Hello Gentle Reader
The renowned Swedish poet and Nobel Laureate in Literature, Tomas Transtromer has died at the age of eighty three. Transtromer is considered one of the greatest and most influential Swedish poets after World War II. His poetry and poems have influenced writers in Europe, North America, and the Middle East. Transtromer was a mild-mannered wordsmith that preferred to avoid political debates and discussions, and the limelight. Instead Transtromer’s poetry was politically neutral and, enjoyed contemplating the larger aspects of the human condition: memory, nature, and death; but Transtromer was, also a psychologist, and in his simplistic yet surreal lyrical poetry, discussed the mysteries of the human mind. Yet because of his political neutrality, many of Transtromer’s contemporaries criticized the author for his lack of political engagement at the time. Yet his poetic vision maintained true, and eventually led him to become one of Sweden’s greatest living poets. Before the future Laureate was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature – as he was nominated every year since nineteen-ninety three; many had become to wonder if Transtromer would ever receive the Nobel. Yet in two-thousand and eleven, Transtromer did receive the Nobel Prize for Literature, and those that new of Transtromer were ecstatic to finally have seen the poet receive such an accolade; yet to some it came as quite a surprise seeing that Transtromer’s entire output was small, and after suffering a stroke which had led to his mobility and speech being impaired Transtromer’s literary output had ceased. Yet his poetry has survived, and will most likely to continue to survive and influence, with its unpretentious word choice, devotion to nature, the mysteries of everyday life and the human mind; but also the do consideration given towards history, memory and death.
"The Half-Finished Heaven,"
By Tomas Transtromer
"Despondency breaks off its course.
Anguish breaks off its course.
The vulture breaks off its flight.
The eager light streams out,
even the ghosts take a draught.
And our paintings see daylight,
our red beasts of the ice-age studios.
Everything begins to look around.
We walk in the sun in hundreds.
Each man is a half-open door
leading to a room for everyone.
The endless ground under us.
The water is shining among the trees.
The lake is a window into the earth."
Rest In Peace Tomas Transtromer
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
Friday, 27 March 2015
When The Doves Disappeared
Hello Gentle Reader
What is weak shall be taken. What is inferior shall falter. These are words – simple words, but words nonetheless, which hold power. One must never underestimate the potential in which everyday individuals can be swept up into the fervor of the greater good or more accurately speaking: “what is good,” for the cause. History has shown how easy it is for individuals to lose their individuality in a cloud of poetic propaganda and the call to action. When one is asked to put their rights on hold, one should never just comply like an obedient dog, to the demands of its master, on the promise of a treat, or a pat on the head with the following words: “good boy,” – rather one must (as is their civil duty) ask why they must put their rights on hold, do away with democratic process, and to fall into line like an obedient dog on the promise of a treat, or under the threat of a “well-deserved,” thrashing. It is almost human instinct, to do whatever it is to be done, to survive. Desperate times call for drastic actions. Being required to abandon rights and freedoms is still a call that should never be called, and should never be obliged with. As history has shown when nations – and people; hit their lowest points, they are open to the greatest change; a change which wavers between positive and negative. Sofi Oksanen is a Finnish-Estonian writer, who has made the communist period of Estonia the scenery for her literary output. In this landscape she is able to see how the soul resists in periods of exhaustion and desperation. How the individual consciousness becomes less paramount in a landscape squandered by a lack of moral integrity. Yet with an unflinching eye Oksanen shows, the blind devotion to do what is right – sometimes for the greater good, and at times for personal gain. Yet it is the dissection of opposing ideologies that often showcases the greater understanding for the conflict of the times.
“When The Doves Disappeared,” is about Estonia during the double occupation with two occupying forces. After twenty-two years of independence, Estonia once again found itself occupied by Soviet forces. Eventually Nazi Germany had infiltrated the country and had expelled what many saw as the oppressive Bolsheviks. However the dreams and perceptions of Nazi Germany being seen as a liberator are quickly dispelled. Life is not any better with occupation of Nazi’s. Their Aryan superiority propaganda are spread throughout city landscapes, and their laws that require open visual discrimination of Jewish populace from the Estonian public, are quickly enacted. However the populace accepts these changes. They are contrasted against the atrocities of the Bolsheviks and their own systematic purge of the country. Fathers and sons disappeared. Families left wondering of the unknown fates of their now missing family members. The German soldiers and their Reichsadler are a refreshing sight, compared to the soviets red stars, and the confiscations and rations, that had left once again the Estonia people: sweeping up the rubble, shrapnel, and charred remains of the fighters, who had despoiled their country and died on it, oh so far from home.
The changing landscapes of “When The Doves Disappeared,” quickly show the ground gained by freedom fighters, Nazi soldiers and the Soviet Red Army. Estonia itself finds itself being tossed between one ideology and then another. After independence it had fallen under the stewardship of the Bolsheviks, and the reigning political ideology was that of communism, which had in the end purged both the land and the populace. Not a scrap of meat for a rat, or a crumb of bread for a mouse; nor a carrot for the working horse, which one must substitute carrots and sugar with hay, and other feed. Even the populace itself had to deal with a lack of food and nourishment. As most of it had gone to those who had required it more, then them. Foreign occupiers required the fruits of others labours, to feed their own, and let the rabble themselves starve or be done away with; for this was war, and war requires desperate actions, and subservient measures to ensure that the ‘right side,’ is victorious. From this the “Forest Brothers,” had formed to fight the occupying forces, and to instate once again an independent nation free from the ruby start communism, and the silver SS lightning bolts of the new Nazi German occupiers.
“When The Doves Disappeared,” is not as successful as Oksanen’s first English publication “Purge.” On a superficial level “When The Doves Disappeared,” fails on length. The novel could benefit from more length, offering more room to full fledge the characters. Roland, in the beginning is seen as the protagonist. The freedom fighter that is not, motivated by ideology or doing the greater good, or dreams of being a war hero. Roland wishes to expel the foreign occupiers from his country, so his country may once again enter a time of peace, and independence and be left to move along, without the intervention of international politics, to impede upon domestic policies. Roland’s desires to fight against the Bolsheviks appears to be motivated by the purges, and the continual expectation that his country is once again open up to the capricious whims of occupying forces, and their commands which in turn, they demand of the populace. Roland fights for the Estonians. No longer will they be required to pick up the brooms, to sweep the dust of war off the streets; clear up the rubble, and dispose of the charred remains of fallen soldiers on their soil. However, as the political climate changes, Roland is suspicious of a new country coming into his home, and over staying its welcome as well.
The antonym of Roland’s courage and devotion to his country and fighting for its freedom, so once again the cows maybe milked routinely, and farm work may commence; is Edgar, a chameleon of a personality and identity who is combat shy, and gun leery. Despite his lack of talents for firing a gun, killing another man, and is at the end of the day completely out of place and useless on the battlefield, Edgar has his own talents. He is well aware of how to save his own hide, via his mouth and information. He knows how to forge documents, not to mention spin and weave a lie in order to save his own neck when necessary. He is charming and an eloquent speaker; and has a particular talent of becoming an obedient dog to a new master, under the understanding of safety, and reward.
