Hello Gentle Reader,
It should be noted: I do not like garden gnomes. As a child, I found these garden watchmen to be creepy. Now I find their predesigned charm of whimsy to be manufactured and kitsch. Any garden with any gnome population provokes a snap assessment, whereby the homeowner and gardener is diagnosed with questionable taste. All of which leaves myself with an intrapersonal diagnosis of 'casual snobbery,' and my mother's voice in the back of mind echoing: "you were raised better than that." Of course, not all share my casual snobbery. A neighbourhood eccentric—who I am sure enjoys a rich interior life—is a gnome aficionado, and has turned their patch of grass into a sanctuary for the promotion, conservation and preservation of garden gnomes in the suburbs. One may almost be mistaken that the gnomes are about to participate in a propagation program, and will be reintroduced into their natural habitats, all within the parameters of public parks, in those confidential and shady areas; the illusionary woodland. Oh yes, all those Dinkledewburry's, Fnorbitt's, Nicknocktock's, Thornybunn's, Starbell's, Perseposies, Thistlewhistle, Rascaldales, stalking, wondering, skulking, and standing guard freely in abandon in the public parks, pathways, and urban greenspaces. They will hobble their homes with a bric-a-brac eye and scavengers' necessity. Their stacked rock cottages with moss roofs. Hollowed-out tree stumps are a favorite; scrap together a pitched roof, a plank of wood (even a rock) will function as a door. Bridges are a popular residential destination, by creeks, rivers, or irrigation canals, they'll construct a platform and secure it to the embankment, tunneling into the side. Ponds are prime real estate, where they will build their boathouses, as reeds and cattails are in abundance, meaning materials are too; by weaving, hammering, and plastering with mud they'll craft themselves damp leaky waterfront home. Others will slap together a hovel of twigs and branches, pebbles and rocks, and top it off with a hasty thatched roof. In a pinch though, a burrow, hole, or den will be sufficient enough for them, as long as they previous inhabitant has vacated. Out there, they will live in secret. The faint flicker of their customary lamps casting ghostly light in abandoned nighttime groves; glow beneath bridges, cubed and shattered in the rippling water; call out from distant shores, ethereal and alien; emanating from the ground enticing curiosity and caution.
I would never have paid so much time to these seasonal garden residents, if it weren't for reading Olga Tokarczuk's interview in The Paris Review (The Art of Fiction No. 258). In the interview, Tokarczuk mentioned the conflict of being raised and taught that helping others was an honorable pursuit, which she found herself at odds with, as she enjoys independent and private pursuits of the introverted nature. She summarized this conflict with a childhood book—which shook her childhood understanding of the world—about a gnome who enjoys being alone, participating in singular pursuits: reading, writing, puttering around his home. The gnome, however, is routinely bothered by other inhabitants of the forest, the ants, the grasshopper, et cetera, who knock on his door requesting his assistance. Naturally as a solitary creature, the gnome grows agitated and bristles at the intrusion, telling the interlopers to go away and leave him in his peace. After calming down and reflecting, by guilt and shame for a lack of civic attitude, the gnome resolves to help the ants with their dilemma and the grasshoppers with their problems. Olga Tokarczuk concluded the analogy of the solitary gnome and his guilt into altruistic action, summarizes her own duality with regards to facilitating civic and humanistic support, while retaining her independent introverted self. This left me wondering about the resident gnomes down the street, squashed in their little refuge. If gnomes are so solitary, they must not appreciate their current overcrowded accommodations. How they long for meadow, grove, field, hill, forest, cave, creek, or lake. They must yearn for the state of alone. Instead, they crowd around each other, with their lamp, hoe, shovel, wheelbarrow, pale, and watering can. They are on each other's toes. In their spaces. Resenting each other has become a communal pastime. Their combined rage sits amongst them like a fire, whereby they mutter curses amongst each other, casting them with casual malice, hoping they will land on their intended victim. How envious they must be of the traveling gnomes, like the one in the saccharine but marvelous French film Amélie (2001), where the titular character takes her cold and reclusive father's garden gnome, and with the assistance of a flight attendant friend, releases it into the world, returning photos home to her father. This gnome is the surrogate of the father, who is relinquished into the world of traveling, as the Amélie's father no longer has the ambition to rouse himself to do so, despite his yearning. The act of gnomes traveling, became such a cultural phenomenon unto itself, now referred to as 'gnoming.'
