– XXXVIII –

Small rebellions, slight transgressions, insignificant indiscretions, everyday trespasses. This is what you live for.

The Great Concert of the Night

Hello Gentle Reader,

In a recent interview discussing the enduring legacy of his monumental novel, “Never Let Me Go,” within the twenty years retrospect, in addition to the threat posed by artificial intelligence, Kazuo Ishiguro casually and self-effacingly dismissed the notion that he is a great writer of prose. Despite heralding from a generation of writers, who were considered by some to be the literary equivalent of the Brat Pack: Martin Amis, Ian McEwan, Julian Barnes and Salman Rushdie; Ishiguro insists he is not a master craftsman of prose. While it can be considered a modest and humble remark, there is truth in Ishiguro’s confession. Despite not being a great stylist, Ishiguro shaped his literary acumen for perspective to his advantage, and has distilled the same eternal subjects through distinct and powerful narrative voices. The stoic and emotionally stunted English butler Stevens of “The Remains of the Day,”; the observant and resigned Kathy H. of “Never Let Me Go,”; the manufactured but curiously driven and attentive Klara of “Klara and the Sun.” Each narrator infuses the book with their own perceptions and observations, recounting the events with a slant and a decent dosage of irony and unreliability. Ishiguro’s novels, rely on the particulars of a singular narrative voice to shoulder the weight of the work and provide readers with an intimate tour guide narrative to reveal and unfold the event. Kathy H.’s memories from her time at Hailsham to her complicated relationships with her friends Ruth and Tommy, shadowed by their pre-destined fabricated existence whereby they will inevitably donate and then be completed. Kind words for what is organ harvesting and death. Yet its Kathy’s impermanence and her memories which explore the complex ethical dilemmas and dimensions posed by cloning, and further questions regarding the nature of what it means to be human and the nature of the soul. Klara from “Klara and the Sun,” is the singular reason the novel is successful. Klara is generous and gregarious company for readers. A mass-produced android referred to as an Artificial Friend or (AF), Klara colours the narrative with a fresh perspective, one of sustained curiosity and distant curiosity of human nature, all while being sophisticated enough to avoid naivety, while companionable enough to be dismissed as overtly mechanical and unengaging. Kazuo Ishiguro’s narrators are what enliven his novels, providing them the necessary colour and depth to explore the inherent absurdities of the human condition. As for prose, Ishiguro’s novels are noted for their crystalline and agreeable quality, which are woven through the distinct character and narratives of each novel. Readers would be hard-pressed to find Kazuo Ishiguro exploring the limitations of literary forms. Kazuo Ishiguro remains by far one of the more successful introspective writers of his generation; and while Ishiguro may incorporate pastiches from other genres, be it science fiction, fantasy, or detective tropes; the literary preoccupations remain conventional in approach and execution. In contrast, Jonathan Buckley, is a writer who writes with a distinct character voice, but also explores new and unusual ways in which to explore the nature of narrative, and the pliable ways in which it can be deconstructed and reconstructed; while also exploring the very artifice of narrative as a byproduct of language, one which remains uniquely human in function in the attempt to instill order on events, in addition to attributing meaning to them.

“The Great Concert of the Night,” takes the form of a journal composed over a year by David, a curator of the fictional small independent museum, the Sanderson-Perceval Museum, located in the South of England, whose collection specialises in historical oddities and scientific and medical curiosities. Despite its eclectic collection complete with macabre backstories, the Sanderson-Perceval Museum suffers from a lack of attendance and steady patronage. It is not uncommon for David to note the number of visitors, including if there are none at all. In turn, David’s journal operates in the same temporal manner as a museum. Fragments and episodes are frequently filled with reflection, distraction, speculation, and a casual observation complete with disjointed and sporadic remembrance, which are recalled without the context of time, but braided throughout the narrative. In turn, the fictional Sanderson-Perceval Museum comes to represent both a defined temporal landscape and a character within the novel. It is one of the places David provides any real concrete detail over. It is also at the Sanderson-Perceval Museum that David first encounters the ever-intriguing and charming Imogen, whose presence occupies and haunts David. Imogen remains an eternal subject who David routinely reflects and reminisces over throughout “The Great Concert of the Night.” The title is an English translation from one of the fictional films Imogen appears in: Le Grand Concert de la Nui, and remains a personal favourite of Davids; who first introduces Le Grand Concert de la Nui to readers as he watches it on New Years alone by himself, the film projects an ethereal image of Imogen, one encapsulated within the artifice of film which both comforts and torments David.