Juudit is Edgar’s morose wife, and finds her loveless and sexless marriage with Edgar concerning and trying. During the Bolshevik occupation of Estonia, Juudit preoccupies herself, with vernacular thoughts and mundane concerns. The tedium and monotony of a once boring life, now offers solace in times of war and crisis. With the devastation of war, forever leaving scars, scabs and loss on every wall, and in every home, it would seem that the thoughts of milking cows and such whimsical inventions that may assist in the daily chores of daily existence allow sanity to fall over the turbulent insanity that has wrapped the country in its folds. However Juudit herself is not without her own desires, which require her to place morality on hold.
The three characters (Roland, Edgar, and Juudit) makeup the entirety of the book. However the length of the novel does away with any substantial assessment of their characters. Roland appears like a righteous freedom fighter, and eventual smuggler, whose motivations after a while become more ambiguous and opaque. Edgar a parasite of power, continually finds a new master to offer his own information to, and change his identity and character, to fully serve the new regime – be it Soviet or Nazi. Juudit an unhappy with a dissatisfying life, has the chance for a better life of glitz and glamour – how she ended up there, at the end of the day remains completely left in the ambiguity of history; and her own eventual issues. With “When The Doves Disappeared,” Oksanen offers more of a dissertation or an explanation of how such totalitarian regimes succeed in their oppressive dominance over other nations. Oksanen offers glimmers of hope through freedom fighters. However these freedom fighters only dream of the women they will return to as heroes, rather than the actual battles that await them, and the drudgery that their cause will endorse; their lack of understanding of the brutality of war and the understanding of their cause, hope is quickly diminished by the ideological machines that are overtaking their countries. The true subject of her scorn however is that of surveillance and cowardice, via those who offer their informational services, and secrets they have learned to better themselves. In this case, Oksanen prosecutes and judges the apathy and the opportunistic behaviour of some, to showcase how their compliance with alien ideologies and governments, destroy their own nations, simply so they can have a better life, or protect their own skin and hide. At the end of the novel however, the book has the appearance of biting off far too much, without truly assessing and grasping what it is that it is attempting to discuss. With a lack of perception and new dimension to her characters, the book itself falls flat on its face, and does not begin to compare to that of Oksanen’s more well known work, and to showcase her truly talent as a writer: “Purge.”
All authors make mistakes, and often at times do not judge their work correctly and the material in which they deal with. “When The Doves Disappeared,” it requires more length, perception, depth, and dimensions for the entire story to have a much better understanding of the historical situation of Estonia at the time. That being said as a writer Oksanen is an admirable writer, as the subject matter in which she chooses to write about, is one which is quickly overlooked into the fogs of historical amnesia. Praise is then well deserved to Oksanen for showcasing that what happened in Estonia is not some other countries problems across the sea, or too far away from here. What she has discussed is the compliance or apathy (present day towards the historical) means: if we ourselves do not understand or at least not aware of the changing political situations, than we ourselves are at risk of suffering similar fates, and others will only sit back, as our nations are consumed by wolves.
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
What is weak shall be taken. What is inferior shall falter. These are words – simple words, but words nonetheless, which hold power. One must never underestimate the potential in which everyday individuals can be swept up into the fervor of the greater good or more accurately speaking: “what is good,” for the cause. History has shown how easy it is for individuals to lose their individuality in a cloud of poetic propaganda and the call to action. When one is asked to put their rights on hold, one should never just comply like an obedient dog, to the demands of its master, on the promise of a treat, or a pat on the head with the following words: “good boy,” – rather one must (as is their civil duty) ask why they must put their rights on hold, do away with democratic process, and to fall into line like an obedient dog on the promise of a treat, or under the threat of a “well-deserved,” thrashing. It is almost human instinct, to do whatever it is to be done, to survive. Desperate times call for drastic actions. Being required to abandon rights and freedoms is still a call that should never be called, and should never be obliged with. As history has shown when nations – and people; hit their lowest points, they are open to the greatest change; a change which wavers between positive and negative. Sofi Oksanen is a Finnish-Estonian writer, who has made the communist period of Estonia the scenery for her literary output. In this landscape she is able to see how the soul resists in periods of exhaustion and desperation. How the individual consciousness becomes less paramount in a landscape squandered by a lack of moral integrity. Yet with an unflinching eye Oksanen shows, the blind devotion to do what is right – sometimes for the greater good, and at times for personal gain. Yet it is the dissection of opposing ideologies that often showcases the greater understanding for the conflict of the times.
“When The Doves Disappeared,” is about Estonia during the double occupation with two occupying forces. After twenty-two years of independence, Estonia once again found itself occupied by Soviet forces. Eventually Nazi Germany had infiltrated the country and had expelled what many saw as the oppressive Bolsheviks. However the dreams and perceptions of Nazi Germany being seen as a liberator are quickly dispelled. Life is not any better with occupation of Nazi’s. Their Aryan superiority propaganda are spread throughout city landscapes, and their laws that require open visual discrimination of Jewish populace from the Estonian public, are quickly enacted. However the populace accepts these changes. They are contrasted against the atrocities of the Bolsheviks and their own systematic purge of the country. Fathers and sons disappeared. Families left wondering of the unknown fates of their now missing family members. The German soldiers and their Reichsadler are a refreshing sight, compared to the soviets red stars, and the confiscations and rations, that had left once again the Estonia people: sweeping up the rubble, shrapnel, and charred remains of the fighters, who had despoiled their country and died on it, oh so far from home.
The changing landscapes of “When The Doves Disappeared,” quickly show the ground gained by freedom fighters, Nazi soldiers and the Soviet Red Army. Estonia itself finds itself being tossed between one ideology and then another. After independence it had fallen under the stewardship of the Bolsheviks, and the reigning political ideology was that of communism, which had in the end purged both the land and the populace. Not a scrap of meat for a rat, or a crumb of bread for a mouse; nor a carrot for the working horse, which one must substitute carrots and sugar with hay, and other feed. Even the populace itself had to deal with a lack of food and nourishment. As most of it had gone to those who had required it more, then them. Foreign occupiers required the fruits of others labours, to feed their own, and let the rabble themselves starve or be done away with; for this was war, and war requires desperate actions, and subservient measures to ensure that the ‘right side,’ is victorious. From this the “Forest Brothers,” had formed to fight the occupying forces, and to instate once again an independent nation free from the ruby start communism, and the silver SS lightning bolts of the new Nazi German occupiers.
“When The Doves Disappeared,” is not as successful as Oksanen’s first English publication “Purge.” On a superficial level “When The Doves Disappeared,” fails on length. The novel could benefit from more length, offering more room to full fledge the characters. Roland, in the beginning is seen as the protagonist. The freedom fighter that is not, motivated by ideology or doing the greater good, or dreams of being a war hero. Roland wishes to expel the foreign occupiers from his country, so his country may once again enter a time of peace, and independence and be left to move along, without the intervention of international politics, to impede upon domestic policies. Roland’s desires to fight against the Bolsheviks appears to be motivated by the purges, and the continual expectation that his country is once again open up to the capricious whims of occupying forces, and their commands which in turn, they demand of the populace. Roland fights for the Estonians. No longer will they be required to pick up the brooms, to sweep the dust of war off the streets; clear up the rubble, and dispose of the charred remains of fallen soldiers on their soil. However, as the political climate changes, Roland is suspicious of a new country coming into his home, and over staying its welcome as well.