The story of the gnome, however, is a curious tale remembered by Olga Tokarczuk, who remains one of the most original and innovative contemporary writers. No one writes quite in the same vein as Tokarczuk, with such an eccentric enjoyment for the possible; an archaeological and anthropological interest in the esoteric and their enduring influences on human culture, social traditions, adopted religious practices, and early theories in psychology. Curiosity and exploration are the defining features of Tokarczuk's writing. She once remarked that as a child she envisioned herself as a scientist. No surprise, as Marie Curie remains a national treasure and venerated figure in Poland, and rightfully so. The pull between the literary and the scientific is another defining paradox that Tokarczuk would need to reconcile with herself. Much like the gnome enjoying its solitary existence, it too was provoked to resolve its own introverted principles and provide assistance to others. So too did Tokarczuk. who once again was forced to remediate the division between the ephemeral literary and palpable science. An early introduction to Sigmund Freud's "Beyond the Pleasure Principle," made an everlasting impression on the writer, who found Freud's proposed theories regarding a hidden network of systems and symbols and their interpretation to understanding the world fascinating. This of course sent Tokarczuk to study psychology in university, which to an extent was a disappointment (at least from what I am able to gather). Rather, then being the subject of psychoanalysis and the abstruse dive into the unconscious via dreamscapes, it was a behaviorist's school. Studies concerned deductive reasoning; labs of mice and rats; reactionary responses; Pavlov's dogs, and the like. Still, the academic background in psychology only sharpened Tokarczuk's scientific mind, it also provides her an acute insight into the mechanics of human behaviour, both the biological inheritance as well as the social condition. Tokarczuk's later studies and readings in the Jungian school, however, are more her inkling, and have a recognizable influence in her work.
Olga Tokarczuk is a windswept writer. One who is easily swept away either in the gales or rivers of exploration. Reality is continually in flux. A state of impermanence and transience. There are of course the static components to reality, but even they are transmutable and manipulated by human ingenuity or engineering. Be it mountains, gravity, or genetics. How individuals interact and perceive reality is how reality becomes more malleable. Of course, different individuals will perceive reality differently; in turn societies and cultures perceive and interact with reality in a completely different fashion, establishing traditions and festivities to curate a cohesive social structure. Jung's analytical theories proposed an intricate symbiotic system existing between both the individuals unconscious and the collective unconscious, which establishes a sense of community through traditions, symbols, idolizations, tribalistic markers, in addition to any and all practices engaged in honouring and celebrating them. In essence the private life and the public life, a duality of existence. Jung furthered this by quartering an individual into archetypes. A measure which has routinely been expanded on and replicated in the field of characterization and personality. "Primeval and Other Times," is one of Olga Tokarczuk's most enchanting and effecting novels. Primeval is a bell jar of a community existing in the centre of Poland; populated by archetypal characters. The novel charts the course of the community over eighty years. Myth and history cycle through each other, shifting and shaping reality for the inhabitants of the village. The structure is marvelously crafted, a beautiful collection of episodes and vignettes, providing snapshots and glimpses into the lives of the inhabitants of Primeval. Each character's life and perception, provides another layer, a new angle, further information to a collective narrative-cum-consciousness. "Primeval and Other Times," was Tokarczuk's experiment at applying the Beauchêne method to the novel, and just as the skull finds itself disassembled, so to does the novel, but what remains is a diorama providing a full body overview of the narrative. A kaleidoscope of perspectives and experiences, creating a paradoxical fragmented mosaic, but still unified novel. Tokarczuk's more chimeric novels "House of Day, House of Night," and "Flights," were not deconstructing and examining individual narratives in relation to the collective; they are star maps. Constellations and miscellany of experiences, ideas, ruminations, anecdotes, esoteric treaties, forgotten histories, folklore, mythic wellsprings, travelogues, recipes and medical examinations. These novels replicate the world, in their endless stimuli, the varying degrees of perception, the cruelty of memory both individually and collectively, and in Tokarczuk's capacity, she casts the light onto them, be it the folklore saint Wilgefortis or the journey of Chopin's heart. Reading Olga Tokarczuk is not destination oriented. It is not a singular purpose driven narrative. No fellowship or crusade. It is an expedition into the unknown. Cast adrift, readers are left to float and flow in the gyrating currents of Tokarczuk expansive and unrestrained literary curiosity.
