Hello Gentle Reader
“Who we are.” This is what “Miruna, A Tale,” is conceived about and around. It is a question, which finds its explanations and answers in the stories of the grandfather Niculae; states and reiterates as they have been told before him. They are the stories of how a home was formed. How a family came to be. They are personal legends, fairytales and an intimate mythology. It certainly must be easier for individuals in the ‘old,’ country to have an understanding knowledge of “who they are,” and where they came from. They are a generation that has lived there – as the generations before them have. In the ‘new,’ country it is far more difficult to have a comprehensive understanding of one’s roots, when they have been uprooted. Here one must rely on memory of the older generations – those who still exist. What becomes troubling though is that with memory, fact and imagination blur around the edges. With my own family, it is highly understood that the name and the origins are strictly French and came from France. The consensus then agrees: that during the political turmoil of the enlightenment age, and subsequent French Revolution, the family had left the turmoil, and headed west for the ‘new,’ world. Beyond these hazy generalized concepts, the details are lost. It is believed the family ‘came,’ from noble origins and were autocrats who participated in the courts. Though what family does not wish have to believe they came from a life of grandiose, and gentle poverty; rather than the alternative: poverty and peasantry. It is easier to swallow the pill, where one comes from the illusion of greatness and have fallen into the day to day humdrum, then it is to swallow the sack of nails where one came from nothing, and may not acquire that prestige which people in a sense feel a sense of entitlement too. Sometimes the past exists because it is easier to have a sense of nostalgia for such shallow dreams of autocracy and noble air, and living in a castle, then it is to suffer the present in a job, which one works to maintain their life as it stands. Yet they are shallow dreams which do not change the present; they offer the solace of a dream, but have no input or ideas of how to shape the future. Perhaps it is best that one does not always know or even understand or have the resources to answer the question: “who we are,” simply because it allows the future to be molded, and the present to be dealt with, without being distracted by former glory – if it even existed.
“Miruna, A Tale,” is told by the narrator Trajan – who at the time of the story was a boy listening to the stories of his grandfather Niculae, about who they were and how they came to be; Trajan now reiterates the stories of his grandfather, as if he were telling them to his children or grandchildren or nieces of nephews born from his sister Miruna. The stories in this novel make up a larger whole. The entire novel, explores the idea of “who we are,” and “how we came to be,” but intersecting each story are the characters that have shaped the story of the narrators family – the Berca family. Trajan and his sister Miruna, devour the stories readily. Yet it is Miruna who collects them, with the most avid vigor – as she is soon alleged to posse the gift of ‘second sight,’ where Trajan could not see, let alone ready anything – beyond the simplistic realities that the world itself openly reveals.
Bogdan Suceavă has written a novel that is short but beyond simplistic or superficial. Suceavă himself has written a miniaturized version of “One Hundred Years of Solitude,” for lack of a better comparison. The entire novel is written in the form as if it were reiterating the oral traditions of folk tales, and personalized stories or fables. Suceavă himself could be considered a fabulist in the tradition of Italo Calvino or Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Fantasy and reality, become blurred. The events of “Miruna, A Tale,” take place in the real world – and are surrounded by historical events, but reality is infused with a mystical wonder. The location of Romania – the Făgăraş Mountain landscape to be more exact; works to Suceavă’s advantage as a writer of the fabulous in the real world. Romania is still that dark horse of Europe. It is still a place, spoken in hushed tones, which is tinted with superstitions and where spells are still recited to ward off the unwanted and unwelcome. It is a place of a tortured brutal history; and made all that more famous by the gothic novel “Dracula.” Romania is still a land seasoned with legends of historical rulers who impaled their prisoners, their enemies. A place shrouded in a draconian history, and a still recovery present from the thaw of communism and the fall of the iron curtain. Suceavă succeeds however, in showcasing how the old world of the fictional village Evil Vale, had resisted modernity, and how it became its own universe.
