Two of Tabucchi’s

( I ) — “The Flying Creatures of Fra Angelico,”

When Antonio Tabucchi passed away, in March of two-thousand and twelve; the literary world was devastated by the loss of a giant of world literature. Italy itself was forced to say farewell and thank-you to their greatest living writer; who had taken up the mantel of Italo Calvino. Yet to say that Tabucchi and Calvino were similar in every aspect would be misleading. Where Italo Calvino was generally seen as apolitical – after his youthful ideology years, in which he belonged to the communist party; Tabucchi was engaged in the social and political sphere. One of Tabucchi’s most well-known books “Pereira Declares,” (or “Pereira Maintains,”), which discusses the awakening of an overweight journalist to the difficulties and arbitrary inhumanity of Salazar’s, Portuguese dictatorship. This is just one example of Tabucchi’s politically engaged work. “Pereira Declares,” was often used as a symbol of resistance, against the Italian president and convicted fraudster, Silvio Berlusconi and his subsequent government. Further separation came from Tabucchi’s love of Portugal, after his discovery of the poet Fernando Pessoa. Tabucchi even wrote a book in Portuguese, to celebrate his admiration of Pessoa, and love for Portugal.

“The Flying Creatures of Fra Angelico,” was the first book to be published in English translation, after Tabucchi’s death. It was published by the amazing Archipelago Books. It’s a small square pocket book. It fits naturally in the hands. It’s a small book of stories. Tabucchi himself had called them: “drifting splinters, survivors of some whole that never was.”

The titular story “The Flying Creatures of Fra Angelico,” is the first sweet taste of the beautiful splinters that Tabucchi, divulges. It’s a gentle tale; a wistful charismatic fable. That portrays an Italian monk in a monastery, in the poignantly warm and time of dusk, collecting onions. While fulfilling his duty, this monk – who will become the greatest fifteenth century painter; encounters a large bird. A large bird with different coloured feathers: orche, yellow, deep blue and emerald. Reminiscent of the prismatic kingfisher. Other such birds, visit. While the monk is sleeping in his cell, a dragonfly visits him. He commands the monk to paint his visitors.

In this same vein, Tabucchi has done what the monk has. He has taken dream like impressions and solidified them with ink, and words. Other splinters and fragments of stories are letters. Emotional betrays and subtle details all mixed in with flights of fancy and fantasy. Calypso writes to Odysseus. There is the prince of Portugal, whose deep seated love becomes an adequate form of revenge. Mademoiselle Lenormand also makes an appearance. The famed fortune teller, of the Napoleonic Era. The mystic herself, offers a monologue on the perpetual dusk of her own shadow world. A place that she best describes as a dream, in which you are well aware is a dream. Where truth is all that more pure; and reality is so much sharper. This short monologue had to have been one of my favourites.

All the brief sketches, in this small book, are vignettes and simply written short reflections. The only one that best be described as a short is the titular “The Flying Creatures of Fra Angelico.” Still these lactescent stories, offer a glimpse into the authors own preoccupations, with identity, mystery, history and other personal obsessions. These fragments. Memories of dreams. Impressions and nostalgic laments. Each of them carries a small weight to their punches. Yet their depth surpasses the superficial minimalism of their surface.

( II ) — “The Woman of Porto Pim,”

I once saw a picture of the Azores Archipelago. I saw a verdant hill, populated by few trees, surrounded by the ocean and the mist. In the background was Mount Pico. A shark tooth of a mountain. It appears to rise out of the sea; pushing through the mist and haze of the ocean and obstinately jab its peak right towards the heavens. I never knew about the Azores, until I started reading “The Woman of Porto Pim.” Still, we never gave much thought, to the Falkland Islands until the short Falkland war was started and resolved. Much like “The Flying Creatures of Fra Angelico,” – “The Woman of Porto Pim,” is a small pocket book of stories, its small, and fits comfortably into the hands of any reader. “The Woman of Porto Pim,” is best described as being inspired by Tabucchi’s travels within the Azores Archipelago. These small volcanic islands under the stewardship of Portugal – Tabucchi’s inspirational and adopted home.

Despite this romantic title, “The Woman of Porto Pim,” is not about women – as it is about whales and whaling. I remember reading a children’s version of “Moby Dick,” when I was younger. A shocking moralistic fable of a book; about mans’ ever intense quest for revenge; and how revenge consumes all. At the time, from my faded orange tinted sepia photographs of memory; I can’t say that I was entirely shocked by the desire to get revenge for loosing ones leg. Yet now that I am older, I can now understand the quest for the death of the white whale, was nothing shy of a tale of our inhumanity, and personal vendettas; and the adequate consequences that are sure to be fall all of us. The only reason that I bought “The Woman of Porto Pim,” was because Antonio Tabucchi himself had written it. Without his name attached to the book, I would have seriously reconsidered, not buying this book. If only because it dealt with whaling. What Tabucchi has done though is created quite a neat and fascinating book of stories, which traverse between travel diary, and fiction.

