Rainy Dawn

Hello Gentle Reader

Russian literature is never a piece of work which is spoken in soft whispers in back alleys. It’s not tucked away in the obscure reaches of libraries. Rather: it is a vibrating boom, a boisterous bell blaring through the streets. Russian literature is well aware of its magnanimous reputation, its ostentatious appeal and difficulty, its grandiose aura which never dwindles or dulls, but retains its potency, fermenting and ripening every year, as it ages further into classical status. Russia by geography alone is an intimidating sight; it is after all the largest nation on the planet. Its borders have changed, expanded and receded through the years. Its history is riddled with bloody battles, uprisings, superstitions, injustices, inhumanities, tyrants—but also some of the greatest monarchs of the world, who were more progressive then their ‘western,’ counterparts. Its monarchs have been reveled and celebrated, but also feared and hated. Its military campaigns have taken down emperors, but also made an empire. Its frost bitten soil has been sowed with salt, blood, and tears; it’s been nurtured through prayers and pleas; and defended with heart, spirit, and stoic resilience. Russian literature is no different. It eclipses its many neighbors with ease. More people can name at least three writers from Russia then they could from: Ukraine, Georgia, Azerbaijan, Mongolia, (North) Korea, Kazakhstan, or Belarus. Competition may come from more worldly read readers, who may have read authors from: Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, and Finland. Poland and Norway are always its best competition. Yet through and through, Russian literature is dominates. Its pantheon alone has some of the greatest writers of the world: Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Alexander Pushkin, Nikolai Gogol, and Anton Chekhov. These glimmering golden deities were known as the greatest authors of the Golden Era. In their twilight sprung the Silver Age which hosted its own iridescent pantheon of writers of its time: Boris Pasternak, Anna Akhmatova, and Ivan Bunin. Then the pantheon would enter a darker era. Fit with other historical precedence’s the twentieth century saw the storm of revolution blow through Russia and late led to the rise of the communist Soviet Union. Literature once again prevailed, becoming a voice of resilience, resistance, satire and mordant humour, with authors such as: Lyudmila Petrushevskaya, Marina Tsvetaeva, Mikhail Bulgakov, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Bella Akhmadulina and Joseph Brodksy. After the thaw and collapse of the Soviet Union, Russian literature has remained a pinnacle of world class literature, standing (or sitting) with authors such as: Mikhail Shishkin, Vladimir Sorokin, Victor Pelevin—but also the voices of previous Soviet authors such as: Lyudmila Petrushevskaya.

Russian literature, however, is often influenced by its times, events, and its climate. The Soviet Era demanded its authors worked for the betterment of the state and by extension the collective. Writers, artists, musicians, singers, journalists, were meant to report and praise the ideals of Russian communism, the government, and the people— all contrary to and despite its failures, its famines, its corruption, its oppression. Not all writers confirmed to this perspective. Marina Tsvetaeva released elegiac poems; Anna Akhmatova embodied and gave voice to the suffering of the persecuted; Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn shed light on a government and a state out of control and drunk with power; while Mikhail Bulgakov gave a dark satirical tone riddled with irony to mock the state; while Lyudmila Petrushevskaya provided dark fabulist depictions of the reality, contorting it in a surreal carnival mirror of horror and mundane comedy.

Konstantin Paustovsky appears to defy and rebel against the expectations outlined by both his fellow writers as well as the state. Despite being a Soviet Era writer, Konstantin Paustovsky skirted Soviet propagation and ideological prerogatives; he was also able to evade the expectations of his contemporaries and fellow writers who offered resilience and resistance to the state. Rather Konstantin Paustovsky praised the numerous untold beauties of the vastness of the Russian landscape, the voices and personalities of the Russian people, and the unique and striking history of the expansive country. The predilections of Konstantin Paustovsky to not engage in the lowly business of politics and instead fixate on the wonder and hope of the Russian people, rather than the cruel realities of the citizens, allowed him to be loved by his readers and often left to his own devices by the government and its censors who did not view him as a threat. It was a tight rope act that Konstantin Paustovsky played and walked on. On one side was the expectations of the state and government, who threated both imprisonment and publication bans on the one hand (with a plethora of other added devices, threats, and cruelties also inventoried in their arsenal), but on the counter weighted end: the government promised in return for service to the state, privileges and luxuries; incentives and rewards for promoting its ideology, its services, its perspective, but also diminishing dissidence, and spreading fear as well as terror of the greater enemies and threats abroad. Of course to fall into the line of the service of a machine that sought absolute control and authority, meant one was merely a puppet or a patsy for the regime. Such an individual had no high regard for truth, and merely sold their own skin, words, and talents for a few extra pieces of bread, a larger apartment perhaps, and whatever other luxury and privilege the government saw fit to bestow them. On the contrary though, if one actively opposed and undermined the attempts at controlling language and by extension reality, and how it is portrayed in literature, poetry and other expressive mediums, then they themselves were the guardians of the veracity. They were the freedom fighters of thought, continually working for a better Russia, and a better Russian people, one which did not believe in the lies of the government or the dreams of the state, but one that was depicting the squandered conditions of the people, and dared to dream of a better future for them. Those freedom fighters of thought were the unsung heroes who were persecuted in the brain drain, prosecuted on anti-intellectual grounds, and imprisoned for being free thinking, thought provoking, and daring to claim the truth which was in contrast to the official record.