As a narrator David is formal and fussy; his digressions are erudite and distant. While journal is curated and crafted to provide commentary on Davids own tastes and curiosities, they reveal little about David’s own biography. Throughout “The Great Concert of the Night,” David remains a passive figure. Resigned and reclusive, he occupies the space of spectator, keen to observe, collect, and if at all possible, preserve events and people outside of the perishable realities of time. Throughout the novel reflections are woven with historical detail, anecdote, inconsequential personal memories and inventory of the Sanderson-Perceval Museum. Memories of Imogen retain a particular fondness and melancholy, where gradually readers are slowly introduced to the various versions of Imogen, as produced by both family members, friends and colleagues, to her own admissions, and the different characters she played as an actress. A former lover describes Imogen’s ability to “disassemble,” as uncanny, whereby she has ultimately “mortgaged herself.”  In some fragments David recounts watching a commentary and interview by a director who worked with Imogen. David as a character is at his finest when his stage-managed museum curator visage loosens revealing the contempt he has towards the bloated egotism and sense of self-importance of one director of Imogen’s films, Antoine Vermeiren, whose unironic self-congratulatory praise is sardonically captured by David and not only disseminated to the reader but shared in turn. This same cynicism is directed towards Val, the new partner of David’s ex-wife Samantha, a life coach whose counsel and advice can barely be called cheapened sage wisdom or rehashed half-baked psychoanalytical insight. Instead, its discounted wholesale wellness practices, complete with all the social media buzz words repackaged in the farce of charlatan self-help rhetoric parading itself as professional service. Then there is William who zigs and zags through David’s notebook like a reoccurring asteroid, but he provides further depth and insight into Imogen, her ability to graceful empathise, it not at the very least, charmingly approach all individuals. Williams theories and metaphysical ponderings maybe far fetched, but he works at getting David outside of himself.

Imogen remains the focal point of David’s journal. There can be no denying David’s infatuation and enduring love and admiration for Imogen; but despite it, Imogen remains elusive, shifting and mercurial. Perhaps its due to Imogen’s profession as an actress and her inherent talent to disassemble herself which continually ensures she remains undefined. Imogen would later affirm that she viewed even her own sense of self as merely an alias, an artificial construct or persona embodied and never quite her own. Life unto itself appears to be a series of scenes or stage plays for the versions of Imogen to come into being. Even when dying of cancer, requires Imogen to assume a role, the stoic and strong woman languishing on her deathbed, in order to make her mother proud. “The Great Concert of the Night,” is a novel which pieces together inconsequential details gradually to reveal a larger picture, in a manner similar to that of a constellation. David’s journal imprecisely recounts and remembers events as they happen, and not necessarily in chronological order. They are laced with excursions and citations from Marcus Aurelius, Blaise Pascal, and Hildegard von Bingen, as well as the fictional films, and proprietor of the Sanderson-Perceval Museum. David’s journal captures the granules of details, curating in the dust an exquisite portrait of miniature that is equally eclectic as the Sanderson-Perceval Museums exhibits. However, there remains no defining portrait of Imogen within the recollections. Fragments and remnants only providing insinuation of character. Imogen remains elusive and ethereal, refusing to be entirely defined and transfixed. Then there is the question of what David’s relationship with Imogen really entailed. Was it one of lovers or perhaps more platonic? Often it appears David is the worshiper, and who can blame him. What is revealed showcases Imogen as never lacking in charm, charisma, or approachability. She comes from the finer stock of pedigree and was educated perfectly and oriented to slip and maneuver through social settings with the fluidity of a brainless jellyfish. Yet, Imogen is one of contradictions. An actress who has no interest in entertainment; who dismisses the contrived nature of theatre and despised the reward of applause, yet in turn held no qualm with nudity or engaging in scenes which were explicitly pornographic in everyway but name, or participated in an orgy, while David resigned himself to the comforts and confines of observation. Acting for Imogen was the ability to shapeshift, and much like a cephalopod, Imogen changes colour and texture throughout the text, which makes her an enduring point of fascination, not only for David but for readers who delight in her quick wit and mordant honesty, which is juxtaposed against others, be it the pompous pretense of Vermeiren or the superficial commerce orientation of Val’s guided self-help practices.