The novel is written in the form of an oral tale, and the entire novel despite the salt and pepper of violence that is sprinkled throughout the novel – it has the air of being nostalgic. Niculae Berca tells his grandchildren the story of their great-grandfather Constantine Berca and his volunteer service, into the army to fight the Ottoman Empire, in the Russo-Turkish, and help Romania receive its independence. Though it is a dark beginning it is made light by the regional dark and morbid preoccupied sense of humour. A good example would be the colonel:
“The colonel who drank so much vodka before a battle that his guts caught fire when the Turks shot him,”
Still for Constantine Berca’s service he was granted a portion of land outside of Evil Vale; and so “who we are,” began to take form with “where we had come from.” Yet upon Constantine’s arrival to Evil Vale suspicious eyes have already begun to take note of him. Gossip starts and rumors spread through small hamlets, like fire on the wind. Upon arrival in Evil Vale Constantine had brought with him modern practices and even equipment – a Swiss engineered clock being one of them. A device that was foreign to such a place where: “time was infinite and haste was relatively unknown.” Berca’s reputation only grows. Rather than casting spells, to ward off the wolves or push back the forest which imposes its own laws upon the inhabitants of its land; Berca shoots the wolves with his rifle. He becomes known as a madman, and is quickly feared. Still Berca comes to understand the customs and traditions of the land, and quickly adapts at enchanting the land with his own set understanding of spells. Despite his own will imposed upon the landscape, it in itself had imposed its own way upon Constantine Berca. Still the great-grandfather of the story pushes on, and turns what would be considered a barren and unworkable piece of land into something, that can be managed and produced and be called a home. He digs a well – despite the well digger’s dowsing rods, proclaiming that no water existed. He is toyed with by the Fayes; and fights off the bandit Aman.
Despite the fairytale unraveling of the novel – it does begin to showcases its elegiac qualities. Miruna (the titular sister) may take in this entirely new world that their grandfather out lays for them; nothing remains unchanged or unnoticed for long. Though the characters of this novel had appeared to live on as if time had no material grasp on them; the last virgin spot of Europe was not immune to snuffing snout of a mechanical modern pig looking for such a truffle to unearth.
The novel despite its short length, being under one hundred and forty pages long, is filled with dense prose, which moves back and forth through time; with Tarjan and more specifically Niculae being the fulcrums in which time slides to and fro. The book is filled with eccentric and odd characters – reminiscent of “Primeval and Other Times,” by the Polish author (and neighbor) Olga Tokarczuk – Old Woman Fira, who runs the rumor mill: filling the village with latest gossip, spreading it about like chicken feed for chickens, and of course her expertise in spells and reading the future in the grains of the harvest; then there is the priest Father Dimitrie who continues to save the inhabits souls from damnation and eternal fires of hell; and the unfortunate and senile Elifterie who owns nothing – everything is given to him, even the words he uses which have been stowed away in his mind and are reiterated now and then. Yet the main character itself is the place; a place where its customs and traditions have survived and are a continual reminder of a life that was, and a time that can still be found in the habits of the old. This is one such novel that answers the question of why we tell stories. We tell stories to answer our personal questions: of where we come from; of who we are. Sometimes even the most simplistic of lives – are deceptive in the stories that exist there.
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, 29 January 2015
Thursday, 22 January 2015
Je Suis Charlie
Hello Gentle Reader
Freedom of expression is something that is ingrained in to all enlightened societies, as a human right that is essential for the democratic process to be successful. What happened in Paris earlier in January was an atrocity, which defiled human life, and one of the rights of the democratic individual, to hold an opinion – regardless of offense given or not. After the Charlie Hebdod shooting, many French citizens and people around the world, chanted in solidarity: “Je Suis Charlie,” which translates into English as: “I am Charlie.” The shootings came because the French satirical magazine published a cartoon that was considered offensive, and blasphemous towards the prophet Muhammad. Though the Quran does not explicitly state that depicting the Islamic prophet in human form is wrong or blasphemous; it is considered by many Islamic people to be incredibly disrespectful and borderline blasphemous, and punishable by death. What the disaffected and radicalized youth who perpetrated this terrorist attack do not understand – or understand and oppose; is that France as a democratic nation allows all its citizens to openly voice their opinions – without restraint of it being offensive or considered differentiating or opposing to another’s views, perspective or religion. The youth offended by the satirical cartoon, decided the best way to seek retribution for their prophet being ‘mocked,’ or ‘defaced,’ was by arbitrary bloodshed and barbaric violence. Yet what France did after the attack, was not revert to violence in itself against a larger group; but rather congregate and stand in solidarity with other citizens and chant “Je Suis Charlie,” in remembrance of the victims of this attack, and to solidify support for the freedom of expression – kudos to France.