Somehow, Konstantin Paustovsky was able to maintain a safe distance between declaring allegiance to either. His work is not political satire, nor is dissidence. On the flipside, it does not sing praise for the communist revolution, it does not glorify the communist ideology, it does not applaud the leaders, and it does not congratulate the false. It quietly appears to evade these subjects entirely, focusing instead on the personal and private predilections of the populace, who in their own quiet resistance and resilience ignore or are unaware of the machinations which hang over their heads. In the stories of Konstantin Paustovsky these same people continue to write stories, study at university, playfully crack the ice, listen to the singing birds, compose music, toil in fields and live their lives the best they can. They pay little to no mind to the rumblings and conspiracies of the government and the state, they continue to move on with their lives as best they can. Their hardships are of the universal suffering that is the human condition. There is little to no perpetration from either the government (i.e. police officer, KGB agent, government official), but just the way fate twists and turns endlessly in its own malicious amusement.

After the collapse and disillusion of the Soviet Union, it would suffice to state all prior states that were under influence and control of the Soviet ideological doctrine found themselves in a precarious and otherwise chaotic situation. What retaliations and retributions where to be expected? How were previous officials, progenitors, and propagandists expected to atone for their prior transgressions? Should they be allowed to suffer no action? Were their crimes allowed to be lost to history without coming to justice? How is one supposed to shut the door on such a historical period and leave it there? Not to mention all other questions about an unsettled future and unknown circumstances. After all when great empires fall and regimes collapse, no one is around to sweep up the mess other than the citizens, who are expected to put everything back in ship shape, and acquaint themselves with yet another new reality. Many readers young and old began to turn their backs on the previous writers of a generation which had survived like canaries in coal mines, singing the toil of the workers and only going silent when the toxins had finally silenced their brow beaten beaks. What of the others, who with cunning and intrigue undermined and resisted the corrosive touch of the communist party and its failed promises and destructive ideology? What was to come of them? For many they felt both sets of writers were representative of a past and a reality that no longer belonged to them. They were concrete and disillusioned. They only represented a time that had since come and gone now lost to the ruins of history. They were not representative of a new reality, or of a new future. Konstantin Paustovsky remained stoic (despite being dead twenty three years prior). His work remained and remains popular in Russia. His themes are eternal: love, spirituality, ecology, war, ageing. His political stances were ambiguous and apolitical. His subjects were the Russian people and its expansive diverse landscape; his stories touched their personal and private moments, glorifying them as examples of the beauty of the Russian people in comparison to its landscape. That is why Konstantin Paustovsky preserves and remains a stalwart promoter of the people, and no one else.

“Rainy Dawn,” is no exception to the authors preoccupations. It’s a testament to his endearing qualities and subject matter. In this collection of fine-tuned short stories, Paustovsky’s themes and characters shine with everyday commonality and mundane dispositions. Through war love transcends as two lovers are once again reunited at a chance encounter. A young woman is finally receives her gift from the stranger she encountered while collecting pine cones as a girl. The genius of Pushkin his meditated on while reviewing the passage of time, the onslaught of age, and the oncoming of death. A writer finds joy and peace to finally finish his work. A student sent on a geological collective, not only gains experience in her study, but is fond by her future lover, who never forgot their shared spark on a boat ride. Through and through this collection, gems and jewels of stories glisten and glitter of a Russia not tainted by tragedy or ideology, but rather one imbued with undying spirits and people, surrounded by a lush and diverse countryside, riddled with history and grandeur. Though he is not as well-known as his contemporaries, such as his mentor Nobel Laureate Ivan Bunin, or his predecessors, such as Anton Chekhov, Konstantin Paustovsky remains an astute champion of the Russian people, their spirit, souls, dreams and shadows. He is also a fierce admirer and chronicler of its landscape which has shaped the very people who populate his work.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader

Take Care

And As Always

Stay Well Read

M. Mary

Katarina Frostenson Leaves the Swedish Academy

Hello Gentle Reader

The Swedish Academy and Katarina Frostenson have to come to an agreement with regards to both her membership, allegations of violations of breaking the statute of secrecy, and conflicts of interest. During two legal investigations by a law firm, the Swedish Academy was presented with two reports outlining the same evidence and results: on several different occasions she had a violated the statute of secrecy as outlined in Alfred Nobel’s will, and had engaged in activities which were a conflict of interest between herself as a member of the Swedish Academy, and as a co-owner of a cultural club with her husband Jean-Claude Arnault, which received financial compensation from the Swedish Academy.

