was awarded, or what amounts to good Literature.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
To read all the articles in which this information was found please use the following links:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2011/oct/13/man-booker-prize-fresh-challenger
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2011/oct/20/booker-narrative-arc-robert-mccrum
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2011/oct/19/stella-rimington-booker-diatribe-kgb
http://londonersdiary.standard.co.uk/2011/06/booker-bigger-than-nobel-says-chairman.html
http://www.themanbookerprize.com/news/stories/1490
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2011/oct/19/stella-rimington-booker-diatribe-kgb
The more I read into the Booker Prize train wreck/car crash – the more it becomes certain that its far from over, or may take a while for the prize to rise out of the smouldering ashes that has become of its reputation. It (could be argued) first started with the outrage one judge had over Philip Roth winning the Man Booker International Prize of two thousand and eleven. However John Le Carre upon finding out that he had been shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize of two thousand and eleven, had actually requested that he be removed from the prize shortlist because he does not compete for awards and prizes. The chair of the Man Booker International Prize of two thousand eleven, declined to fill out the request. Then there was the chairman of the Booker Prize Foundation, had thrown gas on the fire, with his remarks about the Nobel Prize for Literature, stating that the Nobel Prize for Literature was “political at best,” and further boasting the Man Booker International Prize as a “ever more competent component.” Not to mention that this year’s winner of the Man Booker International Prize Philip Roth had declined to even go to the banquet held in his honour – much like the judge who in a fit of outrage and decline refused to be there as well.
Just when one thinks, that the Booker Prize could not have gotten any worst after such mishaps, outrages, slamming of doors, and outright refusal to see each other, it became more of a circus show then before. Yet even before that, even before the outrage of the Man Booker International Prize of two thousand eleven. Back in the nineties apparently some “undeserving,” novels won the prize. However if one looks back into the archives of the prize, some of the novels did deserve to win. Though that past has since become something of a disgrace for the current events happening now, surrounding the prize. In fact it’s becoming apparent by some that the Man Booker Prize is not really about literature at all, but more about self-promotion.
Then with the annual Man Booker Prize taking place, there was slight outrage that Ali Smith did not even make the long list. The fact that Alan Hollinghurst did not even make the shortlist – though he did make the long list. Then of course there was the recently departed Beryl Bainbridge often referred to as the Booker Prize Bridesmaid – she could finally win a Booker Prize herself, with readers voting for one of her five novels that were shortlisted for the Booker, and the winner would be announced. Though in all honesty it could be it be said, that it bothered to do much of anything? Poor Dame Beryl Bainbridge however is deceased. What could the prize really do for her? Though perhaps it is more of an apology for never awarding the prize to the author. However a Nobel Laureate for Literature Doris Lessing never won the Man Booker Prize either, though she was shortlisted three times.
Once the shortlist of this year’s Man Booker Prize was announced there was criticism, which the chair of this year’s award Dame Stella Rimington fought back with. The Dame and the chair this year, fought back, stating that the Publishing world was like the KGB. Andrew Motion former Poet Laureate, gave a horrible review of A.D. Miller’s shortlisted novel “Snowdrops,” stating that it could barely keep his “eyebrows level.” Quite frankly though, this year’s Man Booker Prize had stated quite frankly that it had been the worst in decades. Though its popularity with the general reading public has been rather high.
Then of course came the announcement that Andrew Kidd and his friends and colleagues were going to open a new prize to rival that of the Man Booker Prize, and call it the “Literature Prize.” It’s a Literary Dispute, that has become quite an enjoyable spectacle after a while – and now it’s just becoming slightly awkward. Of course I am not hurt by either statements. If the “Literature Prize,” comes to pass, that just gives me more authors to look into reading. But the comments, the snide remarks, the criticism, the public tantrums, it all proves that this year’s Man Booker Prize (both International and the English/Common Wealth award) was more entertaining out of how it all was handled, rather than the Book that was awarded, or what amounts to good Literature.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
To read all the articles in which this information was found please use the following links:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2011/oct/13/man-booker-prize-fresh-challenger
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2011/oct/20/booker-narrative-arc-robert-mccrum
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2011/oct/19/stella-rimington-booker-diatribe-kgb
http://londonersdiary.standard.co.uk/2011/06/booker-bigger-than-nobel-says-chairman.html
http://www.themanbookerprize.com/news/stories/1490
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2011/oct/19/stella-rimington-booker-diatribe-kgb
Thursday, 20 October 2011
Julian Barnes No Longer the Best Man for the Booker Prize
Hello Gentle Reader
“The Sense of an Ending,” written by Julian Barnes, is a short little novella. Julian Barnes had been nominated for the Booker Prize numerous times before for his past novels: “Flaubert’s Parrot,” in nineteen-eighty five; “England, England,” in nineteen-ninety eight; “Arthur and George,” in two thousand and five. Finally however the long time favourite to win a Booker Prize has finally picked up the prize in two thousand and eleven for his short little novel (often called a novella) “The Sense of an Ending.”
This year’s (as in this year of two thousand and eleven) has been one of the most interesting years for the Man Booker Prize. Under heavy scrutiny and criticism, by many of the literary establishment, for the question that this year’s Man Booker Prize Judges, had chosen readability over ‘artistic,’ quality – or in a more preferred terms (at least my more preferred terms) it choose a sense of readability or a less complex prose over prose that are more literary in merit and are a bit more challenging and reading.