The antonym of Roland’s courage and devotion to his country and fighting for its freedom, so once again the cows maybe milked routinely, and farm work may commence; is Edgar, a chameleon of a personality and identity who is combat shy, and gun leery. Despite his lack of talents for firing a gun, killing another man, and is at the end of the day completely out of place and useless on the battlefield, Edgar has his own talents. He is well aware of how to save his own hide, via his mouth and information. He knows how to forge documents, not to mention spin and weave a lie in order to save his own neck when necessary. He is charming and an eloquent speaker; and has a particular talent of becoming an obedient dog to a new master, under the understanding of safety, and reward.
Juudit is Edgar’s morose wife, and finds her loveless and sexless marriage with Edgar concerning and trying. During the Bolshevik occupation of Estonia, Juudit preoccupies herself, with vernacular thoughts and mundane concerns. The tedium and monotony of a once boring life, now offers solace in times of war and crisis. With the devastation of war, forever leaving scars, scabs and loss on every wall, and in every home, it would seem that the thoughts of milking cows and such whimsical inventions that may assist in the daily chores of daily existence allow sanity to fall over the turbulent insanity that has wrapped the country in its folds. However Juudit herself is not without her own desires, which require her to place morality on hold.
The three characters (Roland, Edgar, and Juudit) makeup the entirety of the book. However the length of the novel does away with any substantial assessment of their characters. Roland appears like a righteous freedom fighter, and eventual smuggler, whose motivations after a while become more ambiguous and opaque. Edgar a parasite of power, continually finds a new master to offer his own information to, and change his identity and character, to fully serve the new regime – be it Soviet or Nazi. Juudit an unhappy with a dissatisfying life, has the chance for a better life of glitz and glamour – how she ended up there, at the end of the day remains completely left in the ambiguity of history; and her own eventual issues. With “When The Doves Disappeared,” Oksanen offers more of a dissertation or an explanation of how such totalitarian regimes succeed in their oppressive dominance over other nations. Oksanen offers glimmers of hope through freedom fighters. However these freedom fighters only dream of the women they will return to as heroes, rather than the actual battles that await them, and the drudgery that their cause will endorse; their lack of understanding of the brutality of war and the understanding of their cause, hope is quickly diminished by the ideological machines that are overtaking their countries. The true subject of her scorn however is that of surveillance and cowardice, via those who offer their informational services, and secrets they have learned to better themselves. In this case, Oksanen prosecutes and judges the apathy and the opportunistic behaviour of some, to showcase how their compliance with alien ideologies and governments, destroy their own nations, simply so they can have a better life, or protect their own skin and hide. At the end of the novel however, the book has the appearance of biting off far too much, without truly assessing and grasping what it is that it is attempting to discuss. With a lack of perception and new dimension to her characters, the book itself falls flat on its face, and does not begin to compare to that of Oksanen’s more well known work, and to showcase her truly talent as a writer: “Purge.”
All authors make mistakes, and often at times do not judge their work correctly and the material in which they deal with. “When The Doves Disappeared,” it requires more length, perception, depth, and dimensions for the entire story to have a much better understanding of the historical situation of Estonia at the time. That being said as a writer Oksanen is an admirable writer, as the subject matter in which she chooses to write about, is one which is quickly overlooked into the fogs of historical amnesia. Praise is then well deserved to Oksanen for showcasing that what happened in Estonia is not some other countries problems across the sea, or too far away from here. What she has discussed is the compliance or apathy (present day towards the historical) means: if we ourselves do not understand or at least not aware of the changing political situations, than we ourselves are at risk of suffering similar fates, and others will only sit back, as our nations are consumed by wolves.
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
Tuesday, 24 March 2015
Man Booker International Prize & Folio Prize Winner
Hello Gentle Reader
Numerous literary awards do their best to rival other literary awards. The highest literary award to rival is that of the Nobel Prize for Literature – the eccentric and secretive award is often rivaled, by other such awards. The biannual Neustadt International Prize for Literature is one such award that competes with the Nobel Prize for Literature. Following in the Neustadt’s prize footsteps, is the Man Booker International Prize; another award, awarded on a biannual basis, and hopes to rival the Nobel Prize for Literature. The last few years were dominated by repeat wins of two American writers: Lydia Davis and Philip Roth. The prize found itself, heading towards stagnation, with numerous well known writes already, awarded the prize (Ismail Kadare, Alice Munro, and Chinua Achebe) – but it appears that, this year’s prize has opened its eyes up to more translated authors, to create a rather interesting list. Note many recognizable authors are not included on the list such as: Haruki Murakami and Karl Ove Knausgaard.
The Shortlist for this year’s Man Booker International Prize is as follows –
László Krasznahorkai (Hungary)
César Aira (Argentina)
Mia Couto (Mozambique)
Hoda Barakat (Lebanon)
Maryse Condé (Guadeloupe)
Ibrahim Al-Koni (Libya)
Alain Mabanckou (Democratic Republic of Congo)
Marlene van Niekerk (South Africa)
Amitav Ghosh (India)
Fanny Howe (United States of America)
Good luck to each of the authors!
Folio Prize Winner –
Akhil Sharma the Indian-American writer, has won this years Booker Prize rival the Folio Prize for his novel “Family Life,” his second book which took him thirteen years to write, and is currently a bestseller in the States. Sharma was happy to have won the prize, despite how long the novel took to be produced.
Congratulations Akhil Sharma!
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
Numerous literary awards do their best to rival other literary awards. The highest literary award to rival is that of the Nobel Prize for Literature – the eccentric and secretive award is often rivaled, by other such awards. The biannual Neustadt International Prize for Literature is one such award that competes with the Nobel Prize for Literature. Following in the Neustadt’s prize footsteps, is the Man Booker International Prize; another award, awarded on a biannual basis, and hopes to rival the Nobel Prize for Literature. The last few years were dominated by repeat wins of two American writers: Lydia Davis and Philip Roth. The prize found itself, heading towards stagnation, with numerous well known writes already, awarded the prize (Ismail Kadare, Alice Munro, and Chinua Achebe) – but it appears that, this year’s prize has opened its eyes up to more translated authors, to create a rather interesting list. Note many recognizable authors are not included on the list such as: Haruki Murakami and Karl Ove Knausgaard.
The Shortlist for this year’s Man Booker International Prize is as follows –
László Krasznahorkai (Hungary)
César Aira (Argentina)
Mia Couto (Mozambique)
Hoda Barakat (Lebanon)
Maryse Condé (Guadeloupe)
Ibrahim Al-Koni (Libya)
Alain Mabanckou (Democratic Republic of Congo)
Marlene van Niekerk (South Africa)
Amitav Ghosh (India)
Fanny Howe (United States of America)
Good luck to each of the authors!
Folio Prize Winner –
Akhil Sharma the Indian-American writer, has won this years Booker Prize rival the Folio Prize for his novel “Family Life,” his second book which took him thirteen years to write, and is currently a bestseller in the States. Sharma was happy to have won the prize, despite how long the novel took to be produced.
Congratulations Akhil Sharma!
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
Tuesday, 17 March 2015
Fantasy and Literary Merit – The Debate Continues
Hello Gentle Reader
Genre fiction is known for its protestation of being ghettoized. Those who currently write in the genre fields of fiction, generally rebuff the dismissive attitude they are handed. They proclaim with the sincerest annunciations of a prophet: that the days of ‘trash,’ are over and behind them. Yes there are still those novels that could be considered modern day ‘penny dreadful(s),’ or ‘pulp fictions,’ – but the area of genre fiction has grown. It has changed. This has been propagated by many authors attempting to rejuvenate the stagnate forms in which they stereotyped, and are expected to write in. According to these authors, the days of archaic language, and mock Shakespearian dialogue has all but dispersed. These authors advertise that these novels can go beyond, the typical themes and plot outlines, which have been laid out for them, by previous fantasy authors and pulp fiction writers in general. Science fiction on one hand must always deal with the stereotype of talking squids in space, and bombshell women with their ray guns, in outfits that are, neither conservative or practical. So does fantasy.