Since Katarina Frostenson refused to excuse herself from the Swedish Academy, the academy initiated a vote of expulsion, under the tenure of the former Permanent Secretary Sara Danius. The vote failed, with the majority voting to allowing Frostenson to keep her seat on the Swedish Academy. This failed vote was the beginning of the crisis which saw the Nobel Prize for Literature postponed and the Swedish Academy’s members dwindle. Since then, the academy has reviewed and renewed its statutes as an institution, and the Swedish King has now made it possible for members to voluntarily resign from the academy, while allowing their seats to be filled. Yet the damage was done, the academy was in crisis, and members saw fit to accuse and allege each other as mishandling the situation as well as violating the statutes.

Now order is once again taken hold of the Swedish Academy, where logic and reason are beginning to hold greater importance then comradery and loyalty based off previous friendship. Katarina Frostenson resignation is not without a few purse strings attached. She will receive monetary compensation of 12, 875 Kr a month (or $1, 889. 97 Canadian Dollars a month, or $1, 426.62 US Dollars, or €1, 254. 45 Euro’s a month, or £1,107.72 English Pounds a month) along with continual rent of a apartment owned by the Swedish Academy. This is not entirely an award for Katarina Frostenson, the current Pro-Tempo Permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy, Anders Olsson, has stated the academy is considering making these arrangements for all academy members who wish to resign or retire from the institution, as thanks and appreciation for their servitude.

Both parties have also since dropped all legal proceedings facing each other since they have come to this agreement. Katarina Frostenson is not yet entirely out of the thick of it. The Swedish Academy’s financial crimes unit is still investigating the poet and former member over the entangled finances between the Swedish Academy and the club she co-owned with her husband. This investigation is entirely separate from the Swedish Academy.

For now though Gentle Reader, the Swedish Academy is finally getting its affairs in order, its house cleaned and cleared, and perhaps it will finally continue the good work it was supposed to do in the first place. With Katarina Frostenson recusing herself from the academy, this will leave three vacant seats:

Chair No. 9 (formally held by, Jayne Svenungsson)

Chair No. 13 (formally held by, Sara Stridsberg

Chair No. 18 (formally held by, Katarina Frostenson)

Chair No. 7 is still held by Sara Danius, but she is still considered inactive. Whether or not she will return to the Swedish Academy is still unclear.

The Nobel Foundation is said to announce next week whether or not it finds the current restitution aporpriate enough for the Nobel Prize for Literature to be awarded this announced this autumn and awarded this winter, and whether or not the Swedish Academy may retain its authority as a awarding institution.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader

Take Care

And As Always

Stay Well Read

M. Mary

For Further Reading Please See the Following –

Expressen: "Katarina Frostenson leaves the Academy," 