The former poet laureate, Andrew Motion was the one who had (at least from my knowledge) had brought the attention of criticism of the concept that this year’s Booker Prize, was choosing more readable products of novels, over more complex novels, that presented a more substantial literary view. Immediately it becomes clear that Andrew Motion and Andrew Kidd (a literary agent) have both been more or less unimpressed with the works of those (besides Julian Barnes) on the shortlist of this year’s Booker Prize, as snubbing the artistic achievements of other novelists who were not even bothered to be included on the Long List of this year’s Booker Prize. The fact of the matter is many found the selection of two debut novelists (A.D. Miller and Stephan Kelman) where included on the list, along with obscure novelists Patrick deWitt and Esi Edugyan, which was followed by the UK Carol Birch and the critically favourite to win the Booker Prize this year Julian Barnes.
Even though homosexual author Allan Hollinghurst the two thousand and four winner of the Booker Prize, with his novel “The Line of Beauty,” had made it on this year’s Long list with “The Stranger’s Child,” many were disappointed with the fact that he did not make the Shortlist. Many were quite outraged that Ali Smith a Booker Prize bridesmaid (much like Julian Barnes) with her new novel “There but for the,” was not even placed on the Long list. Others though that the International IMPAC Literary Dublin Award winner in nineteen-ninety nine Andrew Miller and his new novel “Pure,” should have also been placed on the Long list and should have seriously been considered for the prize. Others thought that the Edward St Aubyn new novel and semi-autobiographical novel that ends the Melrose saga should also have been placed on it. Others declared that “Wish You Were Here,” by Graham Swift should have also have been considered. Some even petitioned for China Mieville and his new novel “Embassytown,” though it was clearly a utopian thought, and most likely not going to happen.
Even though the Literary Establishment has made it quite clear that this year’s Booker Prize, felt “dumb downed,” the public became quite interested to see who won. With reports stating that the shortlist has been the most popular since the prize had first formed. The Guardian had even reported that a publisher who decided to remain off the record, had also agreed with the established consensus of the literary world and had said that this year’s Booker Prize judges were “lacking in authority,” not to mention “a bit confused about what the prize is for.” The best quote however the Guardian provided though came from a poet by the name of Jackie Kay who said:
“We desperately need a prize which shows off the best writers writing in English. It is a sad day when even the Booker is afraid to be bookish … People want to think. They don't want to be patronised. People are excited by books doing different things with structure, like Ali Smith – it's really shocking she wasn't even on the longlist.”
What I agreed with the statement above is that: “People want to think. They don’t want to be patronised.” Which quite frankly is quite true. The serious reader wants to have a piece of fiction that makes them think, not something that wastes their time. Of course others were quick to come to the defense of the Booker Prize judges. Saying that it wasn’t readability over quality, but readability and a novel of excellence. Others went on to state that they wanted readability and quality. No one wants a novel that is unreadable. Which is true – Virginia Woolf still pisses me off, but I still enjoy her as an author – no idea why but I do – maybe for me the thrill of reading Virginia Woolf is the openness of her work, the form of her work, and the difficulty.
However it does become more and more interesting when one thinks about it. The only author that was truly recognizable on this list was Julian Barnes. All the others were unknown. So it comes into question if the Booker Prize. Did the authors actually focus on the sense of excellence in the work? The way the prose of the author got the message across, while being entertaining? Who could forget in the year of two thousand and ten, when I had gotten a bit disappointed (anger would be more sufficient word) that David Mitchell and his novel “The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet,” did not make the shortlist but Peter Carey did – not to mention that Peter Carey had won the Booker Prize two times before that. In two thousand and nine that two former winners Dame A.S. Byatt for her novel “The Children’s Book,” and J.M. Coetzee also a former (twice the other novelist who had only won the prize twice along with Peter Carey) was shortlisted for his novel “Summertime.”
Looking at it now, maybe the Booker Prize is more of a old gentlemen’s club recently, rather than a prize to be awarded to the excellencies of the individual novel. However that is up for you Gentle Reader to decide. Is the Booker Prize just another old gentlemen’s club? Another form of “class boundary,” based on literary reputation? Or is it awarded to deserving novelists who had achieved a sense of excellent ‘artistic,’ temperament in their novel?
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
To see the above referenced article please follow the link presented below:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/oct/16/booker-prize-cricitism-andrew-motion?newsfeed=true
To read about Julian Barnes snagging the Booker Prize please follow the following link below:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/oct/18/booker-prize-julian-barnes-wins
“The Sense of an Ending,” written by Julian Barnes, is a short little novella. Julian Barnes had been nominated for the Booker Prize numerous times before for his past novels: “Flaubert’s Parrot,” in nineteen-eighty five; “England, England,” in nineteen-ninety eight; “Arthur and George,” in two thousand and five. Finally however the long time favourite to win a Booker Prize has finally picked up the prize in two thousand and eleven for his short little novel (often called a novella) “The Sense of an Ending.”