After these attacks, I had mentioned to a friend in a coffee shop, about how the controversial French author Michel Houellebecq’s novel will be taken. His new novel “Submission,” once again rattles the cage of society; and once again rattles Muslims some more. Houellebecq has already come under fire, in previous court cases for being anti-Islamic, and utilizing ‘hate speech,’ to argue his opinions. Houellebecq however one that case on the grounds of freedom of expression. His new novel “Submission,” predicts France in the year 2022 under a Muslim majority run party. Once again Houellebecq has been forced to defend his position and his views, as many are stating that the author is encouraging intolerance towards Muslims, and inciting distrust of the Islamic religion. At the end of the day – and one can picture his apathetic way of stating it: “one has a right to write those kinds of books if one wants to.”
At the end of the day, freed of expression can never be compromised because of someone else’s feelings. It has nothing to do with respect, satire is satire – there is a reason why it is very rarely used in debates or arguments on the basis as a fact. What is factual in this case however is that people in France died because of their freedom of speech and expression; and they defended it. The French populace and those across the world have stood alongside them, and will be just as quick to defend their own freedom of speech and expression. The contemporary past shows us: that those who have the freedom to speech, voice and opinion or draw a cartoon; will never roll over and let it be taken from them. From the Fatwa called on Salmin Rusdhie over his novel “The Satanic Verses,” or “The Muhammad Cartoon Crisis,” of two-thousand and five; people will not sit back and allow their own freedoms be taken away from, simply because it hurt another ones feelings or is offensive.
If I may quote Nobel Laureate Herta Muller from her novel “The Land of Green Plums,”:
“When we don't speak, said Edgar, we become unbearable, and when we do, we make fools of ourselves.”
The truth is: we speak – even if we do make fools of ourselves; because if we don’t we do become unbearable.
Je Suis Charlie!
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
Freedom of expression is something that is ingrained in to all enlightened societies, as a human right that is essential for the democratic process to be successful. What happened in Paris earlier in January was an atrocity, which defiled human life, and one of the rights of the democratic individual, to hold an opinion – regardless of offense given or not. After the Charlie Hebdod shooting, many French citizens and people around the world, chanted in solidarity: “Je Suis Charlie,” which translates into English as: “I am Charlie.” The shootings came because the French satirical magazine published a cartoon that was considered offensive, and blasphemous towards the prophet Muhammad. Though the Quran does not explicitly state that depicting the Islamic prophet in human form is wrong or blasphemous; it is considered by many Islamic people to be incredibly disrespectful and borderline blasphemous, and punishable by death. What the disaffected and radicalized youth who perpetrated this terrorist attack do not understand – or understand and oppose; is that France as a democratic nation allows all its citizens to openly voice their opinions – without restraint of it being offensive or considered differentiating or opposing to another’s views, perspective or religion. The youth offended by the satirical cartoon, decided the best way to seek retribution for their prophet being ‘mocked,’ or ‘defaced,’ was by arbitrary bloodshed and barbaric violence. Yet what France did after the attack, was not revert to violence in itself against a larger group; but rather congregate and stand in solidarity with other citizens and chant “Je Suis Charlie,” in remembrance of the victims of this attack, and to solidify support for the freedom of expression – kudos to France.
After these attacks, I had mentioned to a friend in a coffee shop, about how the controversial French author Michel Houellebecq’s novel will be taken. His new novel “Submission,” once again rattles the cage of society; and once again rattles Muslims some more. Houellebecq has already come under fire, in previous court cases for being anti-Islamic, and utilizing ‘hate speech,’ to argue his opinions. Houellebecq however one that case on the grounds of freedom of expression. His new novel “Submission,” predicts France in the year 2022 under a Muslim majority run party. Once again Houellebecq has been forced to defend his position and his views, as many are stating that the author is encouraging intolerance towards Muslims, and inciting distrust of the Islamic religion. At the end of the day – and one can picture his apathetic way of stating it: “one has a right to write those kinds of books if one wants to.”