Mary Oliver, Dies Aged 83

Hello Gentle Reader

Mary Oliver was a Pulitzer Prize winning poet, and National Book Award Winner. Her poetry was renowned for its accessibility and simplicity. These traits she endorsed and often encouraged in her fellow poets, young and old. She didn’t believe poetry should be a literary expression of ambiguity or obscurity, but rather a masterful form built around the musicality of linguistics and striking detailed observations of image and emotion. Poetry as a form was one of distilled experiences and acute annotations of the world. Mary Oliver’s poetry was renowned for its occupation of the natural world imbued with spiritual epiphanies. Her work eschewed pretense and pomp, favoured by poets who are boastful vain and ostentatious, in favour of a style that was noted for its subtlety, grace, and simplistic—the three pillars of her poetry. Oliver’s poetry never required seminars or conferences in order to decode or declassify any hidden meaning to her work. Messages, meanings, themes, and thoughts were ever present and readily available to all readers. Her poetry is renowned and often reserved as ‘natural,’ in preoccupation and provocation. Mary Oliver herself stated her two greatest friends and experiences in her childhood were: nature and dead poets. In her poetry she continued to show both bewilderment and astonishment to the natural world. No American poet of this age has a great fondness for frogs, worms, goats, bears, cats, horses, dogs, or sharks quite like Mary Oliver. She treated these life forms as characters, not as images or metaphors (though they did have their metaphorical connotations). She steadily observed the passage of time and the season as a natural wonder. Between poet and reader her poems are conversations. She shares her observations of a quaint but startling world that is both progressive and resiliently conservative in its process. She expresses the plight of the animal condition, which meres the human condition riddled with its own fears and acceptance of the dwindling days and the end. As a poet who has continually received continual acknowledgement and honours, Mary Oliver always appeared grateful but inherently indifferent. Prizes, titles, and awards where all fine and appreciated, but even without them there was always a sense she would continue on her path with resilience and zeal. Critical reception was always received, but critics often missed the point of the appreciative efforts of her work. After all: Mary Oliver was not a difficult poet; but her lack of difficulty, her open communicative style, and conversational approach was what made her loved and admired by her readers. In an interview with National Public Radio, Mary Oliver made the greatest statement with regards to poetry: “Poetry, to be understood, must be clear.” Which is perhaps why she was admired and adored by those who read her work, her work was clear, graceful, and accessible. It was not riddled with pomp or ceremony, it was not ostentatious or vain, it never boasted the clever intellect of the writer.

Rest in Peace, Mary Oliver. May your words live on.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader

Take Care

And As Always

Stay Well Read

M. Mary

The Swedish Academy in the New Year

Hello Gentle Reader

With the New Year now settling in, the Swedish Academy appears to finally getting its affairs in order, considering the scandal of the previous year that saw the Nobel Prize for Literature postponed and members of the academy to resign in protest over the academy’s inability to handle the scandal with appropriate care and governance. By the summer of last year, the Swedish Academy’s members had dwindled so low they were unable to host a quorum and the Swedish King himself was forced to intervene as patron to allow members to resign officially from the academy in order to fill vacant seats. The Nobel Foundation in turn grew increasingly concerned over the Swedish Academy’s growing ineptitude to handle and govern the situation, which had tarnished the Nobel Prize for Literature by association, destroyed public trust, and brought into question the integrity of the institution. The Swedish Academy in turn rejected the assistance offered by the Nobel Foundation, which in turn caused the Nobel Foundation to wash its hands of the academy and threaten the academy with losing the privilege of being awarding institutions if they continued to fail to get their affairs in order. In the summer the Swedish Academy began to tackle a few issues facing the Swedish Academy, but sitting members and absent members often used public media outlets to criticize each other, which always put the amendments on hold or at void. Come the autumn the Swedish Academy faced the reality of its state, but thanks to amended statutes, it was able to elect new members to vacant seats. Shortly after, more members would recuse themselves from the academy. By the time the annual general meeting of the Swedish Academy was held, a visual representation could be seen on the ruin of the academy, with scant few members seated around the table, with a majority left empty. Before the New Year: Jean-Claude Arnault was convicted of statutory rape, the Swedish Academy introduced five external members to sit with the Nobel Committee, and the issue of Katarina Frostenson was reaching its conclusion.

Now in the New Year, Katarina Frostenson has decided to resign from the Swedish Academy with monetary compensation to allow her to continue to work as a poet. There has been no set date as to her departure or the amount of her severance. Now two members who had left their seats inactive (though they did not formally request removal) are set to return. Former Permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy, Peter Englund will return to Chair No. 10; and Kjell Espmark is set to return to Chair No. 16. The members had previously sat in passive roles, helping the academy make bigger decisions such as the election of new members, now they are ready to return to the academy with Katarina Frostenson departing, and begin to help rebuild the academy into an institution based on integrity and moral probity. There is no word on whether or not former Permanent Secretary Sara Danius will return to Chair No. 7. Sara Danius has remained elusive on the matter, stating she is merely waiting to see how events unfold in order to make up her decision on whether or not she will return to her seat.

For now though Gentle Reader, it appears the Swedish Academy is perhaps moving in a slightly more positive direction then it had over the past year.

Peter Englund and Kjell Espmark are set to take their seats formally Next Thursday, January 17th 2019. 