At first these stories appear like puddles. Without thinking twice; gumboots and all – we find ourselves jumping into a pothole of a sea. What lies hidden beneath the casually small and short surface is a world we never thought about looking at twice. Take for instance the titular story of this collection. It’s about a mysterious woman, who lives beneath her means in a hut. Then comes along the naïve sailor. He sings her a song to get her attention. With this story Tabucchi writes some of his most gorgeous prose:

“The moon was coming up in a veil of red, a summer moon. I felt a great longing, the water lapped around me, everything was so intense and so unattainable, and I remembered when I was a child, how at night I used to call the eels from the rocks: then an idea came to me, I couldn’t resist, and I began to sing that song. I sang it very softly, like a lament, or a supplication, with a hand held to my voice.”

One can picture the eels crawling out between the crags of the rocks. Called out like children, to the pied piper. The way the warm water cradles, someone, like the amniotic fluid of the womb. What comes from this man’s song; is much like the eels. A varied experience of: wonder, betrayal and violence. Though of course with every fragment that Tabucchi has written, one is left absent minded, and drifting about on the waters. Constantly mulling over what we have just read, and what it pertains to what is left unsaid and unanswered. We constantly look for the certainties, of the world. The salt sea water; the gentle southern breeze. The way sailors praise the new land or the old land, the way they feel the warmth of the home; find salvation in the rum bottle. So do we. We try to find answers in their now still sails. Their forgotten songs that only the eels remember. We rub our hands on the deadwood barnacle, covered shipwrecks. We cradle the forgotten mermaid. We hold her scarred salted face to our chest. We tell her we will love no other. Just divulge your history. We scour the empty rum bottles, littering the beach; smashed up on the rocks. Yet still we circle the unknown, and the uncertainty. Just as we grasp at the reflection of the moon in the water – we never truly hold it; and so is the same with Tabucchi’s fragments and reflections. We scoop up the reflections. We listen to the ripples. Yet it is still what has already been stated before. This is what makes Tabucchi such a wonderful writer. He never tells. He never condescends by feeling that all answers must handed over. We are left to read the text, mull it over, and spin our own inclusive theories.

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

Booker Prize ‘Doomed,’?

Hello Gentle Reader

I had stated in my announcement of the Booker Prize shortlist for this year that “after the Booker Prize crisis of two-thousand and eleven, it would appear that the award is back on track.” However new revelations, have revealed that my comments were premature. The crisis of two-thousand and eleven, was a mere appetizer to the current, shocking news. Whereas the former Booker Prize controversy, arose when the judges had chosen readability over literary merit; and the subsequent public relations meltdown, where that years chair of judges (Stella Rimington) compared, the critics to the former KGB. It was a rather disappointing, year for the Booker Prize. Before that though there was the Man Booker International Prize, controversy. Which began with, one Chairman – Jonathan Taylor; had gone on to state that the Booker Prize, had reached a more global status, then that of the Nobel; which he called “Political at best.” Then there was the Man Booker International Prize, going to the absent figure of Philip Roth. Earlier John le Carre, requested his name be removed from the shortlist. Then Carmen Callil, abdicated her seat from the judging panel after the award was given to Philip Roth. This all happened, before the usual Booker Prize, had started its own controversy. It was a grand head on collision. The kind of collision, and wreck, one cannot turn away from; yet watches with absent glee and restrained horror; and a steady supply of disbelief. That being said, you can’t help but roast marshmallows, over the flames, and eat popcorn, watching the mess continue to unfold. Yet two years later, the shortlist has been praised for its variety, and its integrity for taking in all factors; from gender, to nationality to literary merit.

Now a new controversy has been set a flame. The Booker Prize, which has been exclusively, awarded to a novel from the UK, Commonwealth countries, as well as Ireland and Zimbabwe; is now opening its doors, to any, English language publication (as long as it has been published in the UK). In other words, the prize is now open to include American authors. This has people dived straight down the middle. Some claim that the Booker Prize can now truly live up to its horn tooting “most important literary award in English-Speaking world.” Others however call it a complete and utter mistake; that has doomed the integrity of the Booker Prize.

It is hard not to see the future of the Booker Prize being dominated by American literature. Not by America’s literary taste, but simply because America has a vast quantity, of books published, and would flex that economic-super power muscle; dominating the newly revised prize. Just look at previous awards: The former Orange Prize, now Women’s Prize for Fiction, the winners has been dominated by American authors. The Man Booker Prize international has been awarded twice in a row to American authors. This is not, The Russian Booker Prize, or the German Book Prize, or the Man Asian Literary Prize, nor is it the Camões Prize, or Miguel de Cervantes Prize, or the Akutagawa Prize. This is the Booker Prize. The very prize, that has taken the place of the Commonwealth Writers Prize. Yet now it might as well be called the Pulitzer Version 2.0.