Who could forget, Margaret Atwood’s arguments against her ‘MaddAddam Trilogy,” which comprised of: “Oryx and Crake,” “The Year of the Flood,” and “MaddAddam,” – as well as: “The Handmaids Tale,” of being considered science fiction. Rather Atwood had preferred her work to be stated as “speculative fiction.” Advocates of science fiction were unimpressed by what they had perceived as a snub by an author with more critical approval and respect in the literary world. Margaret Atwood later would retract her statements, and has stated that she can understand why her works have been deemed science fiction, and has even accepted the theory that her works do take the form of ‘soft science fiction.’
Kazuo Ishiguro is known for setting his works in the past. The Booker Prize winning novel “The Remains of the Day,” was quintessentially English, in its depiction of a refined emotionally stunted butler, subjugation to serving and duty, refuses to recognize apparent facts. “Never Let Me Go,” was set in ninety’s; yet in an alternative historical timeline. The novel was the first time Ishiguro’s writing had come under a debate, for the genre in which it decided to have slipped into. The question at the time: what genre is this? Many called it ‘quasi-science fiction,’ whereas others said it was a horror novel. The novel itself though defied conventions, and genre designations. What is apparent though from the novel, is it was written in the wistful language that Ishiguro employees to discuss matters concerning, memory, love, life and death. Yet “Never Let Me Go,” was not the first time in which, Ishiguro had steered away from realism to discuss his literary preoccupations. “The Unconsoled,” was a Kafkaesque insomniac’s living nightmare. The novel is plotted over three days, about a famous pianist’s inability to remember appointments and promises. Lost in a foreign Eastern European cities, dream logic reality, and nightmarish landscape, the pianist grows increasingly frustrated at his lack of control. “The Unconsoled,” was a great leap in style and book for Ishiguro and was not considered successful by readers and reviewers. Many found it to be a five hundred page sprawling labyrinth. Kazuo Ishiguro’s new novel “The Buried Giant,” was marked before publication with uncertainty and trepidation. His new novel – the first in ten years; was an immediate departure from each of his previous works. Ishiguro’s novel “is set in a post-Arthurian England. The landscape is covered in a fog, which erodes inhabitant’s memories; but there is more than just people inhabiting this English world. There are ogres and pixies, as well as a slumbering dragon whose breath is the cause of the miasma which causes a continuous state of memory loss.
Upon hearing this, the literary establishment was not entirely sure, what to make of this new novel. Kazuo Ishiguro himself had confessed that he was not entirely sure if his readers will follow him on this new path. Yet the genre community acted in a manner which surprised me. It was a cat on its haunches. It hissed and spit, as if somehow something had intruded its own defined area. Ursula Le Guin, one of the most well known advocates of the genre community was the most vocal critic of Ishiguro’s novel. Le Guin herself had stated the following in a rather strongly worded blog post:
“Familiar folktale and legendary ‘surface elements’ in Mr. Ishiguro’s novel are too obvious to blink away, but since he is a very famous novelist, I am sure reviewers who share his prejudice will never suggest that he has polluted his authorial gravitas with the childish whims of fantasy.
Respect for his readers should assure him that, whatever the book is, they will honestly try to follow him and understand what he was trying to do.
I respect what I think he was trying to do, but for me it didn’t work. It couldn’t work. No writer can successfully use the ‘surface elements’ of a literary genre—far less its profound capacities—for a serious purpose, while despising it to the point of fearing identification with it. I found reading the book painful. It was like watching a man falling from a high wire while he shouts to the audience, “Are they going say I’m a tight-rope walker?”
Ursula Le Guin is a beloved and respected writer, who has turned genre fiction, away from its pulp fiction roots, and taken it to more literary means and measures. She is one of the contemporary greats, and one of its most well known advocates. However, I think personally that Le Guin’s was a bit too reactionary, in her criticism of Ishiguro. Kazuo Ishiguro was not presenting any snobbish attitude towards genre fiction. Rather Ishiguro was aware that he was attempting something new, and people have a tendency not to accept something new. But when it came down to his allegiance in literature – he was more than happy to state that he was on the side of ogres, dragons and pixies.
In Ishiguro’s defense the literary world has melded a lot, and so his new venture should not be difficult; as he only needs to look at contemporary writers and their own experimentation with genre:
David Mitchell, a now solidified literary star, on the British map, has never hid his own love of genre fiction – from Tolkien to Le Guin; and has used science fiction tropes, to tackle some larger issues that concern his own fiction and literary preoccupations. Ishiguro is just now utilizing a rather politically neutral time period, and different landscape to tackle his own themes in his new novel; and as long as people wish to read his work, then they have followed him into a world of haze and mass amnesia. Whether or not it works or does not work, is unknown to me. The literary world landscape is shifting. Genre is given its do's, when it is called for – and that is only thanks to authors like Le Guin, who have advocated for it, and proven that it can be taken more seriously. It is thanks to authors like David Mitchell and Kazuo Ishiguro that show that realism and naturalism – are not the only ways in which to showcase complex human and existential themes. Sometimes a distant future, shows a possibility of the steps we are taking now; other times it takes a surreal world with dream logic to show the despondency of contemporary life; and at times, a fantasy worlds landscape, offers a greater way to understand the mythological concepts of love, memory, life and death.
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
Genre fiction is known for its protestation of being ghettoized. Those who currently write in the genre fields of fiction, generally rebuff the dismissive attitude they are handed. They proclaim with the sincerest annunciations of a prophet: that the days of ‘trash,’ are over and behind them. Yes there are still those novels that could be considered modern day ‘penny dreadful(s),’ or ‘pulp fictions,’ – but the area of genre fiction has grown. It has changed. This has been propagated by many authors attempting to rejuvenate the stagnate forms in which they stereotyped, and are expected to write in. According to these authors, the days of archaic language, and mock Shakespearian dialogue has all but dispersed. These authors advertise that these novels can go beyond, the typical themes and plot outlines, which have been laid out for them, by previous fantasy authors and pulp fiction writers in general. Science fiction on one hand must always deal with the stereotype of talking squids in space, and bombshell women with their ray guns, in outfits that are, neither conservative or practical. So does fantasy.
Who could forget, Margaret Atwood’s arguments against her ‘MaddAddam Trilogy,” which comprised of: “Oryx and Crake,” “The Year of the Flood,” and “MaddAddam,” – as well as: “The Handmaids Tale,” of being considered science fiction. Rather Atwood had preferred her work to be stated as “speculative fiction.” Advocates of science fiction were unimpressed by what they had perceived as a snub by an author with more critical approval and respect in the literary world. Margaret Atwood later would retract her statements, and has stated that she can understand why her works have been deemed science fiction, and has even accepted the theory that her works do take the form of ‘soft science fiction.’