At the end of the day, freed of expression can never be compromised because of someone else’s feelings. It has nothing to do with respect, satire is satire – there is a reason why it is very rarely used in debates or arguments on the basis as a fact. What is factual in this case however is that people in France died because of their freedom of speech and expression; and they defended it. The French populace and those across the world have stood alongside them, and will be just as quick to defend their own freedom of speech and expression. The contemporary past shows us: that those who have the freedom to speech, voice and opinion or draw a cartoon; will never roll over and let it be taken from them. From the Fatwa called on Salmin Rusdhie over his novel “The Satanic Verses,” or “The Muhammad Cartoon Crisis,” of two-thousand and five; people will not sit back and allow their own freedoms be taken away from, simply because it hurt another ones feelings or is offensive.
If I may quote Nobel Laureate Herta Muller from her novel “The Land of Green Plums,”:
“When we don't speak, said Edgar, we become unbearable, and when we do, we make fools of ourselves.”
The truth is: we speak – even if we do make fools of ourselves; because if we don’t we do become unbearable.
Je Suis Charlie!
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, 8 January 2015
Tadeusz Konwicki Passes Away
Hello Gentle Reader
Tadeusz Konwicki one of Poland’s literary greats of the twentieth century, and wrote of the horrors of living under a totalitarian regime and its Kafkaesque bureaucracies, had passed away, very early this New Year. Konwicki is known for his novel “A Minor Apocalypse,” a satirical novel that detailed life under an oppressive authoritarian government. It had bypassed the censors and the government’s approval, because it was published via underground presses that were utilized in order for writers to write freely and openly, but also have their work distributed to the public who needed to see their realities were noticed, by others, and were not the sole constructs of mind; and the corrosive desire of the regime attempts to warp the realities into a more pleasing official state concept of reality that should be readily administered to and accepted by the general populace. However Konwicki was not always adamantly against the communist ideals perpetrated upon him and his countrymen. He fought in World War II in Poland’s resistance, and had believed in communism at first; but eventually fell out of favour with the party and the authorities as well. Konwicki was also a filmmaker and screenwriter and was well renowned for these activities. He adapted Milosz's novel “The Issa Valley,” into a film, and had captured the countryside of his youth into the film and rekindled fond memories of the part of Poland that was given to Lithuania.
Rest in Peace Tadeusz Konwicki
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
Tadeusz Konwicki one of Poland’s literary greats of the twentieth century, and wrote of the horrors of living under a totalitarian regime and its Kafkaesque bureaucracies, had passed away, very early this New Year. Konwicki is known for his novel “A Minor Apocalypse,” a satirical novel that detailed life under an oppressive authoritarian government. It had bypassed the censors and the government’s approval, because it was published via underground presses that were utilized in order for writers to write freely and openly, but also have their work distributed to the public who needed to see their realities were noticed, by others, and were not the sole constructs of mind; and the corrosive desire of the regime attempts to warp the realities into a more pleasing official state concept of reality that should be readily administered to and accepted by the general populace. However Konwicki was not always adamantly against the communist ideals perpetrated upon him and his countrymen. He fought in World War II in Poland’s resistance, and had believed in communism at first; but eventually fell out of favour with the party and the authorities as well. Konwicki was also a filmmaker and screenwriter and was well renowned for these activities. He adapted Milosz's novel “The Issa Valley,” into a film, and had captured the countryside of his youth into the film and rekindled fond memories of the part of Poland that was given to Lithuania.