Befitting a novel written as a personal journal, “The Great Concert of the Night,” emulates the capriciousness of memory, often without the context of time. Individuals and characters are introduced without orientation or exposition, and effervescently return throughout the novel, as if upwelled from the sedimentary of personal memory. Jonathan Buckley has been quoted to having said that plot is not a defining feature of his writing and he’s correct. “The Great Concert of the Night,” abandons the conventions of narrative and its editorial fashioning’s and cuttings to create a linear narrative. In turn Jonathan Buckley delights in deconstructing the architecture of plot and narrative and revels in the ruin and details left behind. “The Great Concert of the Night,” is both collage and constellation like novel, plot is abandoned and instead the shape of a narrative and story of an uncertain love affair form from the perspective of David and what he choses to codify within his journal, which may attempt to encapsulate or at the very least capture the essence of Imogen. Yet just as Imogen had operated by designed throughout her life, her essence or at the very least the components of her character were beyond collating, and her life became increasingly elaborate and performative based, existing in the transience of impermanence. “The Great Concert of the Night,” showcases Jonathan Buckley as a writer’s writer, a writer who enjoys playing with literary forms; the limitations and conventions of narrative; all the while putting plot and story on the back burner. For Jonathan Buckley how the events are told or described or perceived is far more interesting than what happened. Furthermore, the multitudes of perspectives continually proves that what happened, remains ultimately undefined. I certainly agree with John Banville and Ian Sansom, wondering why Jonathan Buckley isn’t more widely known and appreciated for his innovative work. As for the faults and frustrations with “The Great Concert of the Night,” come at my own expense, having not sufficient amount of time to devote to the work consistently to appreciate and maintain an adequate understanding of whose who within David’s world. Here is to hoping Jonathan Buckley is will start to gain more appreciation as a writer, having won the Novel Prize in 2022 for his novel “Tell,” maybe he’ll finally secure a place on this years Booker Prize with his newest novel “One Boat.”

Thank you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
 
M. Mary

Dag Solstad Dies Aged 83

Hello Gentle Reader,

While Jon Fosse and Karl Ove Knausgård occupy the public imagination as the best Norwegian writers, Dag Solstad predates them, and it can propose and litigated, it is from Solstad’s own literary shadow, these two writers found their own foothold abroad. Dag Solstad was the quintessential mid-century modern Norwegian writer. As was common of the generation, Solstad’s politics were unapologetically in their far-left orientation, the intellectually fashionably vogue Marxist thought, and during the 1970’s was a member of the Maoist Workers’ Communist Party. Dag Solstad’s literary contributions continued to evolve throughout his career, but first gained recognition for exploring existential themes within his work, with his signature droll sense of humour.  Solstad’s early work captures the bewildering and encompassing despair of the human condition, when it is faced with the complexities of a world deprived of the theological ordinances of God or church, and thereby mortals are left to their own devices to shape and fashion a sense of fate or purpose to their own life. Such is the vacuous void Nietzsche left behind when he declared “God is dead,” and nouveau and chic French writers and philosophers—be it existentialist or absurdist—sought to take the edge off the biting bitterness of nihilism. Dag Solstad is also a great writer of prose. Admired by both Peter Handke and Per Petterson, Solstad has always been the gold standard of prose in Norway. Karl Ove Knausgård is no exception, having gushed about Dag Solstad’s writing. Writers are always quick to praise Solstad’s intelligence coupled with his elegant prose. In the English language, Dag Solstad has always been revered and reviewed as that staunchly late modernist, which is further supported by the few novels of Solstad which have been translated into English. “Shyness and Dignity,” is one such existential novel, whereby another usual and ordinary day for Elias Rukla, an Ibsen scholar, becomes a catalyst and revelation to his awakening of a world which no longer recognizes his life’s work or its merits have all but fallen out of favour and fashion with the world, and in turn he's sleepwalking through life. After an uncharacteristic fit of rage, Dag Solstad autopsies the complications of a man who has become alienated not only from culture, politics, and society, but also humanity unto itself. Whereas the novel “Professor Andersen’s Night,” is the quintessential existential murder novel, exploring the realms of a man frozen in indecision, when he's confronted with an abhorrent crime. “Armand V,” showcases Solstad’s ability to shift gears towards engaging with political in his signature style, the novel prompted the then Foreign Affairs Minister to even pen a review of the novel in response to Norway’s support in the United States war in Afghanistan. throughout his writing career, Dag Solstad remained one of the great writers of his generation, a writer of ideas and philosophical thought, one of the last great experimentalists.