Kazuo Ishiguro is known for setting his works in the past. The Booker Prize winning novel “The Remains of the Day,” was quintessentially English, in its depiction of a refined emotionally stunted butler, subjugation to serving and duty, refuses to recognize apparent facts. “Never Let Me Go,” was set in ninety’s; yet in an alternative historical timeline. The novel was the first time Ishiguro’s writing had come under a debate, for the genre in which it decided to have slipped into. The question at the time: what genre is this? Many called it ‘quasi-science fiction,’ whereas others said it was a horror novel. The novel itself though defied conventions, and genre designations. What is apparent though from the novel, is it was written in the wistful language that Ishiguro employees to discuss matters concerning, memory, love, life and death. Yet “Never Let Me Go,” was not the first time in which, Ishiguro had steered away from realism to discuss his literary preoccupations. “The Unconsoled,” was a Kafkaesque insomniac’s living nightmare. The novel is plotted over three days, about a famous pianist’s inability to remember appointments and promises. Lost in a foreign Eastern European cities, dream logic reality, and nightmarish landscape, the pianist grows increasingly frustrated at his lack of control. “The Unconsoled,” was a great leap in style and book for Ishiguro and was not considered successful by readers and reviewers. Many found it to be a five hundred page sprawling labyrinth. Kazuo Ishiguro’s new novel “The Buried Giant,” was marked before publication with uncertainty and trepidation. His new novel – the first in ten years; was an immediate departure from each of his previous works. Ishiguro’s novel “is set in a post-Arthurian England. The landscape is covered in a fog, which erodes inhabitant’s memories; but there is more than just people inhabiting this English world. There are ogres and pixies, as well as a slumbering dragon whose breath is the cause of the miasma which causes a continuous state of memory loss.
Upon hearing this, the literary establishment was not entirely sure, what to make of this new novel. Kazuo Ishiguro himself had confessed that he was not entirely sure if his readers will follow him on this new path. Yet the genre community acted in a manner which surprised me. It was a cat on its haunches. It hissed and spit, as if somehow something had intruded its own defined area. Ursula Le Guin, one of the most well known advocates of the genre community was the most vocal critic of Ishiguro’s novel. Le Guin herself had stated the following in a rather strongly worded blog post:
“Familiar folktale and legendary ‘surface elements’ in Mr. Ishiguro’s novel are too obvious to blink away, but since he is a very famous novelist, I am sure reviewers who share his prejudice will never suggest that he has polluted his authorial gravitas with the childish whims of fantasy.
Respect for his readers should assure him that, whatever the book is, they will honestly try to follow him and understand what he was trying to do.
I respect what I think he was trying to do, but for me it didn’t work. It couldn’t work. No writer can successfully use the ‘surface elements’ of a literary genre—far less its profound capacities—for a serious purpose, while despising it to the point of fearing identification with it. I found reading the book painful. It was like watching a man falling from a high wire while he shouts to the audience, “Are they going say I’m a tight-rope walker?”
Ursula Le Guin is a beloved and respected writer, who has turned genre fiction, away from its pulp fiction roots, and taken it to more literary means and measures. She is one of the contemporary greats, and one of its most well known advocates. However, I think personally that Le Guin’s was a bit too reactionary, in her criticism of Ishiguro. Kazuo Ishiguro was not presenting any snobbish attitude towards genre fiction. Rather Ishiguro was aware that he was attempting something new, and people have a tendency not to accept something new. But when it came down to his allegiance in literature – he was more than happy to state that he was on the side of ogres, dragons and pixies.
In Ishiguro’s defense the literary world has melded a lot, and so his new venture should not be difficult; as he only needs to look at contemporary writers and their own experimentation with genre:
David Mitchell, a now solidified literary star, on the British map, has never hid his own love of genre fiction – from Tolkien to Le Guin; and has used science fiction tropes, to tackle some larger issues that concern his own fiction and literary preoccupations. Ishiguro is just now utilizing a rather politically neutral time period, and different landscape to tackle his own themes in his new novel; and as long as people wish to read his work, then they have followed him into a world of haze and mass amnesia. Whether or not it works or does not work, is unknown to me. The literary world landscape is shifting. Genre is given its do's, when it is called for – and that is only thanks to authors like Le Guin, who have advocated for it, and proven that it can be taken more seriously. It is thanks to authors like David Mitchell and Kazuo Ishiguro that show that realism and naturalism – are not the only ways in which to showcase complex human and existential themes. Sometimes a distant future, shows a possibility of the steps we are taking now; other times it takes a surreal world with dream logic to show the despondency of contemporary life; and at times, a fantasy worlds landscape, offers a greater way to understand the mythological concepts of love, memory, life and death.
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, 12 March 2015
Terry Pratchett -- To The Great A'Tuin in The Sky
Hello Gentle Reader
Sir Terry Pratchett has passed away at the age of sixty-six. The beloved English fantasy author, will be sincerely missed by many of his readers, not just in the English language, but also in the thirty-seven languages his novels have been translated into. Pratchett is best known for his fantasy novels “Discworld,” series. With the series Pratchett took fantasy away from the melodramatics of Tolkien’s “Middle Earth,” but did not move in the same direction of George R.R. Martin’s politically complicated, blood infused novels of “A Song of Fire and Ice.” Rather Pratchett’s novels moved into a satirical model, where both adults and children could enjoy his novels and the world in which he created. A world populated by incompetent wizards, slow-witted barbarians, among a multitude of other such creations. Its diverse pantheon of gods houses many gods with different purposes such as a goddess who is the patron of: “Things That Stick in Drawers,” and is praised by crying out:
“How can it close on the damned thing but not open with it? Who bought this? Do we ever use it?”
But also a god of hangovers; despite never drinking a drop, and yet doomed to suffer the torments of the punishment of overindulgence. A wind god whose name is referenced to that of flatulence . There is also a goddess of the sea, who takes on other patronages of apple pie, certain types of ice cream, and the ever important object of: short lengths of string. In what other fantasy novel is there a lawyer who refuses to die (remaining undead) until his own descendants pay him for his own legal counsel (despite defending himself)? Such is the world that Pratchett created, a world where reality was less tangible and more surreal, and absurd, and oh so funny. Despite however the humour of his novels, he was known to create nuanced characters, with depth and intrigue. Pratchett’s novels dealt with larger concepts of life, and death – death being personified as a wry creature, which had an apprentice, a beloved horse named Binky, an adopted daughter, and also has a fondness for kittens – not to mention an independent entity: “The GrimSqueaker.” Death is also fond and fascinated of life – which without it he would be unemployed. And it is with Death that Pratchett’s unfortunate end was announced to the world via twitter:
“AT LAST, SIR TERRY, WE MUST WALK TOGETHER.”
Upon this announcement the literary world was saddened by Pratchett’s departure. Yet understood it was a blessing for the author, who had been suffering from Alzheimer’s since his diagnosis in two-thousand and seven; and was an eloquent advocate for euthanasia or the right to die. Yet Pratchett leaves behind forty “Discworld,” books; and seventy books in total and has sold over seventy-five millions books worldwide. He was beloved by adults and children, and rejuvenated the fantasy world from the melodrama of “Hark! There are Orcs in these woods!” To a much more different world, that defied reality, and even traditional fantasy concepts, with its own brand of logic. Authors from Dame A.S. Byatt, Neil Gaiman and Margaret Atwood each spoke highly of the author. Rest in Peace Sir Terry Pratchett who now heads to To The Great A'Tuin in The Sky.
