Another Year In Review

Hello Gentle Reader

Once again the Christmas season has ended. Once again, the tradition of playing monopoly was commenced; and as prescience had been set, I was not elected banker by: electoral democratic process; nor did I purchase my own coveted “Marvin Gardens.” To add to this tradition: I once again lost. I lost without being the banker – and no robberies were staged; and I had lost without my own vision of a future estate like home in a place with ‘Gardens,’ in its name. Still as Christmas’s go, it was a good Christmas, and one of the celebratory ways to enjoy being with family; and to set the stage for the oncoming New Year.

In all: twenty fourteen was a good year. Though I certainly enjoy this winter a lot more then, the one prior. Those polar vortexes’s nearly killed me! Yet in all, once winters rage had subsided and the quick thaw of spring lead into summer, the world had become renewed once again, and once again sun and light spilled over the lands – rather than snow and silence. However as the months changed, and turned to August, summer showed its own caprice, with numerous hailstorms that actively destroyed and terrified. However August cannot last forever; and it eventually turned to autumn, and summer once again retreated like a visitor who waves goodbye and promises to comeback. Autumn stayed for only so long as always – always too short, and lives always with an abrupt air; and on came winter. Which to thanks to our lucky stars, has so far been mild and gentle.

As for Literature, two-thousand and fourteen was an interesting year. Once again we lost some writers, of notable mention. Maya Angelou both Mark Strand, both American poets, passed away. Menis Koumandareas a Greek writer had been murdered; and so far from my knowledge, nothing has been noted any further on the information of the writer’s murderer. The world also lost two Nobel Laureates: the first being Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the man who brought Latin America out of its solitude; had been unwell for some time; as well as social commentator Nadine Gordimer. Slovenia and Central Europe lost one of its greatest pots Tomaž Šalamun. Šalamun was a poet of the neo-avant-garde, and a absurdist and surrealist like poet; and yet was truly unique to himself alone. Tomaž Šalamun is remembered as having a continually eternal youthful air about him; and often was watching what young poets were doing, and admired their ingenuity. The other author to pass away from Central and Eastern Europe is: Stanisław Barańczak. Barańczak was a poet, a critic, a translator, an editor, a scholar and a lecturer. He was noted for translating Shakespeare into Polish, and assisting in Syzmbroska’s poetry to reach greater audiences outside of Poland. May each of these writers rest in peace; and their works be read on after their departures.

Once again the Booker Prize was a dud. The attempts at revitalization have once again, mustered no real results. It has been a slow decline for the Booker Prize. But perhaps it’s not the prize itself to blame in its entirety. Perhaps English language literature in the contemporary sense, is in need of a facelift in itself, and requires more thought being put into the outputs that are currently being produced and written. The books themselves that have so far been placed on the Booker Prize long lists and shortlists all seem contrived of a sense of recycling old ground continuously. Perhaps English language literature needs to look past its own historical themes and roots, and explore new themes, and new concepts. It is quite capable of doing that.

As for the Nobel Prize for Literature; it was a delightful shock of a year. Once again a writer, who I had not heard of him, until just a few days before the announcement, had been honored with this year’s award. Patrick Modiano is a reminder of why I enjoy the Nobel Prize for Literature. His work continually retraces itself (yes I know I am being hypocritical because I just said that it appears that English language literature is doing the same thing.), yet this works for Modianio’s work, without it becoming contrived in contrite form of familiarity and a fear of going outside of this familiarity. From reports by many reviewers, and readers of Modiano’s work; my understanding is: that one needs to read many of his novels, to see the continual layering of themes, and landscapes – as if it were to appear that the author is writing a larger novel, that the reader is unaware of, and each novel becomes a chapter in this larger scale work. Still Modiano’s Nobel was a shock and a delight all the same; and I look forward continually to read more of this authors work. Expect in the New Year Gentle Reader a review of Modiano’s “Suspended Sentences.”

I enjoyed many of the books that I had the pleasure of reading this year. Pierre Michon received redemption with his novel “The Origin of the World.” I learned how foolish I had been for overlooking Mu Xin’s collection of short stories “An Empty Room,” and know that this will be a collection that I will go back to read again and again. I became reacquainted with Highsmith with the only other biography that there is currently out about her “Beautiful Shadow: A Life of Patricia Highsmith.” This time around I had less trepidation with reading the book, and though I readily recognize many similarities, I quickly can see discrepancies between the two of us as well. Jacques Poulin continually amazes me, as how his narratives work. The laconic simplicity of the language, and the slice of life like story, mixed with the ambiguities of life, and the opacity of any actual conclusion, still makes me wonder how Poulin accomplishes writing about love and relationships while maintain an almost fairytale like haze throughout his work, and how his work is continually drenched in this golden light; and yet, I cannot nor would I wish to refuse that I did not enjoy “Wild Cat,” by the author. I was impressed and mortified by the works of the Grandfather of the Japanese short story form Ryūnosuke Akutagawa and how he could display such wonderful talents in his fiction and his works, but was to unhappy with life itself, and his own fears of going insane, to continue living – and he himself documented this in two of his short stories: “Life of a Fool,” and “Cogwheels.” Still an impressive read.