Rest in Peace Dag Solstad.

Thank you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
 

M. Mary

Athol Fugard Dies Aged 92

Hello Gentle Reader,

Athol Fugard was a giant of South African literature, in the company of equally important and politically conscious and engaged writers such as, Nobel Laureates Nadine Gordimer and J.M. Coetzee, Breyten Breytenbach, Andre Brink, and Antjie Krog. Where the others were respected and critically acclaimed novelists, poets, journalists, and essayists, Athol Fugard was a prominently remembered and renowned as a dramatist, whose plays were legendary for their unapologetic political dimensions and critiques of apartheid South Africa. Fugard’s dramatic texts portrayed the oppressive realities of the segregation policies of South Africa’s apartheid system, and their cruel psychological damage the system brought on not only individuals but in intimate relationships. The political cruelty and injustice were a palpable and yet ephemeral source of torment for all citizens of the state, but was designed to exactingly torturous to the black populace. Working as a court clerk in the 1950’s, Athol Fugard witnessed daily, the discriminatory viscousness of the apartheid system, which was facilitated and administered by a venomous and faceless bureaucratic system that was instrumental in not only maintaining apartheid as a system but its continued application. Athol Fugard is often compared to the late Czech playwright turned politician, Václav Havel for his searing portrayal of bureaucratic sponsored authoritarianism under the Soviet Union. Unlike Havel though, Fugard escaped imprisonment due to this own ethnicity and a sociopolitical hierarchy that elevated his stock beyond the majority of the populace; of course, Fugard’s passport was confiscated and his works were subject to book burnings and barred productions of his plays. Further complications of course came from the fact that Athol Fugard incorporated black actors within his work and refused to allow his plays to be staged for segregated audiences. Rehearsals were raided by the police; actors’ names were taken down in writing and many-faced persecution. Posters often listed the players by previous characters they played in attempt to hide their identities. After apartheid ended, as Nadine Gordimer put it, the only subject for “white liberal,” writers had run its course, but Athol Fugard continued to write about the country’s attempt at restorative justice and truth and reconciliation, and later plays were regarded for their philosophical and contemplative approaches. While regarded as a political and agitative writer, the real success of Athol Fugard success came from incorporating political dimensions into otherwise human and ordinary realities. Apartheid may not be named, but its presence oozes through the play, stifling the atmosphere, closing in the walls, to the point its an invisible and asphyxiating presence with an iron chokehold on the characters, depriving them of decency, courtesy, and justice. This is what makes Athol Fugard not just another run of the mill “white liberal,” writing about apartheid in South Africa, but a dramatist who captured the complexities of political oppression in the daily lives of those weighed down by its constant looming presence. Athol Fugard will be remembered as a dramatist who captured horrors of racial segregation in South Africa’s apartheid system and how it infected everyday relationships, homes, and interactions.

Rest in Peace, Athol Fugard.

Thank you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read

M. Mary