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader

Take Care

And As Always

Stay Well Read

M. Mary

For Further Reading, Please See the Following Articles:

Expressen: "Members Return to the Academy - After Crisis," 

Aftonbladet: "The situation is still acute for the Swedish Academy,"

Svt: "Peter Englund and Kjell Espmark return to the Swedish Academy,"

The Nobel Prize for Literature: 1968 Nominations

Hello Gentle Reader

In 1968 the Swedish Academy decided to bestow the Japanese writer, Yasunari Kawabata, the Nobel Prize for Literature, with the citation: “for his narrative mastery, which with great sensibility expresses the essence of the Japanese mind.” The shortlist for the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1968 was as follows:

(i)                 Japanese novelist and short story writer – Yasunari Kawabata

(ii)               Irish (French language) playwright and novelist – Samuel Beckett

(iii)             French novelist – Andre Malraux

(iv)             English-American poet – W.H. Auden 

Samuel Becket would go on to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1969. Despite being nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature on countless occasions, W.H. Auden never received the Nobel Prize for Literature and died in 1973. Much like W.H. Auden, despite being nominated since 1947, Andre Malraux also never received the Nobel Prize for Literature and died in 1976. 

The Nobel Committee for the 1968 Nobel Prize for Literature had two main candidates for the prize: Irish playwright and novelist, Samuel Beckett; and French novelist Andre Malraux, as their chosen recommendations for the year’s award. Once again though, the Swedish Academy as a whole voted down the decision. The academy was split once again. Some members wanted to award the Nobel Prize for Literature to Samuel Beckett; while Anders Österling and Eyvind Johnson had pushed for French novelist and government minister Andre Malraux. Anders Österling was again the member who had reservations against Samuel Beckett. He remained firm and suspicious of the absurdist playwright, where he felt Beckett did not fit or embody the spirit of the ideal direction as per Alfred Nobel’s will. According to The Guardian Anders Österling made the following comments with regards to Beckett’s work:

“Of course, I do not dispute the artistic effect of Beckett’s dramas, but misanthropic satire (of the Swift type) or radical pessimism (of the Leopardi type) has a powerful heart, which in my opinion is lacking in Beckett.”

Instead, Anders Österling and Eyvind Johnson championed French novelist Andre Malraux as the Nobel Laureate for the year. They both did not see any issue with Andre Malraux being a government minister with Charles de Gaulle government at the time. Other academy members disagreed. They believed Anders Österling’s perspective was superficial and did not see the human compassion that embodies and inspires his work. Anders Österling was acutely aware of compromise and was also fine with awarding either Yasunari Kawabata or W.H Auden—despite the fact, it appeared Auden’s crowning and breakthrough poetic achievements had already sailed.

Other writes who came during nominations and deliberations were, E.M. Forster and Ezra Pound, both pushed aside due to their advanced ages. Chinua Achebe was also nominated, but most likely set aside due to his younger age. Vladimir Nabokov was also nominated and dismissed by the committee for his novel “Lolita,” which they viewed as immoral and vulgar. Romanian playwright Eugène Ionesco was also nominated and even praised by the Nobel committee for his work and novelty he had produced for the modern play, but was disregarded due to the controversial nature of his work; which is ironic considering both Eugène Ionesco’s and Samuel Beckett’s work traces similar themes with regards reality and human existence.

Patrick White who would win the award five years later, was also beginning to gain serious traction with the Nobel Committee as a striking and powerful voice from Australia.

The Nobel Prize for Literature is often criticized for often choosing obscure and unknown writers who often do not age well. Such as: Roger Martin du Gard, Jaroslav Seifert, and Sinclair Lewis, from distant decades; as well as recent Nobel Laureates: Elfriede Jelinek, Dario Fo, and J.M.G Le Clezio. The decision to award Yasunari Kawabata the Nobel Prize for Literature, has in turn survived the fifty year mark, as the author is still read and even known, beyond niche and obscure reading groups.

Since 1961, Yasunari Kawabata was a repeat nomination for the Nobel Prize for Literature. Despite often reaching it to the shortlist, Kawabata would often be overlooked in favour of other writers to receive the prize:

1961 – Yugoslavian writer, Ivo Andic

1962 – American Novelist, John Steinbeck

1963 – Greece poet and diplomat, Giorgos Seferis

1964 – French Philosopher and writer, Jean Paul Sartre (though declined)

1965 – Russian (Soviet) prose writer, Mikhail Sholokhov

1966 – German born Swedish Poet, Nelly Sachs; and Israeli writer: Shmuel Yosef Agnon