Rest in Peace Tadeusz Konwicki
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
Days in the History of Silence
Hello Gentle Reader
The other day in an e-mail I had gone on a tangent in regards to discussing, the argument in literature, of the concept of: profundity. What does the argument about profound, in relation to an authors work mean? I would never call “Fifty Shades of Grey,” profound. Even a Harlequin Romance, could express more depth and sincerity, then those books. Yet when it comes to serious literature, what does the term mean. The debate, of whether ones favourite authors work is profound; or exemplifies profundity – is the quickest and most liberally used argument. I ranted to the individual about my confusion of what the word profound engrossed when discussing literature. Does a writer need to write a five hundred page novel or more; and tackle large concepts like the meaning of life, true love, terrorism, conspiracies, alien abductions, political scandal – mixed with a heavy dose of irony and postmodernism, as well as a spoonful of hippie ideals of peace and love; and of course copious amount of weed references to ensure that the novel is both hip and cool. Then there is the six hundred plus page novel that begins as a historical novel or analysis of historical events. It eventually engrosses both past and present, and shifts its perspectives to showcase the consequences of the past, ripping through time, influencing and touching the lives of others in small ways – both positive and devastating. Then there are shorter novels. They’re views are more focused and concentrated. There is no globetrotting or an overabundance of characters; no conspiracy theories, no postmodern tricks or any references laced with drug innuendos. Their language varies from the intensely poetic and lyrical, to the more sober and straightforward. Their works are more refined and concentrated on a single subject. But does their sober language that verges on somber mean they are profound? Do their lyrical and poetic surrealism in prose, mean they are profound? The same goes with poets. A poet who writes with grace and simplicity about the everyday is far more preferred by me, then one who is archaic and pretentious in their verbose desire to showcase their own cleverness. Does gentle wisdom and sly wit; become more profound then intellectual pomposity? The truth is, the word profound is used profusely without any explanation or elucidation. It is exponentially used in arguments, to debase an author’s writings, or enhance an author’s reputation. In the end the term profound as an argument, is not an argument, but a quick remark that is slithers out of any contestation; because the word profound is vague when discussing literature. If profound means that one needs to write in a Joycean fashion, then to me profound authors are not writers to look forward to for reading. Their works are contrived, and often difficult to the point of unapproachable. Profound to me is akin to the writings of Wisława Szymborska: a distilling of life, laced with grace and earthly wisdom that is formed from experience; but is impish in its humour.
Merethe Lindstrøm’s novel “Days in the History of Silence,” is of novel of pleasurable reading length. The prose is reminiscent of the stereotypical concept of Norwegian weather. The language is sober, that transitions to somber with ease, and is sparse unsentimental language, helps give the book its weight and depth. The novel is built upon silence and what is not spoken. It is reserved, and quiet in its introspective contemplation, of how the past haunts, and how secrets keeps us close, but also distances and shuns the warmth of human contact and social interaction. Lindstrøm’s prose details the mundane monotony of her characters lives; but laces it with dread and suspense. As if beneath the thin ice over the lake of her characters lives, there is a threat of everything just cracking or breaking loose. It is, as if the quietness that Eva and Simon have built up to offer a sense of normalcy is continually threatened, and constantly on the brink of shattering. Throughout the novel Merethe Lindstrøm delves into the abyss of both characters lives; and from their personal experience showcases how silence and secrets are an act of fraternity with others in a solemn attempt to slowdown our own decent into the abyss of the past.
The novel is narrated by Eva, a retired school teacher who is married to a retired physician by the name of Simon. Their lives are on the surface comfortable and normal. They have raised three children – all girls; who have gone on to make set course for their own lives. Yet what holds Eva and Simon together are the acts of solidarity that stem from the solemn secrets in which both keep. The past for Eva and Simon is the connecting bond, that holds them together, and the secrets each of them keep, from their friends and even their daughters. It becomes clear in their old age, that Eva and Simon are showing signs of their own reserved pasts. There is guilt and grief, taking hold of both. Simon who may or may not be experiencing signs of Dementia; has become uncommunicative and withdrawn into himself. His silence engulfs the house. For Eva this becomes frustrating and difficult to comprehend. Her children advise her to put Simon into a home. Something Eva can neither, entertain or consider. Taking Simon to the day home itself, showcases the onslaught of time, and one’s own ambivalent relationship with the process of aging:
“Several times I have remained standing in the parking lot, like a mythological figure filled with doubt, this is the border between the underworld and our own world…I need to tell this to someone, how it feels, how it is so difficult to lie with someone who has suddenly become silent. It is not simply the feeling that he is no longer there. It is the feeling that you are not, either.”
Merethe Lindstrøm’s writes with cool precisions that details the quiet and uneventful lives of individuals. It continually understates the tense atmosphere of day to day living. The tensions brought on by Simon’s withdrawn behaviour; the urging of the daughters to put him in a home; as well as memories and recollections of past events, and the mystery of why the Latvian home help Marija. The memories of Eva and her own misdeeds, and rationalization behind them; as well as Simon’s own tragic history; and the eventual realized transgression of Marija that lead to her own dismissal – showcases the distance that comes from our own secrets, or hidden pasts, and our own inability to admit our grief and guilt. The lack of openness and communication in its actual structured sense, is shown to alienate people. As Eva comes to realize throughout the novel, Marija had become less an employee; and more of a helpful friend through her tenure in their lives and home. However in the end, its time had expired, and is looked back on with regret and the melancholic wistful nostalgia of one’s wish for it to be the way it was before.