This year’s (as in this year of two thousand and eleven) has been one of the most interesting years for the Man Booker Prize. Under heavy scrutiny and criticism, by many of the literary establishment, for the question that this year’s Man Booker Prize Judges, had chosen readability over ‘artistic,’ quality – or in a more preferred terms (at least my more preferred terms) it choose a sense of readability or a less complex prose over prose that are more literary in merit and are a bit more challenging and reading.
The former poet laureate, Andrew Motion was the one who had (at least from my knowledge) had brought the attention of criticism of the concept that this year’s Booker Prize, was choosing more readable products of novels, over more complex novels, that presented a more substantial literary view. Immediately it becomes clear that Andrew Motion and Andrew Kidd (a literary agent) have both been more or less unimpressed with the works of those (besides Julian Barnes) on the shortlist of this year’s Booker Prize, as snubbing the artistic achievements of other novelists who were not even bothered to be included on the Long List of this year’s Booker Prize. The fact of the matter is many found the selection of two debut novelists (A.D. Miller and Stephan Kelman) where included on the list, along with obscure novelists Patrick deWitt and Esi Edugyan, which was followed by the UK Carol Birch and the critically favourite to win the Booker Prize this year Julian Barnes.
Even though homosexual author Allan Hollinghurst the two thousand and four winner of the Booker Prize, with his novel “The Line of Beauty,” had made it on this year’s Long list with “The Stranger’s Child,” many were disappointed with the fact that he did not make the Shortlist. Many were quite outraged that Ali Smith a Booker Prize bridesmaid (much like Julian Barnes) with her new novel “There but for the,” was not even placed on the Long list. Others though that the International IMPAC Literary Dublin Award winner in nineteen-ninety nine Andrew Miller and his new novel “Pure,” should have also been placed on the Long list and should have seriously been considered for the prize. Others thought that the Edward St Aubyn new novel and semi-autobiographical novel that ends the Melrose saga should also have been placed on it. Others declared that “Wish You Were Here,” by Graham Swift should have also have been considered. Some even petitioned for China Mieville and his new novel “Embassytown,” though it was clearly a utopian thought, and most likely not going to happen.
Even though the Literary Establishment has made it quite clear that this year’s Booker Prize, felt “dumb downed,” the public became quite interested to see who won. With reports stating that the shortlist has been the most popular since the prize had first formed. The Guardian had even reported that a publisher who decided to remain off the record, had also agreed with the established consensus of the literary world and had said that this year’s Booker Prize judges were “lacking in authority,” not to mention “a bit confused about what the prize is for.” The best quote however the Guardian provided though came from a poet by the name of Jackie Kay who said:
“We desperately need a prize which shows off the best writers writing in English. It is a sad day when even the Booker is afraid to be bookish … People want to think. They don't want to be patronised. People are excited by books doing different things with structure, like Ali Smith – it's really shocking she wasn't even on the longlist.”
What I agreed with the statement above is that: “People want to think. They don’t want to be patronised.” Which quite frankly is quite true. The serious reader wants to have a piece of fiction that makes them think, not something that wastes their time. Of course others were quick to come to the defense of the Booker Prize judges. Saying that it wasn’t readability over quality, but readability and a novel of excellence. Others went on to state that they wanted readability and quality. No one wants a novel that is unreadable. Which is true – Virginia Woolf still pisses me off, but I still enjoy her as an author – no idea why but I do – maybe for me the thrill of reading Virginia Woolf is the openness of her work, the form of her work, and the difficulty.
However it does become more and more interesting when one thinks about it. The only author that was truly recognizable on this list was Julian Barnes. All the others were unknown. So it comes into question if the Booker Prize. Did the authors actually focus on the sense of excellence in the work? The way the prose of the author got the message across, while being entertaining? Who could forget in the year of two thousand and ten, when I had gotten a bit disappointed (anger would be more sufficient word) that David Mitchell and his novel “The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet,” did not make the shortlist but Peter Carey did – not to mention that Peter Carey had won the Booker Prize two times before that. In two thousand and nine that two former winners Dame A.S. Byatt for her novel “The Children’s Book,” and J.M. Coetzee also a former (twice the other novelist who had only won the prize twice along with Peter Carey) was shortlisted for his novel “Summertime.”
Looking at it now, maybe the Booker Prize is more of a old gentlemen’s club recently, rather than a prize to be awarded to the excellencies of the individual novel. However that is up for you Gentle Reader to decide. Is the Booker Prize just another old gentlemen’s club? Another form of “class boundary,” based on literary reputation? Or is it awarded to deserving novelists who had achieved a sense of excellent ‘artistic,’ temperament in their novel?
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
To see the above referenced article please follow the link presented below:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/oct/16/booker-prize-cricitism-andrew-motion?newsfeed=true
To read about Julian Barnes snagging the Booker Prize please follow the following link below:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/oct/18/booker-prize-julian-barnes-wins
Wednesday, 12 October 2011
Old News Is Stills New News
Hello Gentle Reader
This may be old to news to some who have already be informed about the entire ordeal, but it is new news to me, about hearing about this more the miraculous freedom that a now surely exiled writer and Chinese Communist Party/Communist China, author Liao Yiwu and his newly acquired freedom he has obtained when he left China in the early summer of two thousand and eleven. He left China and arrived at Berlin in Germany the sixth of July two thousand and eleven. Liao Yiwu has further made headlines when he read at the eleventh Berlin Literature Festival. There Liao Yiwu met a writers in arms just like himself, who had escaped communist, and oppression and discovered what it means to be an individual. He met a friend and an ally in Herta Müller the two thousand nine Nobel Laureate in Literature; who though a quiet and shy author, even borderline hermetic and reclusive as some have described her, made headlines and composed herself with grace and a very dignified demeanour in the face of flashing bulbs of camera’s as she greeted another Chinese Communist Party/Communist China dissident author Bei Ling at the Frankfurt Book Fair. Herta Müller has been very active with these Chinese authors, and also an avid supporter of the two thousand and ten Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Liu Xiaobo. However her support for these three authors and fellow Laureate has also caused Herta Müller less than a welcome response, by others; however Herta Müller has been championed for her criticism and voice for those who suffer and suffered as she had under Nicolae Ceaușescu and his Communist Romanian Regime.