What I look forward to in the New Year Gentle Reader, is more translations. Sofia Oksanen returns to the English language with a new novel. Antonio Tabucchi’s catalogue continues to be translated well into the New Year. Wislwa Syzmborska’s newest and last collection and her entire collected works up to date will be released in a new book. As well as many new writers are coming forth as well, and their works are something that I am looking forward to discovering and reading as well.

For you Gentle Reader look forward to more reviews. Starting with “Days in the History of Silence,” in the New Year.

Happy New Year Gentle Reader!

M. Mary

Silent Nights

Hello Gentle Reader

“Silent Night,” is perhaps my favorite Christmas carol. It is a soft, slow and meditative lullaby; in its tune and gentle resonance. It is the only carol, that makes me think of the black winter skies up above, and the white silent snow that falls down; from the Christmas seasons of my own past. The appreciation of this song is a new revelation for me. After years of retail, and the constant loop of the dread holiday music; which can only be described as: (as of yet) undisclosed enhanced interrogation techniques to be used on ones holiday guests, when they are cheating at monopoly. All it would take for me would be the song: “Santa Clause Got Stuck in My Chimney,” by Ella Fitzgerald. After a few hours, of listening to that song, I would confess to my own holiday mischief, during the duration of the game:

“—Yes the Monopoly bank was robbed – it was an inside job – yes it was me! The banker; the teller; the candle stick maker! . . . I had a bad case of the ‘sticky fingers.’ I could not help myself. The guy just down the table – the one using the thimble; bought ‘Marvin Gardens.’ I’ve always loved ‘Marvin Gardens,’ – not because it’s an expense property; not because its colour is yellow – rather just so I can envision myself one day living in a place called ‘Marvin Gardens.’ But no! The thimble bastard bought it before I could. I knew I didn’t have enough money to buy ‘Park Place,’ or ‘Boardwalk,’ so I decided to take out a under the table loan.—“

Though I am told it has nothing to do with my irreparable criminal record during my monopoly banker days – I am not allowed to be the Banker again. The official reason is – democratic process. We each take a vote of who should be the banker – I am the only one who votes for me. Still at the end of the day I end up losing – generally without “Marvin Gardens,” but that night, I envision myself living in the estate like homes of a community with “Gardens,” in its name.

I feel the need to apologise to Wisława Szymborska, who has taught me to look past “Santa Clause Got Stuck in My Chimney,” and to instead weight the merits of Ella Fitzgerald by her song “Black Coffee.” If heaven is as you had hoped it to be Wisława, I hope that you are enjoying a cup of coffee, and a cigarette and rejoicing in Ella Fitzgerald’s music.

As for you My Gentle Readers, I hope you get away from the hustle and the bustle and of course the choiring; to enjoy the silent nights of winter. How peaceful the snow falls into place; how quiet one gets from the cold. Though the chill might be as bitter and pierce the skin like a hungry wolf; one only needs to remember that winter cannot last forever; and that Christmas comes only once a year.

Merry Christmas Gentle Reader

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. If by chance Santa Clause does get stuck in your Chimney – I’ve always imagine lighting a fire under his ass – one can only presume that, that will offer proper motivation to remove themselves from the chimney.

Menis Koumandareas Murdered

Hello Gentle Reader

Greece is a country with a very cultured and ancient history. It is filled with the foundations of most ideologies; it is the primordial archipelago in which the Western World’s first steps as an intellectual species first took its steps into science, politics, and culture. One of contemporary Greece’s, finest and admired writers Menis Koumandareas has passed away, not by natural causes but (allegedly) by human hands. The eighty three year old author was discovered almost a week ago, in his apartment in Athens by a nephew he had grown concerned, because he could not contact his uncle. According to online reports, Koumandareas had suffered contusions to his face and neck. The reports speculate that, the cause of death could have been asphyxiation from a pillow located near the body; or a possible heart attack, triggered by the assault. That being said a conclusive cause of death has not been released. Either way Greece has lost one of its cherished writers. Menis Koumandareas protested and was a resistance writer against the military dictatorship, which had befallen Greece during the latter half of the twentieth century. Koumandareas’s writing is known for depicting sober portraits of post-war Greece, but was a writer who had written with a sensitivity that detailed and offered his hopes and dreams for contemporary society and the people within.

Menis Koumandareas has only one novel published in English titled “Koula.”

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

Posthumous Tabucchi novel to be published

Hello Gentle Reader

Whenever there is a new Antonio Tabucchi book, coming out in English a part of me, tenses up with anticipation of that book to be released. The last book that I had read by Tabucchi was “The Missing Head of Damasceno Monteiro,” – and though the book failed to enthrall me as the books by Tabucchi had prior; I still have the upmost respect and sincerest regards for the author. Though he passed away in two-thousand and twelve; and was not honored with the Nobel Prize for Literature; Tabucchi remains a distinctive voice in international literature. His reputation in the English language, was spawned from his novel “Pereira Declares,” (or “Pereira Maintains,”) – a novel of socio-political commentary that, discusses the atrocities perpetrated by oppressive regimes upon their own populace; but also the crime of compliance by being apathetic or unaware. The novel gathered support in Italy upon its initial publication, for its symbolic purposes in resisting the government of Silvio Berlusconi.