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
Sir Terry Pratchett has passed away at the age of sixty-six. The beloved English fantasy author, will be sincerely missed by many of his readers, not just in the English language, but also in the thirty-seven languages his novels have been translated into. Pratchett is best known for his fantasy novels “Discworld,” series. With the series Pratchett took fantasy away from the melodramatics of Tolkien’s “Middle Earth,” but did not move in the same direction of George R.R. Martin’s politically complicated, blood infused novels of “A Song of Fire and Ice.” Rather Pratchett’s novels moved into a satirical model, where both adults and children could enjoy his novels and the world in which he created. A world populated by incompetent wizards, slow-witted barbarians, among a multitude of other such creations. Its diverse pantheon of gods houses many gods with different purposes such as a goddess who is the patron of: “Things That Stick in Drawers,” and is praised by crying out:
“How can it close on the damned thing but not open with it? Who bought this? Do we ever use it?”
But also a god of hangovers; despite never drinking a drop, and yet doomed to suffer the torments of the punishment of overindulgence. A wind god whose name is referenced to that of flatulence . There is also a goddess of the sea, who takes on other patronages of apple pie, certain types of ice cream, and the ever important object of: short lengths of string. In what other fantasy novel is there a lawyer who refuses to die (remaining undead) until his own descendants pay him for his own legal counsel (despite defending himself)? Such is the world that Pratchett created, a world where reality was less tangible and more surreal, and absurd, and oh so funny. Despite however the humour of his novels, he was known to create nuanced characters, with depth and intrigue. Pratchett’s novels dealt with larger concepts of life, and death – death being personified as a wry creature, which had an apprentice, a beloved horse named Binky, an adopted daughter, and also has a fondness for kittens – not to mention an independent entity: “The GrimSqueaker.” Death is also fond and fascinated of life – which without it he would be unemployed. And it is with Death that Pratchett’s unfortunate end was announced to the world via twitter:
“AT LAST, SIR TERRY, WE MUST WALK TOGETHER.”
Upon this announcement the literary world was saddened by Pratchett’s departure. Yet understood it was a blessing for the author, who had been suffering from Alzheimer’s since his diagnosis in two-thousand and seven; and was an eloquent advocate for euthanasia or the right to die. Yet Pratchett leaves behind forty “Discworld,” books; and seventy books in total and has sold over seventy-five millions books worldwide. He was beloved by adults and children, and rejuvenated the fantasy world from the melodrama of “Hark! There are Orcs in these woods!” To a much more different world, that defied reality, and even traditional fantasy concepts, with its own brand of logic. Authors from Dame A.S. Byatt, Neil Gaiman and Margaret Atwood each spoke highly of the author. Rest in Peace Sir Terry Pratchett who now heads to To The Great A'Tuin in The Sky.
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
Independent Foreign Fiction Prize Longlist
Hello Gentle Reader
The longlist for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize has been announced. On the list are some of the usual suspected writers have made it to the list: Karl Ove Knausgaard and Haruki Murakami. However the longlist also has five translated German authors on the longlist competing for the award. Here is the longlist in full:
Jenny Erpenbeck – “The End of Days,”
Judith Schalansky – “The Giraffe’s Neck,”
Daniel Kehlmann – “F,”
Timur Vermes – “Look Who’s Back,”
Stefanie de Velasco – “Tiger Milk,”
Jung-Myung Lee – “The Investigation,”
Can Xue – “The Last Lover,”
Juan Tomás Ávila Laurel – “By Night the Mountain Burns,”
Tomás González – “In the Beginning Was the Sea,”
Marcello Fois – “Bloodlines,”
Tomas Bannerhed – “The Ravens,”
Erwin Mortier – “While the Gods Were Sleeping,”
Hamid Ismailov – “The Dead Lake,”
Karl Ove Knausgaard – “Book 3 – Boyhood Island,”
Haruki Murakami – “Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage,”
It is interesting to see so many German writers nominated for the award; and at the sametime it comes to no surprise that both literary celebrities Knausgaard and Murakami, are also on the longlist. Good luck, regardless to the authors!
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 longlist for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize has been announced. On the list are some of the usual suspected writers have made it to the list: Karl Ove Knausgaard and Haruki Murakami. However the longlist also has five translated German authors on the longlist competing for the award. Here is the longlist in full:
Jenny Erpenbeck – “The End of Days,”
Judith Schalansky – “The Giraffe’s Neck,”
Daniel Kehlmann – “F,”
Timur Vermes – “Look Who’s Back,”
Stefanie de Velasco – “Tiger Milk,”
Jung-Myung Lee – “The Investigation,”
Can Xue – “The Last Lover,”
Juan Tomás Ávila Laurel – “By Night the Mountain Burns,”
Tomás González – “In the Beginning Was the Sea,”
Marcello Fois – “Bloodlines,”
Tomas Bannerhed – “The Ravens,”
Erwin Mortier – “While the Gods Were Sleeping,”
Hamid Ismailov – “The Dead Lake,”
Karl Ove Knausgaard – “Book 3 – Boyhood Island,”
Haruki Murakami – “Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage,”
It is interesting to see so many German writers nominated for the award; and at the sametime it comes to no surprise that both literary celebrities Knausgaard and Murakami, are also on the longlist. Good luck, regardless to the authors!
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, 5 March 2015
The Cold Centre
Hello Gentle Reader
The twentieth century certainly must have been one of the most innovative, progressive and tumultuous centuries of recent memory. The world had fallen into place, and fallen apart simultaneously. Countries were divided; new ones formed from the divisions; independence was at hand; and eventual annexation and amalgamation would take place. Governments formed. Governments were dissolved. War brought the world to its knees. It would be a war that at the time was deemed to end all wars. What subsumed was tragedy. Trench warfare brought the opposing armies into stalemates. Despite the innovations of technology and science, at the time warfare had not adapted to the new tools implanted. War was still chivalrous. Yet it was not the only war to be; and by far did not end the concept of war; but was merely a precursor to the changing dynamics of war. From here peace came; but only in the form of a world ravaged by human destruction. Work – none to be found. Yet the twentieth century progressed into new forms of expression as well. Where the Victorians first began to experiment in new artistic measures, and expression, their theories carried on into other disciplines and opened up a new world of creative possibilities, which were outlaid in manifestos: Surrealism, Dadaism, cubism, and futurism. Modernism did away with the concepts of a novel, in the late nineteenth century. Yet it founds its final maturation in the early twentieth century, with acclaimed authors that included Virginia Woolf and James Joyce. The novel was taken away from the societal realms and bleak realism; and probed with new found psychoanalytical theories the concept of the human mind; and the literary mode of expression was to become such a medium to explore characters via thought and internal workings – rather than action and external dialogue. Modernism reassessed society after the horrors of the First World War. What would soon come as modernism started to lose its sway on the world, would be yet another grand tragedy that would scar the world, stain human history and show mankind how innovative it was; but also how innovation is equally destructive as it is altruistic. With the outbreak of the Second World War, one realized that peace was not at hand, and possibly never will be. In this time period, the chivalry of war was lost. The world had progressed towards production of tanks, which appeared to be unstoppable and unbreakable. Rockets showed the possibility of space being no longer unattainable or unreachable – but a possible new heavenly frontier to explore. Destruction was less tragic; and more easily acquired. Bombings were a present fact of day to day life – relentless and without discrimination. When the Second World War ended however, we saw what terror truly looked like. War on its own was a dreadful; but what was soon discovered after the war, was how mankind could cross the line between human and monster, without looking back. What no one knew at the time was: how little distance lied between the two. Society and mankind was forced to look into the atrocities that had taken place, with systematic and meticulous planning. How death became a factory. How countries were sustained via the use of slave labour. We realized that beneath the uniforms, beneath the armour, the guns, the bullets – beneath the entire machine called ‘War,’ there was a nihilistic seed waiting to be watered, and when it is given water and sunlight, one is willing to do anything. People looked into the hollowed eyes of survivors. They gazed into the blank stares of the victims. What stared back was the abyss. But also a plea: never let this history repeat itself.