Herta Müller had stated:
“I am happy to be able to somehow support them in one way or another. If I could use the [Nobel] prize to somehow offer them sanctuary…I know, all dictatorships are alike in their dealings with human beings. Individuality is immaterial; no individual is permitted his or her own say.”
The Nobel Laureate in Literature has also been applauded for her note and observations of how many totalitarian governments have killed many individuals to maintain absolute power:
“Next to China is Cuba, for instance, or Iran or North Korea. One needs to have courage, guts and responsibility.”
But Herta Müller also does more than just discuss the horrors and her absolute contempt and disgust for totalitarian governments and dictatorships, when presented with a petition to free the Chinese Human Rights attorney Gao Zhisheng (which has been reported that the attorney who has disappeared in two thousand and nine, has been subjected to torture), the Nobel Laureate in Literature signs her name.
However as it had been stated above Herta Müller has not been met with kindness and applause over the entire affair, over Liu Xiaobo. Published by Siebenbürgische Zeitung a Romanian newspaper for the German-speaking minority in Romania, published an open letter, written by a group of Chinese democracy advocates had stated:
“She is certainly entitled to voice her support for Liu Xiaobo," the signatories wrote. "However, she used abusive language against those who criticized Liu.”
And continued to say:
“This assertion and attack of her style was just like that of the propaganda during the era of Nicolae Ceausescu in Romania.”
Herta Müller also went on to state that she had received some unpleasant e-mails from some of the signatories. However the Nobel Laureate in Literature received support from the head of the PEN center in Taipei Tienchi Martin-Liao, who had criticized the letter, calling it offensive. Yet I cannot help that this is all irritating, and slightly adolescent, Herta Müller a Nobel Laureate in Literature, a communist survivor, who had witnessed the horrors and absurdities of communism and what it means to live under a dictatorship, this all must be both frustrating and laughable. Herta Müller morals are in the right place. Her views are solid in their evidence witnessed, and her ethics, are strong. For anyone to say that her “attacks,” (views are much more appropriate and no biased view) are “like that of the propaganda during the era of Nicolae Ceausescu in Romania,” is also a comment that is certainly undignified and insulating.
Herta Müller had presented a speech about Liao Yiwu and his new, which will be published in English as “Testimonials.” Herta Müller’s speech titled “Torment and Blessings,” and praises Liao Yiwu and all that the author has accomplished and torment that he has endured.
Though as she states in the end: “Dear Yiwu, rest assured that your bitter fortune will be joined by plain good fortune. Actually, it is already there today.” With this I too hope that Liao Yiwu finds good fortune away from his homeland, and that someday that the political atmosphere in China changes. I strongly support Herta Müller and her cause, and her strength to help freedom of speech and individuals prevail in times of horror.
To read the full speech please visit this website:
http://www.signandsight.com/features/2168.html
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
All References and Information was collected from these sources:
http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/content/view/23997/
http://www.dw-world.de/dw/article/0,,6504868,00.html
http://www.zimbio.com/pictures/8KVfuMmeP4U/Liao+Yiwu+Reads+11th+Berlin+Literature+Festival/Y-shDFrXCqh
This may be old to news to some who have already be informed about the entire ordeal, but it is new news to me, about hearing about this more the miraculous freedom that a now surely exiled writer and Chinese Communist Party/Communist China, author Liao Yiwu and his newly acquired freedom he has obtained when he left China in the early summer of two thousand and eleven. He left China and arrived at Berlin in Germany the sixth of July two thousand and eleven. Liao Yiwu has further made headlines when he read at the eleventh Berlin Literature Festival. There Liao Yiwu met a writers in arms just like himself, who had escaped communist, and oppression and discovered what it means to be an individual. He met a friend and an ally in Herta Müller the two thousand nine Nobel Laureate in Literature; who though a quiet and shy author, even borderline hermetic and reclusive as some have described her, made headlines and composed herself with grace and a very dignified demeanour in the face of flashing bulbs of camera’s as she greeted another Chinese Communist Party/Communist China dissident author Bei Ling at the Frankfurt Book Fair. Herta Müller has been very active with these Chinese authors, and also an avid supporter of the two thousand and ten Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Liu Xiaobo. However her support for these three authors and fellow Laureate has also caused Herta Müller less than a welcome response, by others; however Herta Müller has been championed for her criticism and voice for those who suffer and suffered as she had under Nicolae Ceaușescu and his Communist Romanian Regime.