From past to present the novel showcases the characters personal tragedies, crimes and incidents that have shaped them to what they have become. The past is a continually nuisance that tugs at ones arm. For Eva it is something to scour and contemplate and inspect, as if searching for the solution for the presents problems. For Simon it had become an engulfing sea that had slowly taken him in. Merethe Lindstrøm’s characters search the past, are haunted by it and are pursued by it. In the end however, none of them escape the past; it offers no solution, no answers. It has no conclusion within its pages. Pain, sadness, tragedy and our own guilt, transcends the confines of time. For Lindstrøm’s characters retribution cannot come in a swift swing of justice. Forgiveness is not offered from strangers. Justice, forgiveness, retribution – they can only be offered from ourselves first, before it can be available from others – and even that is not entirely plausible. Secrets, silence, the past – they are the abyss that threatens to swallow us whole. There are those who find a way into our intimate private lives. Trusted confidants who eventually learn of our hidden transgressions. From revealing our personal contraventions, we hope they accept us still for it; and from this act of recognition of our indiscretions and maintaining that friendship, we learn to offer this same mercy upon ourselves.
In the end, the novel is understated with prose that begins sober, and moves somber. It is filled with tensions, and unanswered questions that continually provoke reading, and a desire to move forward with the novel. The monotonous and mundane become anxious with apprehension of the unknown. Memories showcase how casual cruelty can be; how tragic circumstances become; and how the past echoes through and individual like a voice through rooms. It is not a novel of neat conclusions though. It is however a novel introspection and contemplation on the nature of silence and secrets as the acts solidarity that hold us together, and eventually drive us apart.
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 other day in an e-mail I had gone on a tangent in regards to discussing, the argument in literature, of the concept of: profundity. What does the argument about profound, in relation to an authors work mean? I would never call “Fifty Shades of Grey,” profound. Even a Harlequin Romance, could express more depth and sincerity, then those books. Yet when it comes to serious literature, what does the term mean. The debate, of whether ones favourite authors work is profound; or exemplifies profundity – is the quickest and most liberally used argument. I ranted to the individual about my confusion of what the word profound engrossed when discussing literature. Does a writer need to write a five hundred page novel or more; and tackle large concepts like the meaning of life, true love, terrorism, conspiracies, alien abductions, political scandal – mixed with a heavy dose of irony and postmodernism, as well as a spoonful of hippie ideals of peace and love; and of course copious amount of weed references to ensure that the novel is both hip and cool. Then there is the six hundred plus page novel that begins as a historical novel or analysis of historical events. It eventually engrosses both past and present, and shifts its perspectives to showcase the consequences of the past, ripping through time, influencing and touching the lives of others in small ways – both positive and devastating. Then there are shorter novels. They’re views are more focused and concentrated. There is no globetrotting or an overabundance of characters; no conspiracy theories, no postmodern tricks or any references laced with drug innuendos. Their language varies from the intensely poetic and lyrical, to the more sober and straightforward. Their works are more refined and concentrated on a single subject. But does their sober language that verges on somber mean they are profound? Do their lyrical and poetic surrealism in prose, mean they are profound? The same goes with poets. A poet who writes with grace and simplicity about the everyday is far more preferred by me, then one who is archaic and pretentious in their verbose desire to showcase their own cleverness. Does gentle wisdom and sly wit; become more profound then intellectual pomposity? The truth is, the word profound is used profusely without any explanation or elucidation. It is exponentially used in arguments, to debase an author’s writings, or enhance an author’s reputation. In the end the term profound as an argument, is not an argument, but a quick remark that is slithers out of any contestation; because the word profound is vague when discussing literature. If profound means that one needs to write in a Joycean fashion, then to me profound authors are not writers to look forward to for reading. Their works are contrived, and often difficult to the point of unapproachable. Profound to me is akin to the writings of Wisława Szymborska: a distilling of life, laced with grace and earthly wisdom that is formed from experience; but is impish in its humour.