Yet this was just the start of realizing our own acquired concept of power, which was endowed to human beings in this century. Society realized, that the end of times did not mean celestial apocalypse or biblical Armageddon. The end could be brought on by human hands. It came in the form of a red button, which could be mistakenly pushed. After the Second World War postmodernism came into being. It viewed mankind’s great potential of doing good, with skeptical eyes; realizing how easy it was to revert to animalistic and advanced draconian measures for some cause, for some reason, for some ideology. The twentieth century moved forward. Progression continued, and so did the world. The world had become split, not just by borders and countries, but also by ideologies. Such ideas became sources of power and of paranoia. This had led to a golden age of espionage and covert affairs.
In “The Paris Review,” German writer Jenny Erpenbeck writes of her memories of: “living on the edge of the world,” where the Berlin wall once stood, that became the physical barrier and barricade, which had separated the world. A world divided by opposing ideologies, where one was bathed in the gray light of communism: a ideology of utopian concepts, which had found itself corrupted by power and control; and that of capitalism: a ideology of freedom both economically and personal, that found itself contorted and manipulated in a manner, which abused freedom to fill one’s own pockets. With the fall of the Berlin Wall Erpenbeck wrote of new words being thrown around: freedom, independence, and unification. Yet it soon became clear that the divide was not just a physical wall; but an attitude that many on opposing sides could not grapple with. Freedom to travel, expression, and to shop – became uncertain nightmares that disrupted what was once daily life. The world that once sat on the edge of the world had been pushed over the edge. The question would be, would it fall into place or would it fall apart. This is the world that Inka Parei writes about in “The Cold Centre.”
Location becomes a character in itself for Inka Parei. Her three published novels each take place in the former GDR, and deal with the recent history of Germany. The “Cold Centre,” itself deals with the manufacturing of cold to sustain the publication of “Neues Deutschland,” and the ideology that it was to openly propagate. It was to spread the propaganda like pollen – only on the wings of paper and in letters of ink. The novel is narrated by an unnamed man in the first person. He was a refrigerant technician. His job like his co-workers: maintain the desired temperature for the press of “Neues Deutschland,” as it fulfilled its own duty, by manufacturing ideology and propaganda to spoon feed the populace into continually have hope and praise the system in which they were forced to live under.
The novel moves between the present and the past. Parei writes of a lost world in “The Cold Centre.” A world of a forgotten and failed political system. A world of pipes that dripped with condensation. A background of blinking lights – solid green lights, lights that would turn red when errors occurred and emergencies were in motion; as well as large black switches. The descriptions of the turbines, compressors, and the loud running machines, reminded me of the ammonia plants of hockey rinks. How the concrete floor would shake when the plant ran: compressors operational, turbines out of sight spinning, belts vibrating. The pipes coloured to code; and labeled accordingly. Steam pouring out of the building. The difference: the plants in the hockey rinks were to maintain ice; where the cold centre of this novel was to maintain the operation and distribution of ideology. – In the present this former world has since been destroyed. The buildings were antiques of time that did not need to be praised or remembered. The people of the east where to step out of grey light of their oppression, and to step into the neon lights of a new world with promises of freedoms: freedom of expression, to travel, and to shop. Despite the physicality of the world being united different perspectives and understandings of the world still remained. As the narrator points out conflicts arose from individuals ingrained views of the world:
“I was ashamed at having worked there. It made no difference in this context that I’d been a simple worker, not responsible for the newspaper’s content. The reason for my feeling was not the fact I’d been so close to a political system that is now widely rejected. It was that I hadn’t realized that at the time, I’d been a part of something without understanding what it was and without seeing the slightest need to think about it—just as children feel at one with their surroundings they grow up in, consider them the norm.”
“The Cold Centre,” is a novel that scours the personal past of an individual, as he tries to understand the repercussions of his past, as well as the system, and how despite the attempts of destroying this old world – continue to find ways to exist or lest leave their mark. Such as the “Neues Deutschland,” large brass ND remaining on the old building, because the letters were too heavy to move. Yet the novel is compressed, as our narrator attempts to organize and investigate his past workspace, and his old co-workers to try and understand why someone he cares about his suffering from cancer. Bringing to light how the Chernobyl disaster was not just quarantined to one area, but found its contaminating irradiated touch far into the world of the Iron Curtain. The novel probes how the past – despite the landscape changing or being removed; still creeps into the present. As the novel shows, it can creep in with questions regarding the past, and the claustrophobia of the past collapsing, disintegrating and being demolished – while questions of the present still required to be answered.
“The Cold Centre,” is a novel that probes personal history via the larger historical moments. It is a novel that surrounds itself in location, to offer both atmosphere but also understanding of the conditions of life. Landscape, space, and place – become characters in themselves; they become external forces that influence and offer answers about the characters. The language is sparse, matter of fact. The shifts of time come abruptly, but eventually coherent and as the novel comes to its own close. Inka Parei asks the question of how a city that existed on the edge of the world, made due and survived after being pushed over that edge – did it truly neatly fall back into place, or did that old world just fall apart, while the new world reunited with it, to become whole once again.
“Just as I had before, I now lived in a world filled with people, with cities and streets, schools and government offices and with nature, with which I was fairly familiar. And almost all those things were referred to using words I knew. But if the same language was used in such different worlds, could I trust that language?”
How does on collapse after their world is pushed over the edge, and is sent plummeting into the end? For Herta Müller, when she was in Romania she was: the German; when she arrived to West Germany she was: the Romanian. Did and do such divides for this ‘homecoming,’ and reunification still linger in Germany and Berlin today. Are the divides between East and West, now perceptional divides, rather than the ideological ones that had separated and segregated?