Herta Müller had stated:
“I am happy to be able to somehow support them in one way or another. If I could use the [Nobel] prize to somehow offer them sanctuary…I know, all dictatorships are alike in their dealings with human beings. Individuality is immaterial; no individual is permitted his or her own say.”
The Nobel Laureate in Literature has also been applauded for her note and observations of how many totalitarian governments have killed many individuals to maintain absolute power:
“Next to China is Cuba, for instance, or Iran or North Korea. One needs to have courage, guts and responsibility.”
But Herta Müller also does more than just discuss the horrors and her absolute contempt and disgust for totalitarian governments and dictatorships, when presented with a petition to free the Chinese Human Rights attorney Gao Zhisheng (which has been reported that the attorney who has disappeared in two thousand and nine, has been subjected to torture), the Nobel Laureate in Literature signs her name.
However as it had been stated above Herta Müller has not been met with kindness and applause over the entire affair, over Liu Xiaobo. Published by Siebenbürgische Zeitung a Romanian newspaper for the German-speaking minority in Romania, published an open letter, written by a group of Chinese democracy advocates had stated:
“She is certainly entitled to voice her support for Liu Xiaobo," the signatories wrote. "However, she used abusive language against those who criticized Liu.”
And continued to say:
“This assertion and attack of her style was just like that of the propaganda during the era of Nicolae Ceausescu in Romania.”
Herta Müller also went on to state that she had received some unpleasant e-mails from some of the signatories. However the Nobel Laureate in Literature received support from the head of the PEN center in Taipei Tienchi Martin-Liao, who had criticized the letter, calling it offensive. Yet I cannot help that this is all irritating, and slightly adolescent, Herta Müller a Nobel Laureate in Literature, a communist survivor, who had witnessed the horrors and absurdities of communism and what it means to live under a dictatorship, this all must be both frustrating and laughable. Herta Müller morals are in the right place. Her views are solid in their evidence witnessed, and her ethics, are strong. For anyone to say that her “attacks,” (views are much more appropriate and no biased view) are “like that of the propaganda during the era of Nicolae Ceausescu in Romania,” is also a comment that is certainly undignified and insulating.
Herta Müller had presented a speech about Liao Yiwu and his new, which will be published in English as “Testimonials.” Herta Müller’s speech titled “Torment and Blessings,” and praises Liao Yiwu and all that the author has accomplished and torment that he has endured.
Though as she states in the end: “Dear Yiwu, rest assured that your bitter fortune will be joined by plain good fortune. Actually, it is already there today.” With this I too hope that Liao Yiwu finds good fortune away from his homeland, and that someday that the political atmosphere in China changes. I strongly support Herta Müller and her cause, and her strength to help freedom of speech and individuals prevail in times of horror.
To read the full speech please visit this website:
http://www.signandsight.com/features/2168.html
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
All References and Information was collected from these sources:
http://www.theepochtimes.com/n2/content/view/23997/
http://www.dw-world.de/dw/article/0,,6504868,00.html
http://www.zimbio.com/pictures/8KVfuMmeP4U/Liao+Yiwu+Reads+11th+Berlin+Literature+Festival/Y-shDFrXCqh
The Winner of the German Book Prize
Hello Gentle Reader
The winner of the German Book Prize of two thousand and eleven was announced recently. But first here is a vide of about the shortlisted novels by Deutsche Welle.
http://mediacenter.dw-world.de/english/video/#!/276779/We_ve_read_them_for_you_The_German_Book_Prize_shortlist
The Winner of this years German Book Prize 2011 was Eugen Ruge and his novel ""In Zeiten des abnehmenden Lichts," translated into English "In Times of Fading Light."
The author Eugen Ruge, is fifty seven years old, and his novel "In Times of Fading Light," is his debut novel. The German Book Prize Jury had praised the author and his novel for "the experiences of four generations across 50 years in a dramatic, refined composition," the Jury made sure to add that the novel also adds: "socialist utopia, the price it exacts on the individual and its gradual disappearance." The novel is filled with humour and engaging as it traces the history and story of a family.
An English translation of the novel, is planned -- though only time willb e able to tell.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
M. Mary
The winner of the German Book Prize of two thousand and eleven was announced recently. But first here is a vide of about the shortlisted novels by Deutsche Welle.
http://mediacenter.dw-world.de/english/video/#!/276779/We_ve_read_them_for_you_The_German_Book_Prize_shortlist
The Winner of this years German Book Prize 2011 was Eugen Ruge and his novel ""In Zeiten des abnehmenden Lichts," translated into English "In Times of Fading Light."
The author Eugen Ruge, is fifty seven years old, and his novel "In Times of Fading Light," is his debut novel. The German Book Prize Jury had praised the author and his novel for "the experiences of four generations across 50 years in a dramatic, refined composition," the Jury made sure to add that the novel also adds: "socialist utopia, the price it exacts on the individual and its gradual disappearance." The novel is filled with humour and engaging as it traces the history and story of a family.
An English translation of the novel, is planned -- though only time willb e able to tell.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
M. Mary
Thursday, 6 October 2011
The Nobel Prize for Literature for 2011
Hello Gentle Reader
The Nobel Prize for Literature for 2010 has been awarded too the Swedish poet Tomas Transtromer. For the reason of:
"because, through his condensed, translucent images, he gives us fresh access to reality."