1967 – Guatemalan poet and writer, Miguel Ángel Asturias   

During this time, Yasunari Kawabata also faced competition from his contemporary: Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, who was often speculated to be the favoured and most likely Japanese author to receive the award. Yet Tanizaki died in 1965 without receiving the award. In comparison to Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, Yasunari Kawabata had faced considerable obstacles in order to become a serious contender for the Nobel Prize for Literature. Unlike Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, Kawabata had few translations outside of Japan. Tanizaki by comparison had already established himself as a writer with global reach outside of Japan. His monumental novels “The Makioka Sisters,” and “Some Prefer Nettles,” was well received and critically acclaimed, and highly regarded by the Swedish Academy. Yet, despite being considered since 1958, the repeat appearance of Yasunari Kawabata often split the academy between the two writers as they wished to evaluate both writers with equal opportunity. Yasunari Kawabata, however, continually lacked the appropriate translations into other languages for the Swedish Academy to offer a sober evaluation of the two writers. [I presume] thankfully for Yasunari Kawabata, he had allies on the Swedish Academy: Henry Olsson and Harry Martinson, who had both nominated Kawabata in previous years. Harry Martinson in particular had shown great influence from Asiatic writers with regards to his poetry, and it is possible he had recognized the genius, the cultural importance, and the appeal of Yasunari Kawabata, despite the rest of the Swedish Academy being more cautious with these regards.

In 1965, the Swedish Academy consulted with ten academics and translators specializing in Japanese literature, in order to review: Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, Yasunari Kawabata, Junzaburo Nishiwaki and Yukio Mishima. The specialists consulted offered an ambiguous and uncertain assessment of his work, especially of the possibility of being able to fully translate his delicate and lyrical style into another language, let alone his psychological deftness and strong employment of Japanese culture and nuances in his work to provide physical and symbolic metaphors for his psychological narratives. The Swedish Academy is rumoured to have been split on the decision between: Jun'ichirō Tanizaki and Yasunari Kawabata. The academy decided to award Mikhail Sholokhov instead, which on its own carried fierce debate within the academy. That year Jun'ichirō Tanizaki would also die. It would take another three years for the Swedish Academy to make an affirmative decision on whether or not Yasunari Kawabata would be Nobel Laureate worthy. With regards to Yukio Mishima, the Swedish Academy had decided to pass over him at the time, but would remained interested in his work and if his output would retain its literary consistency of his current output, would be given greater consideration in future. It should also be noted, during this time, Yukio Mishima was in his early forties.

In 1966 the Nobel Committee in their final shortlist and recommendations presented Yasunari Kawabata as their favoured author to take the Nobel Prize for Literature. The Swedish Academy rejected the proposed recommendations and subsequently entered into a fierce debate and discussion over who should be considered the appropriate laureate for the year. Intensity grew between members in the Swedish Academy during this time. Anders Österling for instance favoured the idea of awarding Shmuel Yosef Agnon singularly for the award.  Österling was challenged in this notion, as other members of the academy though Agnon was parochial and limited in scope. These other members favoured Nelly Sachs, who Anders Österling felt was to demure for the Nobel Prize. It was then that that the award was proposed to be shared between Nelly Sachs and Paul Celan, but the majority felt Paul Celan was a minor writer for the Nobel Prize, and a compromise was decided to share the award between Nelly Sachs and Shmuel Yosef Agnon. [Please see: The Nobel Prize for Literature: 1966 Nominations for further information.] 

1968 the tides shifted in Yasunari Kawabatas’ favour. His groundbreaking short novel/short story, “The Dancing Girl of Izu,” was released in German, and his novel “The Old Capital,” was also translated into Swedish. The Swedish Academy, were then given a greater perspective of the authors work beyond his seminal novel “Snow Country,”  and “Thousand Cranes.” In mentioning Kawabata’s work the Swedish Academy paid particular attention to these three novels: “Snow Country,” “Thousand Cranes,” and “The Old Capital.” The final translations of “The Old Capital,” and “The Dancing Girl of Izu,” would be the final steps for the Swedish Academy to decide to recognize Yasunari Kawabata with the Nobel Prize for Literature. Subsequently after receiving the Nobel Prize for Literature, more of Yasunari Kawabata’s work was being picked up and translated into different languages. Now days there is a diverse selection of Kawabata’s work available for consumption, from his novels to his short stories, which the author himself considered to be the truest testament to his abilities as a writer.

It is well documented that the Nobel Prize for Literature was a subtle competition between Yasunari Kawabata and Yukio Mishima. Despite this the two writers remained friends. After all, Yasunari Kawabata was instrumental in helping Yukio Mishima get published, and assist him on his glorious literary stardom. Kawabata also introduced Mishima to his wife, and gave the eulogy at Mishimas’ funeral after his very public and brutal suicide. On the flipside, Yukio Mishima wrote an endearing memo to the Swedish Academy, expressing his admiration for his friend and desire to see him win the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1961—but this letter was sent at the request of Yasunari Kawabata, who was then president of the Japan P.E.N Club. It has often been rumored and speculated that the Nobel Prize for Literature had pushed both writers to suicide.