I am still no fan of garden gnomes. Their red conical hats; airbrushed rosy cheeks; lifeless fabricated factory eyes. The anecdote of the gnome in the forest as told by Tokarczuk: solitary and secluded, is when the gnome is at peace. Not abandoned by the world, but not intruded by it. It’s a dream one can easily step into. It's reminiscent of my fairytales and storybooks from one's own childhood. Be it the lush watercolour landscapes of Peter Rabbit & Co; or Cicely Mary Barker's flower fairies. It's no wonder as a child, I was criticized for being a silly heart; a twiddler of time; cloud watcher; wasteful dreamer. Reality as it is presented, can be feckless and humdrum. An escape is always required. Who hasn't fantasied about being an eccentric witch living in the backcountry and woods, alone amongst the trees, residing in some quaint cottage, windmill, or watermill? Yet, just like the gnome, the outside world inevitably comes knocking. For Olga Tokarczuk this was a sundering realization that an individual can harbour two opposing values and perspectives simultaneously. In this case the yearning for introversion, solitude and peace; while on the other, the demands of civic responsibility, humanistic principles, and altruistic generosity. These internal oppositions do not tear individuals apart, merely enrich their existence. For Olga Tokarczuk the Nobel Prize in Literature reconciles and consoles these contrary forces. The prize acknowledges Tokarczuk's writing (a product of private enjoyment) while affirming its humanistic and wide-reaching angle, becoming a component of the greater human narrative. Perhaps that is the gnome's gospel: you can always remove yourself from the world, but the world will inevitably come find you.
Thank you for Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
M. Mary
It should be noted: I do not like garden gnomes. As a child, I found these garden watchmen to be creepy. Now I find their predesigned charm of whimsy to be manufactured and kitsch. Any garden with any gnome population provokes a snap assessment, whereby the homeowner and gardener is diagnosed with questionable taste. All of which leaves myself with an intrapersonal diagnosis of 'casual snobbery,' and my mother's voice in the back of mind echoing: "you were raised better than that." Of course, not all share my casual snobbery. A neighbourhood eccentric—who I am sure enjoys a rich interior life—is a gnome aficionado, and has turned their patch of grass into a sanctuary for the promotion, conservation and preservation of garden gnomes in the suburbs. One may almost be mistaken that the gnomes are about to participate in a propagation program, and will be reintroduced into their natural habitats, all within the parameters of public parks, in those confidential and shady areas; the illusionary woodland. Oh yes, all those Dinkledewburry's, Fnorbitt's, Nicknocktock's, Thornybunn's, Starbell's, Perseposies, Thistlewhistle, Rascaldales, stalking, wondering, skulking, and standing guard freely in abandon in the public parks, pathways, and urban greenspaces. They will hobble their homes with a bric-a-brac eye and scavengers' necessity. Their stacked rock cottages with moss roofs. Hollowed-out tree stumps are a favorite; scrap together a pitched roof, a plank of wood (even a rock) will function as a door. Bridges are a popular residential destination, by creeks, rivers, or irrigation canals, they'll construct a platform and secure it to the embankment, tunneling into the side. Ponds are prime real estate, where they will build their boathouses, as reeds and cattails are in abundance, meaning materials are too; by weaving, hammering, and plastering with mud they'll craft themselves damp leaky waterfront home. Others will slap together a hovel of twigs and branches, pebbles and rocks, and top it off with a hasty thatched roof. In a pinch though, a burrow, hole, or den will be sufficient enough for them, as long as they previous inhabitant has vacated. Out there, they will live in secret. The faint flicker of their customary lamps casting ghostly light in abandoned nighttime groves; glow beneath bridges, cubed and shattered in the rippling water; call out from distant shores, ethereal and alien; emanating from the ground enticing curiosity and caution.