Congratulations to Tomas Transtromer for winning this Nobel Prize for Literature.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
M. Mary
The Nobel Prize for Literature for 2010 has been awarded too the Swedish poet Tomas Transtromer. For the reason of:
"because, through his condensed, translucent images, he gives us fresh access to reality."
Congratulations to Tomas Transtromer for winning this Nobel Prize for Literature.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
M. Mary
Wandering Star
Hello Gentle Reader
J.M.G Le Clezio was the Nobel Laureate in Literature of two thousand eight. This was the last Nobel Laureate in that Horace Engdal, the former Permanent Sectary of the Swedish Academy; had announced. In June of two thousand and nine, his successor Peter Englund, was appointed the current Permanent Sectary of the Swedish Academy. Horace Engdal had announced in the ten years of his Permanent Sectary duties, he had announced nine Nobel Laureates they are as listed as the following with their corresponding year:
Two Thousand – Gao Xingjian
Two Thousand and One – (Sir) V.S. Naipaul
Two Thousand and Two – Imre Kertész
Two Thousand and Three – J.M. Coetzee
Two Thousand and Four – Elfriede Jelinek
Two Thousand and Five – Harold Pinter
Two Thousand and Six – Orhan Pamuk
Two Thousand and Seven – Doris Lessing
Two Thousand and Eight – Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio
Peter Englund has only announced two Nobel Laureates, the first in Two Thousand and Nine, Herta Muller, and the second just last year of Two Thousand and Ten with Mario Vargas Llosa. There will however be a third to his resume of Nobel Laureates that he has announced shortly. The clandestine debating, the secret voting, and soon the grand unveiling of this Nobel Laureate will happen shortly.
Upon the announcement of the Nobel Prize in Literature of Two Thousand and Eight Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio’s was overshadowed, by critics say “J.M.G who?” and criticizing the former Permanent Sectary of the Swedish Academy Horace Engdal as being Anti-American, Eurocentric and that his comments were uncalled for, when he responded to a question posed to him by a journalist about whether or not an American author would win the prize. That moment had overshadowed the crowning moment of the career of Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio, who has been called “Frances Nomadic Author,” and early on in his career was dubbed the “Steve McQueen of French Literature,” and was a new icon of the left bank.
One thing anyone will hear about this Nobel Laureate is his incredible shift from his early novels to his later novels. From the years of nineteen-sixty three, till nineteen-seventy five roughly Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio formally experimented in his works. He was seen as a innovator and a rebel of the literary tradition. However in the late seventies something happened. Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio stopped this experimentation and focused on his more mature themes of childhood, adolescents, and travelling.
This is what the Swedish Academy may have meant by their reason for awarding the Nobel Prize in Literature to this particular author with the following statement: “[J.M.G Le Clezio is an] author of new departures, poetic adventure and sensual ecstasy, explorer of a humanity beyond and below the reigning civilization.” – It should come to no surprise that Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio is a well traveled man living throughout the world, and holding dual citizenship both of France and Mauritius.
“Wandering Star,” was first published in France in the year nineteen-ninety two; and later translated into English in the year two-thousand and five. This novel comes close to being overtly poetic, with its rushing beautiful landscape depictions. But what had concerned me the most when I picked up this novel by the Nobel Laureate in Literature was the fact that it may be considered overtly political. There is nothing more that as an individual I myself could possibly despises, then politics. However it was pleasant surprise to see that there was no hidden agenda in this novel. Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio does not pick a side with this dispute between Israel and Palestine. He discusses both of these two groups of people as both of them suffering. Both of them in pain, and both wanders, that have experienced hardships. The moving scenes are the traveling over the mountains. The tragic loss of home and one’s own roots.
When first opening this book and reading the beautiful scenes of life in Saint-Martin-Vésubie was beautiful and touching; it was a scene of paradise. Even though were continued, and the Italian’s obviously had captured this picturesque alpine village, there is still a quiet sense that nothing is wrong. Sure there are out of the ordinary scenarios, to the character of Esther. Her father helps the Jew’s cross the mountains. She and all the other Jews must go and have food card rations verified or checked, by the Italian soldiers, but there is still a sense of childhood peace and enjoyment to it. Esther plays with the girls in the torrent of the river and the streams. She swims, and splashes water at the boys who come and gawk at her and the other girls, letting themselves be known, from their constant giggling. She wanders through the fields, and the hills, with the slight paranoia fear of vipers curling and slithering through the grass. Yet sometimes the war comes very close to her as well. The first time, was the site of seeing the peasants working in the fields harvesting the crops, with their scythes. Or the talk and gossip or the deliberate discussion of how all the Jews are going to be killed. It is at these moments, that the pastoral dream and reality is shattered for an instant and one can sense the creeping feeling of the SS and Hitler and the Nazi’s curling like the vipers in the grass. Out of site, but certainly on one’s mind.
One of my favourite scenes is when Mario, takes Esther out into the fields – the two hunting for vipers; and how Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio describes the two serpents making love.