The first rumor theorizes that Yukio Mishima—the young, brazen, and flamboyant writer coveted the Nobel Prize for Literature, more than anything else. Japan as a nation also desired to see the prize to help cement their rejuvenated image of the Second World War. The sixties in particular had seen the nation enter great economic prosperity as well as being chosen to host the 1964 Summer Olympics. Winning a Nobel would seal the deal. As previously noted though, despite Yukio Mishima considering himself worthy, and his work being translated into Western languages, and being well received, Yukio Mishima was still considered too young by the Swedish Academy, but they had a vested interest in the author, if his output remained consistent in quality. After he realized that Yasunari Kawabata had received the prize over him, many theorize, Mishima understood he would most likely never receive the award, and two years later committed a public and flamboyantly nihilistic suicide.

In turn, Yasunari Kawabata also sought the Nobel Prize for Literature. With Jun'ichirō Tanizakis’ death, Kawabata had become the most likely candidate for the Nobel Prize for Literature. His work was renowned for its grace, lyricism, and unique Japanese perspective. It is speculated that Kawabata held slight discomfort with Mishima, considering his popular appeal and the fact his work was being translated into other languages. Knowing the sway, appeal and celebrity of Yukio Mishima growing, Kawabata had asked for Mishima’s opinion on his English translator, as well as the request for him to send a letter to the Swedish Academy praising his friend and mentor. Needless to say Yasunari Kawabata would end up receiving the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1968, and he modestly excused the recognition, proclaiming Mishima should have taken the award, and that the award was more geared towards Japan as a nation then himself. After Mishima’s suicide in 1970, Kawabata would commit suicide in 1972. It is believed it was part due to his grief and perhaps rumored guilt he felt towards his friend and rival Yukio Mishima.

Of course this speculative at the very most; the validity is questionable to non-existent. These speculative discussions should not be read as factual in any matter beyond their presented theorization.

Despite the shadowy interplay between Yasunari Kawabata and Yukio Mishima, the decision to award Yasunari Kawabata the Nobel Prize for Literature is perhaps one of the strongest decisions the Swedish Academy made during the decade along with awarding Samuel Beckett the following year. This momentum built up between these two years, would be carried on into the early seventies—before being abruptly shattered in 1974.

Whether or not to award the Nobel Prize for Literature to Yasunari Kawabata or to Yukio Mishima has often provoked unique discussion. Personally I find Yasunari Kawabata to be the superior writer, when compared to Yukio Mishima. It is understandable why some readers prefer Yukio Mishima. His work is riddled with high octane narratives, marital night suicides, murder, military coup, and arson, sword fighting — truly dramatic and theatrically powerful narratives. But his characters always appeared narcissistic and solipsistic; his narratives came across as a bit too extreme with an established desire to push the narrative as fast and hard as it could on the pyrotechnic freewheeling whirlwind of these theatrics. I found them to get old rather quickly. I found Kiyoaki Matsugae of “Spring Snow,” to be the epitome of Mishimas’ characters: nihilistic, depraved, and egocentric to an extreme form of self-abortion. Yet, despite these blatant boisterous stylistic decisions on Mishimas’ part his work is not deprived of its merit. The exploration of Japans traditional values, customs, and cultural practices and western influences are a unique juxtaposition. His narratives often present a unique historical eye as to the adjustment in the period as well. You just have to sit back and look through the subsiding smoke from the continual bangs and booms of his narratives to see these qualities. By comparison Yasunari Kawabata is a master of the understatement, grace, lyricism, and subtle psychological perspective. Kawabatas’ work could often reside on the grounds of melodramatic narratives, but the lyricism and minimalist understated grace of his narratives always maintain his narratives never fall into the pitfalls of the melodramatic entrapments his narratives could be present. Yasunari Kawabatas’ true abilities as a writer who was able to grasp the subtle shifts of psychology and the impressionism and expressionism can be found his “Palm of the Hand Stories,” which in just a few pages he can present epiphanies, moments of revelation, and subtle change with ease and grace. His work never relies on octane overdrive theatrics to accomplish immediate impact. Rather uses subtle shifts of perspective, elusive gestures, and understated changes in tone, to present a muted portrait of the psyche, infused with the cultural motifs and characteristics of Japan as it sat between age old cultural traditions and the rising western influence.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader

Take Care

And As Always

Stay Well Read

M. Mary

Post Script: Please Be Aware Gentle Reader: edits, amendments, and addendums have been made to this post on: January 10 2019 as more and new information has been released.