I would never have paid so much time to these seasonal garden residents, if it weren't for reading Olga Tokarczuk's interview in The Paris Review (The Art of Fiction No. 258). In the interview, Tokarczuk mentioned the conflict of being raised and taught that helping others was an honorable pursuit, which she found herself at odds with, as she enjoys independent and private pursuits of the introverted nature. She summarized this conflict with a childhood book—which shook her childhood understanding of the world—about a gnome who enjoys being alone, participating in singular pursuits: reading, writing, puttering around his home. The gnome, however, is routinely bothered by other inhabitants of the forest, the ants, the grasshopper, et cetera, who knock on his door requesting his assistance. Naturally as a solitary creature, the gnome grows agitated and bristles at the intrusion, telling the interlopers to go away and leave him in his peace. After calming down and reflecting, by guilt and shame for a lack of civic attitude, the gnome resolves to help the ants with their dilemma and the grasshoppers with their problems. Olga Tokarczuk concluded the analogy of the solitary gnome and his guilt into altruistic action, summarizes her own duality with regards to facilitating civic and humanistic support, while retaining her independent introverted self. This left me wondering about the resident gnomes down the street, squashed in their little refuge. If gnomes are so solitary, they must not appreciate their current overcrowded accommodations. How they long for meadow, grove, field, hill, forest, cave, creek, or lake. They must yearn for the state of alone. Instead, they crowd around each other, with their lamp, hoe, shovel, wheelbarrow, pale, and watering can. They are on each other's toes. In their spaces. Resenting each other has become a communal pastime. Their combined rage sits amongst them like a fire, whereby they mutter curses amongst each other, casting them with casual malice, hoping they will land on their intended victim. How envious they must be of the traveling gnomes, like the one in the saccharine but marvelous French film Amélie (2001), where the titular character takes her cold and reclusive father's garden gnome, and with the assistance of a flight attendant friend, releases it into the world, returning photos home to her father. This gnome is the surrogate of the father, who is relinquished into the world of traveling, as the Amélie's father no longer has the ambition to rouse himself to do so, despite his yearning. The act of gnomes traveling, became such a cultural phenomenon unto itself, now referred to as 'gnoming.'
The story of the gnome, however, is a curious tale remembered by Olga Tokarczuk, who remains one of the most original and innovative contemporary writers. No one writes quite in the same vein as Tokarczuk, with such an eccentric enjoyment for the possible; an archaeological and anthropological interest in the esoteric and their enduring influences on human culture, social traditions, adopted religious practices, and early theories in psychology. Curiosity and exploration are the defining features of Tokarczuk's writing. She once remarked that as a child she envisioned herself as a scientist. No surprise, as Marie Curie remains a national treasure and venerated figure in Poland, and rightfully so. The pull between the literary and the scientific is another defining paradox that Tokarczuk would need to reconcile with herself. Much like the gnome enjoying its solitary existence, it too was provoked to resolve its own introverted principles and provide assistance to others. So too did Tokarczuk. who once again was forced to remediate the division between the ephemeral literary and palpable science. An early introduction to Sigmund Freud's "Beyond the Pleasure Principle," made an everlasting impression on the writer, who found Freud's proposed theories regarding a hidden network of systems and symbols and their interpretation to understanding the world fascinating. This of course sent Tokarczuk to study psychology in university, which to an extent was a disappointment (at least from what I am able to gather). Rather, then being the subject of psychoanalysis and the abstruse dive into the unconscious via dreamscapes, it was a behaviorist's school. Studies concerned deductive reasoning; labs of mice and rats; reactionary responses; Pavlov's dogs, and the like. Still, the academic background in psychology only sharpened Tokarczuk's scientific mind, it also provides her an acute insight into the mechanics of human behaviour, both the biological inheritance as well as the social condition. Tokarczuk's later studies and readings in the Jungian school, however, are more her inkling, and have a recognizable influence in her work.