Merethe Lindstrøm’s novel “Days in the History of Silence,” is of novel of pleasurable reading length. The prose is reminiscent of the stereotypical concept of Norwegian weather. The language is sober, that transitions to somber with ease, and is sparse unsentimental language, helps give the book its weight and depth. The novel is built upon silence and what is not spoken. It is reserved, and quiet in its introspective contemplation, of how the past haunts, and how secrets keeps us close, but also distances and shuns the warmth of human contact and social interaction. Lindstrøm’s prose details the mundane monotony of her characters lives; but laces it with dread and suspense. As if beneath the thin ice over the lake of her characters lives, there is a threat of everything just cracking or breaking loose. It is, as if the quietness that Eva and Simon have built up to offer a sense of normalcy is continually threatened, and constantly on the brink of shattering. Throughout the novel Merethe Lindstrøm delves into the abyss of both characters lives; and from their personal experience showcases how silence and secrets are an act of fraternity with others in a solemn attempt to slowdown our own decent into the abyss of the past.
The novel is narrated by Eva, a retired school teacher who is married to a retired physician by the name of Simon. Their lives are on the surface comfortable and normal. They have raised three children – all girls; who have gone on to make set course for their own lives. Yet what holds Eva and Simon together are the acts of solidarity that stem from the solemn secrets in which both keep. The past for Eva and Simon is the connecting bond, that holds them together, and the secrets each of them keep, from their friends and even their daughters. It becomes clear in their old age, that Eva and Simon are showing signs of their own reserved pasts. There is guilt and grief, taking hold of both. Simon who may or may not be experiencing signs of Dementia; has become uncommunicative and withdrawn into himself. His silence engulfs the house. For Eva this becomes frustrating and difficult to comprehend. Her children advise her to put Simon into a home. Something Eva can neither, entertain or consider. Taking Simon to the day home itself, showcases the onslaught of time, and one’s own ambivalent relationship with the process of aging:
“Several times I have remained standing in the parking lot, like a mythological figure filled with doubt, this is the border between the underworld and our own world…I need to tell this to someone, how it feels, how it is so difficult to lie with someone who has suddenly become silent. It is not simply the feeling that he is no longer there. It is the feeling that you are not, either.”
Merethe Lindstrøm’s writes with cool precisions that details the quiet and uneventful lives of individuals. It continually understates the tense atmosphere of day to day living. The tensions brought on by Simon’s withdrawn behaviour; the urging of the daughters to put him in a home; as well as memories and recollections of past events, and the mystery of why the Latvian home help Marija. The memories of Eva and her own misdeeds, and rationalization behind them; as well as Simon’s own tragic history; and the eventual realized transgression of Marija that lead to her own dismissal – showcases the distance that comes from our own secrets, or hidden pasts, and our own inability to admit our grief and guilt. The lack of openness and communication in its actual structured sense, is shown to alienate people. As Eva comes to realize throughout the novel, Marija had become less an employee; and more of a helpful friend through her tenure in their lives and home. However in the end, its time had expired, and is looked back on with regret and the melancholic wistful nostalgia of one’s wish for it to be the way it was before.
From past to present the novel showcases the characters personal tragedies, crimes and incidents that have shaped them to what they have become. The past is a continually nuisance that tugs at ones arm. For Eva it is something to scour and contemplate and inspect, as if searching for the solution for the presents problems. For Simon it had become an engulfing sea that had slowly taken him in. Merethe Lindstrøm’s characters search the past, are haunted by it and are pursued by it. In the end however, none of them escape the past; it offers no solution, no answers. It has no conclusion within its pages. Pain, sadness, tragedy and our own guilt, transcends the confines of time. For Lindstrøm’s characters retribution cannot come in a swift swing of justice. Forgiveness is not offered from strangers. Justice, forgiveness, retribution – they can only be offered from ourselves first, before it can be available from others – and even that is not entirely plausible. Secrets, silence, the past – they are the abyss that threatens to swallow us whole. There are those who find a way into our intimate private lives. Trusted confidants who eventually learn of our hidden transgressions. From revealing our personal contraventions, we hope they accept us still for it; and from this act of recognition of our indiscretions and maintaining that friendship, we learn to offer this same mercy upon ourselves.