Yet Tabucchi was more than just a social and politically aware novelist. Injustices and inhumanities certainly were atrocities that author spoke against; but he was an author of a more dreamlike quality, mixed with the sweet melancholy of nostalgia and departures, and the longing that grows in the absence of others. “Requiem: A Hallucination,” traces an Italian writers journey, to visit a dead yet revered Portuguese poet. Through the novel however, the main character, meets an array of characters, before meeting his desired companion to discuss Kafka, postmodernism, and the future of literature itself. “It’s Getting Later All The Time,” recounts seventeen different letters, from seventeen different men, confessing their loves, and their memories for one woman. At first these letters appear to be only connected by thematic concerns, not by any literal connection; but in the end everything is weaved together, and comes together like a puzzle with a welcomed understanding.

Archipelago published two small collections of Antonio Tabucchi’s stories:

“The Flying Creatures of Fra Angelico,”
“The Woman of Porto Pim,”

Both of these works are stories of a literary master. When the story ends they continue to hint at the larger world. A world that has not been readily nailed to their pages, by the clip and claps of the typewriter or keyboard – nor have they been sewn into place by the pen. Rather they continue to dream on about the greater world that exists beyond their pages. These works were found in a place that borders memory and imagination, and often travels into a world of dreams. Both are slim collections that offer Tabucchi’s views – in fragments or ‘qausi-stories,’ of life, history and existence itself.

Thankfully the wonderful Archipelago Books is coming out with some more of Tabucchi’s work. The first being “Time Ages in A Hurry,” – a collection of stories, that deal with characters and their corrupted or troubled relationship with history. Of course though it has the touch of only Tabucchi, where rationale is quickly abandoned for empty silence and logic is out of fashion for the intuitive and the exploration of the murky waters of feelings. I sense there will be searches for ones identity; personal journeys into a shadow like world where phantoms reside; and the necessary excavations of the shipwrecks of one’s past. After the April release of “Time Ages in a Hurry,” Archipelago has at the moment the release date for the next Tabucchi book to be September with “Tristano Dies: A Life.”

Yet the largest news to surround the author now, is a (re)discovered novel that the author had been revising and reviewing for publication, which had been entertained with for some years prior. Reports at the time state that it was shelved in nineteen-ninety six; because of other projects. Yet now the novel will see its first publications in Italian and Spanish with the title “To Isabelle,” or “To Elizabeth.” The novel details the attempt at piecing together the story of the vanishing act of a young woman – the eponymous Isabelle/Elizabeth. It has the touch of both Tabucchi’s socio-political interest against the oppressed – the character Isabelle/Elizabeth, is a militant activities opposing the Portuguese dictator Salazar; but also his touch for the genre bending sampled in “The Missing Head of Damasceno Monteiro,” but also the curiosity for the tales of others lives, that Tabucchi carefully unfolds like a origami structure to reveal its beginnings. Mind you, I am taking all of this off reports that are in foreign languages, and therefore I must utilize Google translate. In the end one can only hope that “To Isabelle,” or “Para Isabel,” will make a delightful transition and translation into the English language. Of course one can hope all of Tabucchi’s books make it into English such as “The Black Angel.”

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

Mark Stand – Former US Poet Laureate Passes

Hello Gentle Reader

The Pulitzer Poet, and former Poet Laureate for the United States, had passed away at the age of eight. Strand died in his daughter’s home in Brooklyn; and though physically he has moved on his words, do remain. His poems abandoned the kitsch, and the over elaborated poetry that has been celebrated for far too long. Instead Strand like poets before him, and surely more to come after him, have abandoned the purple quality of poetry of the traditional poets of the English language; and instead used concrete words, and deserted the rhyme and meter; for more narrative like structures, that engulfed the poetry. Strand originally had wanted to be a painter; but after completing his BFA from Yale University, the aspiration had all but waned. Strand soon turned to poetry, and earned a MFA from Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Afterwards Strand entered the lecture circuit and in the nineteen-sixties, was like many poets – an underground intellectual pop star. His earlier poems were noted by man reviewers and critics, that his poetry was often dark and brooding. Yet Strand himself thought, the poems were evenly lit, and no as dark as they were often made out to be. Though as Strand matured, so did his poetry and his poetry became investigative with urbane wit. Strand’s writing career, surpasses poetry and lectures. He has written children’s books, a collection of short stories; as well as essays on art criticism, but also poetry there again. Strand in his now more matured years, stopped writing poetry and once again returned to the art world, in which he faded from. He began making collages from paper, and soon his love of the literary, and the stationary found its place into earlier ambitions of being an artist. Yet when I personally think of Strand, I am left with the story of the shared glass of gin that the then young poet had shared with WH Auden. The story is built upon an almost cat and mouse game; with homoerotic undertones. Strand at the time had only one proper glass, to share the drink from; and so the two poets agreed to share from the same glass. Auden it is said openly drank from the glass where Strands lips had just parted from. Strand then skillfully avoided the same contact; and drank from another spot on the glass.

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