Olga Tokarczuk is a windswept writer. One who is easily swept away either in the gales or rivers of exploration. Reality is continually in flux. A state of impermanence and transience. There are of course the static components to reality, but even they are transmutable and manipulated by human ingenuity or engineering. Be it mountains, gravity, or genetics. How individuals interact and perceive reality is how reality becomes more malleable. Of course, different individuals will perceive reality differently; in turn societies and cultures perceive and interact with reality in a completely different fashion, establishing traditions and festivities to curate a cohesive social structure. Jung's analytical theories proposed an intricate symbiotic system existing between both the individuals unconscious and the collective unconscious, which establishes a sense of community through traditions, symbols, idolizations, tribalistic markers, in addition to any and all practices engaged in honouring and celebrating them. In essence the private life and the public life, a duality of existence. Jung furthered this by quartering an individual into archetypes. A measure which has routinely been expanded on and replicated in the field of characterization and personality. "Primeval and Other Times," is one of Olga Tokarczuk's most enchanting and effecting novels. Primeval is a bell jar of a community existing in the centre of Poland; populated by archetypal characters. The novel charts the course of the community over eighty years. Myth and history cycle through each other, shifting and shaping reality for the inhabitants of the village. The structure is marvelously crafted, a beautiful collection of episodes and vignettes, providing snapshots and glimpses into the lives of the inhabitants of Primeval. Each character's life and perception, provides another layer, a new angle, further information to a collective narrative-cum-consciousness. "Primeval and Other Times," was Tokarczuk's experiment at applying the Beauchêne method to the novel, and just as the skull finds itself disassembled, so to does the novel, but what remains is a diorama providing a full body overview of the narrative. A kaleidoscope of perspectives and experiences, creating a paradoxical fragmented mosaic, but still unified novel. Tokarczuk's more chimeric novels "House of Day, House of Night," and "Flights," were not deconstructing and examining individual narratives in relation to the collective; they are star maps. Constellations and miscellany of experiences, ideas, ruminations, anecdotes, esoteric treaties, forgotten histories, folklore, mythic wellsprings, travelogues, recipes and medical examinations. These novels replicate the world, in their endless stimuli, the varying degrees of perception, the cruelty of memory both individually and collectively, and in Tokarczuk's capacity, she casts the light onto them, be it the folklore saint Wilgefortis or the journey of Chopin's heart. Reading Olga Tokarczuk is not destination oriented. It is not a singular purpose driven narrative. No fellowship or crusade. It is an expedition into the unknown. Cast adrift, readers are left to float and flow in the gyrating currents of Tokarczuk expansive and unrestrained literary curiosity.
I am still no fan of garden gnomes. Their red conical hats; airbrushed rosy cheeks; lifeless fabricated factory eyes. The anecdote of the gnome in the forest as told by Tokarczuk: solitary and secluded, is when the gnome is at peace. Not abandoned by the world, but not intruded by it. It’s a dream one can easily step into. It's reminiscent of my fairytales and storybooks from one's own childhood. Be it the lush watercolour landscapes of Peter Rabbit & Co; or Cicely Mary Barker's flower fairies. It's no wonder as a child, I was criticized for being a silly heart; a twiddler of time; cloud watcher; wasteful dreamer. Reality as it is presented, can be feckless and humdrum. An escape is always required. Who hasn't fantasied about being an eccentric witch living in the backcountry and woods, alone amongst the trees, residing in some quaint cottage, windmill, or watermill? Yet, just like the gnome, the outside world inevitably comes knocking. For Olga Tokarczuk this was a sundering realization that an individual can harbour two opposing values and perspectives simultaneously. In this case the yearning for introversion, solitude and peace; while on the other, the demands of civic responsibility, humanistic principles, and altruistic generosity. These internal oppositions do not tear individuals apart, merely enrich their existence. For Olga Tokarczuk the Nobel Prize in Literature reconciles and consoles these contrary forces. The prize acknowledges Tokarczuk's writing (a product of private enjoyment) while affirming its humanistic and wide-reaching angle, becoming a component of the greater human narrative. Perhaps that is the gnome's gospel: you can always remove yourself from the world, but the world will inevitably come find you.
Thank you for Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
M. Mary
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