“Esther saw something she wasn’t sure of laying on the shingle beach by the riverbank. It looked like a thick rope made if two short twisted fibres – the colo[u]r of dead leaves – that shone in the light as if someone had just taken it out of the water. Suddenly Esther shuttered – the rope was moving! Horrified, Esther watched through the grass as the two intertwined vipers slithered and twisted over the beach. At one point their heads parted, two short snouts, eyes with vertical pupils, mouths open. The vipers remained stuck together, staring fixedly at each other, as if in ecstasy. Then their bodies started twisting on the rocks again, slithering between the pebbles, coiling to one side. Clinging to one another in knots that slipped up and down, came undone, lashing their tails like whips. They continued to slide, roll, and, despite the crashing of the river, Esther thought she heard the scraping sound of scales running over one another.”
For me this one of those scenes that stood out. There was that dangerousness of the animals, themselves, and yet their peaceful love making. Their glistening scales could be seen in my minds eyes. This is one of those many poetic scenes in this novel. The novel is riddled with them. Little pebbles of a beach, scattered across it, and Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio takes the reader by the hand and leads them through these scenes of tragedy and beauty. Emotional scenes, of confusing scenes. Scenes of love and scenes of being lost and alone, drifting and migrating to and fro. It is the love of these two vipers, and the competing attention of two boys for Esther and her sexual awakening, her sudden disposition in the larger world, and then the migration and search for a habitat; at the cost of the native Arabs and there sudden disposition in the world. It is a novel of beauty but at times, overkill of poetics, and not a whole lot of action at times. Moving in some parts, and other wise drifting dull that, the words no longer hold one’s attention but are causally scanned for, at face value and left at that. However there is a reason that Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio became a Nobel Laureate and that is for his exploration of human beings throughout the world and the traveling and the migration and ecology that has become the human world. Certainly I look forward to reading other works by this Nobel Laureate as well.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
M. Mary
P.S. Stay tuned for later, to find out who is the Nobel Laureate in Literature of Two Thousand and Eleven -- by the way I am aware that some of the years have their first letters capitalized and others do not; I am tired and do not feel like going through it all and correcting it.
J.M.G Le Clezio was the Nobel Laureate in Literature of two thousand eight. This was the last Nobel Laureate in that Horace Engdal, the former Permanent Sectary of the Swedish Academy; had announced. In June of two thousand and nine, his successor Peter Englund, was appointed the current Permanent Sectary of the Swedish Academy. Horace Engdal had announced in the ten years of his Permanent Sectary duties, he had announced nine Nobel Laureates they are as listed as the following with their corresponding year:
Two Thousand – Gao Xingjian
Two Thousand and One – (Sir) V.S. Naipaul
Two Thousand and Two – Imre Kertész
Two Thousand and Three – J.M. Coetzee
Two Thousand and Four – Elfriede Jelinek
Two Thousand and Five – Harold Pinter
Two Thousand and Six – Orhan Pamuk
Two Thousand and Seven – Doris Lessing
Two Thousand and Eight – Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio
Peter Englund has only announced two Nobel Laureates, the first in Two Thousand and Nine, Herta Muller, and the second just last year of Two Thousand and Ten with Mario Vargas Llosa. There will however be a third to his resume of Nobel Laureates that he has announced shortly. The clandestine debating, the secret voting, and soon the grand unveiling of this Nobel Laureate will happen shortly.
Upon the announcement of the Nobel Prize in Literature of Two Thousand and Eight Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio’s was overshadowed, by critics say “J.M.G who?” and criticizing the former Permanent Sectary of the Swedish Academy Horace Engdal as being Anti-American, Eurocentric and that his comments were uncalled for, when he responded to a question posed to him by a journalist about whether or not an American author would win the prize. That moment had overshadowed the crowning moment of the career of Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio, who has been called “Frances Nomadic Author,” and early on in his career was dubbed the “Steve McQueen of French Literature,” and was a new icon of the left bank.
One thing anyone will hear about this Nobel Laureate is his incredible shift from his early novels to his later novels. From the years of nineteen-sixty three, till nineteen-seventy five roughly Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio formally experimented in his works. He was seen as a innovator and a rebel of the literary tradition. However in the late seventies something happened. Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio stopped this experimentation and focused on his more mature themes of childhood, adolescents, and travelling.
This is what the Swedish Academy may have meant by their reason for awarding the Nobel Prize in Literature to this particular author with the following statement: “[J.M.G Le Clezio is an] author of new departures, poetic adventure and sensual ecstasy, explorer of a humanity beyond and below the reigning civilization.” – It should come to no surprise that Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio is a well traveled man living throughout the world, and holding dual citizenship both of France and Mauritius.
“Wandering Star,” was first published in France in the year nineteen-ninety two; and later translated into English in the year two-thousand and five. This novel comes close to being overtly poetic, with its rushing beautiful landscape depictions. But what had concerned me the most when I picked up this novel by the Nobel Laureate in Literature was the fact that it may be considered overtly political. There is nothing more that as an individual I myself could possibly despises, then politics. However it was pleasant surprise to see that there was no hidden agenda in this novel. Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio does not pick a side with this dispute between Israel and Palestine. He discusses both of these two groups of people as both of them suffering. Both of them in pain, and both wanders, that have experienced hardships. The moving scenes are the traveling over the mountains. The tragic loss of home and one’s own roots.