For Further Reading—

The Guardian: "Samuel Beckett rejected as unsuitable for the Nobel prize in 1968,"

The Asahi Shimbun: "Details released about selection of Kawabata for 1968 Nobel Prize,"

The Japan Times: "Mishima, Murakami and the elusive Nobel Prize,"

Neo Japonisme: "Kawabata, Mishima & the Nobel Prize,"

Red Circle: "Despite being rivals for the Nobel Prize, Kawabata and Mishima were friends,"

Edgar Hilsenrath, Dies Aged 92

Hello Gentle Reader

Before the New Year the literary world lost yet another writer of significant importance, Edgar Hilsenrath, a German-Jewish writer and survivor of the holocaust, died at the age of 92 on Sunday, December 30 2018. Edgar Hilsenrath belonged to the Ol’ Guard of Jewish literature. Much like Nobel Laureates: Nelly Sachs, Imre Kertész, and Elie Wiesel— Edgar Hilsenrath documented, recounted, and preserved the Holocaust as both reminder and forewarning shadow. A testament and plea begging the human race to vow and resolve itself to never repeat the industrial slaughter and dehumanization, it had during the Second World War—an event so apocalyptic in its discover and revelatory horror it was given the name and title: The Holocaust. The name, the title, the term is now culturally and linguistically synonymous with cataclysmic events, caused by the carelessness or the outright determination and will to wreak horror and terror of mankind. Shmuel Yosef Agnon, Amos Oz, A. B. Yehoshua, and David Grossman are often considered representatives of the New Guard in some fashion or another. Shmuel Yosef Agnon wrote with scholarly precision of the cultural significance of Jewish culture and the Hebrew language, as well as the golden shining future of the newly created Israel. Nelly Sachs (with whom he shared the Nobel Prize for Literature with) analyzed the dichotomy of their perspective and the award: one writer praised a future away from the crematoriums; the other an elegiac songbird of a poet, wrote the sorrows, the memories, dreams, and suffering of the Jews during the horrors of the holocaust, and refused to let its hell fires incinerate their memory. The late Amos Oz, and A.B. Yehoshua and David Grossman, were less inclined to praise the golden dream and future of Agnon, instead they documented the battles, the crises, and the struggle of the Israeli state, and its complicated political situation. Edgar Hilsenrath stood alongside Nelly Sachs and Elie Wiesel, but took the perspective and humour of Imre Kertész for working through the complicated and troubling memory of the Holocaust. Edgar Hilsenrath was frighteningly honest while also being brutally satirical. How he wrote and depicted the Holocaust was often seen as violating rules that were not codified, but were accepted when detailing, depicting, and discussing the tragedy.  Where other authors offered sober and somber reflection, Hilsenraths’ novels were often rejected by German publishers and often received lukewarm and mixed reviews when they were published. Edgar Hilsenrath stated in his later years that his sole goal as a writer was to balance the scales of the holocausts depiction. Hilsenrath viewed the grand and objective orations of historians as overlooking the unheard whispers, memories, and stories of those who suffered during the Holocaust. In this regard Edgar Hilsenrath infused his narratives both historical notations—both autobiographical and scholarly in origin—as well as presenting the insistent sparrow like chit and chatter of the people who have since fallen silent in the catacombs of history. The very real depictions of the Jewish people in the ghettos was often were the writer found his critics fixating their dissent against him. They found his depictions of other Jewish people as unflattering even borderline rude—if he was not Jewish himself, the term anti-Semite would have been levied against him. Edgar Hilsenrath refuted the analysis, stating his depiction is not of the Jewish people but of people in general. Hilsenrath further elucidated on the reasoning critics felt the way they did was due to Germany seeking to reconcile and atone for its atrocities during the war, and being the engineer of the holocaust. In this regard, Edgar Hilsenrath had felt the German government, academia, and literary establishment had often overtly idealized the Jewish people to the point they no longer had faults or they were too be ignored. Edgar Hilsenrath did not receive a breakthrough or acceptance as a writer of any importance until the nineteen-seventies, when his most famous novel “The Nazi and the Barber,” was published. Nobel Laureate Heinrich Böll, one of Germany’s greatest Post-War writers, praised the viciously satirical novel, and suddenly the icy gates between Edgar Hilsenrath and his Germany critics had finally thawed, and his work began to be appreciated in a new light. Once finding both acceptances, appreciation, and recognition Edgar Hilsenrath became a unique orator with regards to the Holocaust, with his frank, objective, human, satirical, brutal and unflinching depiction and discussion of its complexities, Hilsenrath rejected idealization in favour of honesty, and his satire was therapeutic as much as it was comedic.

Rest in Peace Edgar Hilsenrath, heavens know its deserved.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader

Take Care

And As Always

Stay Well Read

M. Mary