In the end, the novel is understated with prose that begins sober, and moves somber. It is filled with tensions, and unanswered questions that continually provoke reading, and a desire to move forward with the novel. The monotonous and mundane become anxious with apprehension of the unknown. Memories showcase how casual cruelty can be; how tragic circumstances become; and how the past echoes through and individual like a voice through rooms. It is not a novel of neat conclusions though. It is however a novel introspection and contemplation on the nature of silence and secrets as the acts solidarity that hold us together, and eventually drive us apart.
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, 1 January 2015
Some News from the Swedish Academy
Hello Gentle Reader
Upon waking this morning, after a uneventful and quiet New Years Eve celebration – or the lack of such a celebration, which had been spent reading, watching a movie, and a eventual observation at the clock; and announcing to house, the shadows, the dust bunnies, and the books a: Happy New Year; I realized that on my post last night, I had forgotten to mention some news, from the Swedish Academy that will become more apparent in the later part of this fresh new year. The Permanente Secretary of the Swedish Academy Peter Englund who had first announced that Herta Müller had been honoured with the Nobel Prize for Literature, back in two-thousand and nine; and since then had subsequently announced other honoured writers like the master of the short story Alice Munro, as well as the Swedish haiku nature poet Tomas Transtromer; has now announced his resignation from his post as the Permanent Secretary; though his post will not officially be handed over to his predecessor Sara Danius until June first of two-thousand and fifteen. Peter Englund will continue his work as a historian, and researcher; but also devoting time to his family of five children. Sara Danius is the first woman to become the Permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy; and there is already speculation of how gender may play a role, in the decision for the future writers to be honoured with the Nobel. However from what I can gather about Sara Danius is that she is a culture writer, a professor, and a literary reader with exceptionally refined and eclectic tastes, and the choices will hopefully be well deserved, shocking and always enjoyable to here, and encourage continual translations and dialogues of literature beyond languages. In other news from the Swedish Academy, Klas Östergren has now officially filled seat no. 11, after the former member Ulf Linde had passed away. , Klas Östergren is one of Sweden’s most beloved writers, and has a strong reading base after his breakthrough novel “Gentlemen.” His election to the Swedish Academy will be another new asset to the academy and will hopefully open up the Academy to new resources, and contacts, in order to help honour future Nobel Laureates.
Congratulations to Sara Danius and Klas Östergren! Two-thousand and fourteen ended with great news, and new beginnings. May two-thousand and fifteen be one of the greatest years, that these two individuals experience.
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
Upon waking this morning, after a uneventful and quiet New Years Eve celebration – or the lack of such a celebration, which had been spent reading, watching a movie, and a eventual observation at the clock; and announcing to house, the shadows, the dust bunnies, and the books a: Happy New Year; I realized that on my post last night, I had forgotten to mention some news, from the Swedish Academy that will become more apparent in the later part of this fresh new year. The Permanente Secretary of the Swedish Academy Peter Englund who had first announced that Herta Müller had been honoured with the Nobel Prize for Literature, back in two-thousand and nine; and since then had subsequently announced other honoured writers like the master of the short story Alice Munro, as well as the Swedish haiku nature poet Tomas Transtromer; has now announced his resignation from his post as the Permanent Secretary; though his post will not officially be handed over to his predecessor Sara Danius until June first of two-thousand and fifteen. Peter Englund will continue his work as a historian, and researcher; but also devoting time to his family of five children. Sara Danius is the first woman to become the Permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy; and there is already speculation of how gender may play a role, in the decision for the future writers to be honoured with the Nobel. However from what I can gather about Sara Danius is that she is a culture writer, a professor, and a literary reader with exceptionally refined and eclectic tastes, and the choices will hopefully be well deserved, shocking and always enjoyable to here, and encourage continual translations and dialogues of literature beyond languages. In other news from the Swedish Academy, Klas Östergren has now officially filled seat no. 11, after the former member Ulf Linde had passed away. , Klas Östergren is one of Sweden’s most beloved writers, and has a strong reading base after his breakthrough novel “Gentlemen.” His election to the Swedish Academy will be another new asset to the academy and will hopefully open up the Academy to new resources, and contacts, in order to help honour future Nobel Laureates.
Congratulations to Sara Danius and Klas Östergren! Two-thousand and fourteen ended with great news, and new beginnings. May two-thousand and fifteen be one of the greatest years, that these two individuals experience.
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)