When first opening this book and reading the beautiful scenes of life in Saint-Martin-Vésubie was beautiful and touching; it was a scene of paradise. Even though were continued, and the Italian’s obviously had captured this picturesque alpine village, there is still a quiet sense that nothing is wrong. Sure there are out of the ordinary scenarios, to the character of Esther. Her father helps the Jew’s cross the mountains. She and all the other Jews must go and have food card rations verified or checked, by the Italian soldiers, but there is still a sense of childhood peace and enjoyment to it. Esther plays with the girls in the torrent of the river and the streams. She swims, and splashes water at the boys who come and gawk at her and the other girls, letting themselves be known, from their constant giggling. She wanders through the fields, and the hills, with the slight paranoia fear of vipers curling and slithering through the grass. Yet sometimes the war comes very close to her as well. The first time, was the site of seeing the peasants working in the fields harvesting the crops, with their scythes. Or the talk and gossip or the deliberate discussion of how all the Jews are going to be killed. It is at these moments, that the pastoral dream and reality is shattered for an instant and one can sense the creeping feeling of the SS and Hitler and the Nazi’s curling like the vipers in the grass. Out of site, but certainly on one’s mind.
One of my favourite scenes is when Mario, takes Esther out into the fields – the two hunting for vipers; and how Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio describes the two serpents making love.
“Esther saw something she wasn’t sure of laying on the shingle beach by the riverbank. It looked like a thick rope made if two short twisted fibres – the colo[u]r of dead leaves – that shone in the light as if someone had just taken it out of the water. Suddenly Esther shuttered – the rope was moving! Horrified, Esther watched through the grass as the two intertwined vipers slithered and twisted over the beach. At one point their heads parted, two short snouts, eyes with vertical pupils, mouths open. The vipers remained stuck together, staring fixedly at each other, as if in ecstasy. Then their bodies started twisting on the rocks again, slithering between the pebbles, coiling to one side. Clinging to one another in knots that slipped up and down, came undone, lashing their tails like whips. They continued to slide, roll, and, despite the crashing of the river, Esther thought she heard the scraping sound of scales running over one another.”
For me this one of those scenes that stood out. There was that dangerousness of the animals, themselves, and yet their peaceful love making. Their glistening scales could be seen in my minds eyes. This is one of those many poetic scenes in this novel. The novel is riddled with them. Little pebbles of a beach, scattered across it, and Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio takes the reader by the hand and leads them through these scenes of tragedy and beauty. Emotional scenes, of confusing scenes. Scenes of love and scenes of being lost and alone, drifting and migrating to and fro. It is the love of these two vipers, and the competing attention of two boys for Esther and her sexual awakening, her sudden disposition in the larger world, and then the migration and search for a habitat; at the cost of the native Arabs and there sudden disposition in the world. It is a novel of beauty but at times, overkill of poetics, and not a whole lot of action at times. Moving in some parts, and other wise drifting dull that, the words no longer hold one’s attention but are causally scanned for, at face value and left at that. However there is a reason that Jean Marie Gustave Le Clezio became a Nobel Laureate and that is for his exploration of human beings throughout the world and the traveling and the migration and ecology that has become the human world. Certainly I look forward to reading other works by this Nobel Laureate as well.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
M. Mary
P.S. Stay tuned for later, to find out who is the Nobel Laureate in Literature of Two Thousand and Eleven -- by the way I am aware that some of the years have their first letters capitalized and others do not; I am tired and do not feel like going through it all and correcting it.
Monday, 3 October 2011
So Begins the Nobel Prize’s
Hello Gentle Reader
On Monday October third of two-thousand and eleven, the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine was announced. However this is an interesting ordeal that has happened, with the announcement of the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine, the Nobel Committee is now faced with an interesting dilemma. With giving the award Jules Hoffmann of Luxembourg, Bruce Beutler of the United States, and the Canadian Ralph Steinman, nothing appears out of the abnormal. However Ralph Steinman has died three days before the Prize was announced. This leads to an interesting situation for the Nobel Committee, because no Nobel Prize be it Medicine, Physics, Chemistry, Literature and Physics not to mention Peace, can be awarded to a recipient posthumously. Ralph Steinman died three days ago, after his battle with pancreatic cancer. This leads the Nobel Committee in an interesting situation. It is unsure of how the Nobel Committee will deal with this unique situation. Tuesday October 4th the Nobel Prize for Physics is to be announced, while the fifth of October is to be awarded, and Thursday October sixth, the Nobel Prize for Literature is awarded.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
On Monday October third of two-thousand and eleven, the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine was announced. However this is an interesting ordeal that has happened, with the announcement of the Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine, the Nobel Committee is now faced with an interesting dilemma. With giving the award Jules Hoffmann of Luxembourg, Bruce Beutler of the United States, and the Canadian Ralph Steinman, nothing appears out of the abnormal. However Ralph Steinman has died three days before the Prize was announced. This leads to an interesting situation for the Nobel Committee, because no Nobel Prize be it Medicine, Physics, Chemistry, Literature and Physics not to mention Peace, can be awarded to a recipient posthumously. Ralph Steinman died three days ago, after his battle with pancreatic cancer. This leads the Nobel Committee in an interesting situation. It is unsure of how the Nobel Committee will deal with this unique situation. Tuesday October 4th the Nobel Prize for Physics is to be announced, while the fifth of October is to be awarded, and Thursday October sixth, the Nobel Prize for Literature is awarded.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
*And Remember: Downloading Books Illegally is Thievery and Wrong.*
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