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 twentieth century certainly must have been one of the most innovative, progressive and tumultuous centuries of recent memory. The world had fallen into place, and fallen apart simultaneously. Countries were divided; new ones formed from the divisions; independence was at hand; and eventual annexation and amalgamation would take place. Governments formed. Governments were dissolved. War brought the world to its knees. It would be a war that at the time was deemed to end all wars. What subsumed was tragedy. Trench warfare brought the opposing armies into stalemates. Despite the innovations of technology and science, at the time warfare had not adapted to the new tools implanted. War was still chivalrous. Yet it was not the only war to be; and by far did not end the concept of war; but was merely a precursor to the changing dynamics of war. From here peace came; but only in the form of a world ravaged by human destruction. Work – none to be found. Yet the twentieth century progressed into new forms of expression as well. Where the Victorians first began to experiment in new artistic measures, and expression, their theories carried on into other disciplines and opened up a new world of creative possibilities, which were outlaid in manifestos: Surrealism, Dadaism, cubism, and futurism. Modernism did away with the concepts of a novel, in the late nineteenth century. Yet it founds its final maturation in the early twentieth century, with acclaimed authors that included Virginia Woolf and James Joyce. The novel was taken away from the societal realms and bleak realism; and probed with new found psychoanalytical theories the concept of the human mind; and the literary mode of expression was to become such a medium to explore characters via thought and internal workings – rather than action and external dialogue. Modernism reassessed society after the horrors of the First World War. What would soon come as modernism started to lose its sway on the world, would be yet another grand tragedy that would scar the world, stain human history and show mankind how innovative it was; but also how innovation is equally destructive as it is altruistic. With the outbreak of the Second World War, one realized that peace was not at hand, and possibly never will be. In this time period, the chivalry of war was lost. The world had progressed towards production of tanks, which appeared to be unstoppable and unbreakable. Rockets showed the possibility of space being no longer unattainable or unreachable – but a possible new heavenly frontier to explore. Destruction was less tragic; and more easily acquired. Bombings were a present fact of day to day life – relentless and without discrimination. When the Second World War ended however, we saw what terror truly looked like. War on its own was a dreadful; but what was soon discovered after the war, was how mankind could cross the line between human and monster, without looking back. What no one knew at the time was: how little distance lied between the two. Society and mankind was forced to look into the atrocities that had taken place, with systematic and meticulous planning. How death became a factory. How countries were sustained via the use of slave labour. We realized that beneath the uniforms, beneath the armour, the guns, the bullets – beneath the entire machine called ‘War,’ there was a nihilistic seed waiting to be watered, and when it is given water and sunlight, one is willing to do anything. People looked into the hollowed eyes of survivors. They gazed into the blank stares of the victims. What stared back was the abyss. But also a plea: never let this history repeat itself.
Yet this was just the start of realizing our own acquired concept of power, which was endowed to human beings in this century. Society realized, that the end of times did not mean celestial apocalypse or biblical Armageddon. The end could be brought on by human hands. It came in the form of a red button, which could be mistakenly pushed. After the Second World War postmodernism came into being. It viewed mankind’s great potential of doing good, with skeptical eyes; realizing how easy it was to revert to animalistic and advanced draconian measures for some cause, for some reason, for some ideology. The twentieth century moved forward. Progression continued, and so did the world. The world had become split, not just by borders and countries, but also by ideologies. Such ideas became sources of power and of paranoia. This had led to a golden age of espionage and covert affairs.
In “The Paris Review,” German writer Jenny Erpenbeck writes of her memories of: “living on the edge of the world,” where the Berlin wall once stood, that became the physical barrier and barricade, which had separated the world. A world divided by opposing ideologies, where one was bathed in the gray light of communism: a ideology of utopian concepts, which had found itself corrupted by power and control; and that of capitalism: a ideology of freedom both economically and personal, that found itself contorted and manipulated in a manner, which abused freedom to fill one’s own pockets. With the fall of the Berlin Wall Erpenbeck wrote of new words being thrown around: freedom, independence, and unification. Yet it soon became clear that the divide was not just a physical wall; but an attitude that many on opposing sides could not grapple with. Freedom to travel, expression, and to shop – became uncertain nightmares that disrupted what was once daily life. The world that once sat on the edge of the world had been pushed over the edge. The question would be, would it fall into place or would it fall apart. This is the world that Inka Parei writes about in “The Cold Centre.”
Location becomes a character in itself for Inka Parei. Her three published novels each take place in the former GDR, and deal with the recent history of Germany. The “Cold Centre,” itself deals with the manufacturing of cold to sustain the publication of “Neues Deutschland,” and the ideology that it was to openly propagate. It was to spread the propaganda like pollen – only on the wings of paper and in letters of ink. The novel is narrated by an unnamed man in the first person. He was a refrigerant technician. His job like his co-workers: maintain the desired temperature for the press of “Neues Deutschland,” as it fulfilled its own duty, by manufacturing ideology and propaganda to spoon feed the populace into continually have hope and praise the system in which they were forced to live under.
The novel moves between the present and the past. Parei writes of a lost world in “The Cold Centre.” A world of a forgotten and failed political system. A world of pipes that dripped with condensation. A background of blinking lights – solid green lights, lights that would turn red when errors occurred and emergencies were in motion; as well as large black switches. The descriptions of the turbines, compressors, and the loud running machines, reminded me of the ammonia plants of hockey rinks. How the concrete floor would shake when the plant ran: compressors operational, turbines out of sight spinning, belts vibrating. The pipes coloured to code; and labeled accordingly. Steam pouring out of the building. The difference: the plants in the hockey rinks were to maintain ice; where the cold centre of this novel was to maintain the operation and distribution of ideology. – In the present this former world has since been destroyed. The buildings were antiques of time that did not need to be praised or remembered. The people of the east where to step out of grey light of their oppression, and to step into the neon lights of a new world with promises of freedoms: freedom of expression, to travel, and to shop. Despite the physicality of the world being united different perspectives and understandings of the world still remained. As the narrator points out conflicts arose from individuals ingrained views of the world:
“I was ashamed at having worked there. It made no difference in this context that I’d been a simple worker, not responsible for the newspaper’s content. The reason for my feeling was not the fact I’d been so close to a political system that is now widely rejected. It was that I hadn’t realized that at the time, I’d been a part of something without understanding what it was and without seeing the slightest need to think about it—just as children feel at one with their surroundings they grow up in, consider them the norm.”
“The Cold Centre,” is a novel that scours the personal past of an individual, as he tries to understand the repercussions of his past, as well as the system, and how despite the attempts of destroying this old world – continue to find ways to exist or lest leave their mark. Such as the “Neues Deutschland,” large brass ND remaining on the old building, because the letters were too heavy to move. Yet the novel is compressed, as our narrator attempts to organize and investigate his past workspace, and his old co-workers to try and understand why someone he cares about his suffering from cancer. Bringing to light how the Chernobyl disaster was not just quarantined to one area, but found its contaminating irradiated touch far into the world of the Iron Curtain. The novel probes how the past – despite the landscape changing or being removed; still creeps into the present. As the novel shows, it can creep in with questions regarding the past, and the claustrophobia of the past collapsing, disintegrating and being demolished – while questions of the present still required to be answered.
“The Cold Centre,” is a novel that probes personal history via the larger historical moments. It is a novel that surrounds itself in location, to offer both atmosphere but also understanding of the conditions of life. Landscape, space, and place – become characters in themselves; they become external forces that influence and offer answers about the characters. The language is sparse, matter of fact. The shifts of time come abruptly, but eventually coherent and as the novel comes to its own close. Inka Parei asks the question of how a city that existed on the edge of the world, made due and survived after being pushed over that edge – did it truly neatly fall back into place, or did that old world just fall apart, while the new world reunited with it, to become whole once again.
“Just as I had before, I now lived in a world filled with people, with cities and streets, schools and government offices and with nature, with which I was fairly familiar. And almost all those things were referred to using words I knew. But if the same language was used in such different worlds, could I trust that language?”
How does on collapse after their world is pushed over the edge, and is sent plummeting into the end? For Herta Müller, when she was in Romania she was: the German; when she arrived to West Germany she was: the Romanian. Did and do such divides for this ‘homecoming,’ and reunification still linger in Germany and Berlin today. Are the divides between East and West, now perceptional divides, rather than the ideological ones that had separated and segregated?
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
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M. Mary
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