The Booker Prize is a crowded horse race as it is. Now it is far more crowded, the possibility of the judges reading, all nominated novels is now, certainly impossible. Now what it comes down to, is what novels are going to be overlooked, by the sheer quantity of the novels, and prize going to well established writers. The fact is, this ‘makeover,’ comes over, on attempt at showing that English speaking countries, are a bit more international, then they are given credit for. It’s an attempt rivalling other prizes; and being a bit more international. Still the feeling is, that the Booker is losing its own credibility. It’s now just become a glorified game of literary bingo, if you win you win, hip hip hurray. Though it’s too early to see how this new format, will change the prize itself, it does leave one feeling a bit on the uneasy side. As if this is just an attempt, at more favourable marketing, in a changing globalised world.

The entire, change however, comes in an interesting time, as the literary world is shifting. Publishers are leery of publishing. Writers are self-publishing – for free; if it’s popular with the reading public, then it’ll be considered to be published by an actual publisher. Literary merit is on the decline. Libraries are shutting down. Google’s prospect of claiming copy-right of out of print books. In fact the ‘profession,’ of writer may as be called a thankless hobby at best. Prizes like The Booker Prize, and other awards, are trying to stay afloat. One can only wait and see if the National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize, will take the same route – if they take the same route.

For further reading:

http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2013/sep/18/booker-prize-us-writers-end

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/sep/18/man-booker-prize-allow-us-american-entries

http://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2011/jun/30/booker-prize-international-embarrassment

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 German Book Prize Shortlist

Hello Gentle Reader

As well as the Booker Prize Shortlist being announced so have the six finalists of the German Book Prize. Three men and three women. The prize’s previous contenders include Nobel Laureate in Literature Herta Müller for her novel “Atemschaukel,” – published in English as “The Hunger Angel,” and “Everything I Posses I carry With Me,” or “Everything I won I carry With me.” Austrian writer, Clemens J Setz for his novels “Indigo (Translated as “Indigo,”) and “Die Frequenzen,” Translated as “The Frequencies.” Stephan Thome for “Fliehkräfte,” or “Centrifugal Forces,” and “Grenzgang,” translated as “Border Walk.” Austrian Marlene Streeruwitz for her novel “Die Schmerzmacherin,” translated as “The Huntress,” or “The Painmaker.”

Previous winners include:

Eugen Ruge – “In Zeiten des abnehmenden Lichts,” translated as “In Times of Fading Light.”
Kathrin Schmidt – “Du stirbst nicht,” translated as “You’re Not Going to Die.”
Melinda Nadj Abonji – “Tauben fliegen auf,” translated as “Falcons without Falconers,”
Ursula Krechel – Landgericht Translated as “Regional Court,” or “Court of Justice.”

This year’s shortlisted authors are as follows; along with a slight blurb about author and their respective novel. Each author is in the running for the most prestigious German language literary award.

Mirko Bonné – “Nie mehr Nacht,” translated as “Never Again Night.”

According to the German Book Prize website, only serious literary readers will recognize Mirko Bonné’s name. Bonné, the forty-eight year old author; writes about a man, who takes a trip to the French coast, with his nephew. The character is sent by a magazine to do a report on the bridges of Normandy, which was a decisive victory for the allies. Yet the main character flees the tragic death of his sister – one who he shared a relationship beyond, the confides of platonic sibling love. In this novel Bonné writes about the personal and historical.

Reinhard Jirgl – “Nichts von euch auf Erden," translated as “Nothing of You on Earth.”

Life on mars, may not be a pipe dream or science fiction concept after all. With an independent Dutch company, looking to put people on Mars to start a colony, it would appear space colonization maybe in our futures. Reinhard Jirgl writes about our desire for conquest – over the odds, over the elements, the environment and ourselves. In this dystopian novel, Jirgl writes about, a drugged populace left on earth; others enslaved on Mars in an underground city run by higher and more influential and wealthy people. The goal? To make Mars an inhabitable space. Jirgl writes a novel that forces us to look into the mirror and question everything.

Clemens Meyer – “Im Stein,” translated as “In Stone.”

The Austrian writer Meyer is often called the Enfant Terrible of Austrian Literature. Meyer’s is literature that breaks free from constraints. He creates a collage of inner monologues, and dreams, detailed descriptions, and a vast overload of information. In his novel “In Stone,” Meyer writes about the shadowy and morally incompetent world of prostitution and pimps. What he creates, is a novel that is ripe and full novel about love and romantic endearment.

Terézia Mora – “Das Ungeheuer,” translated as “The Monster.”

Terézia Mora is a Hungarian writer, whose literary language is German. She is one of this year’s favourites to win. Mora writes about, the personal tragedy of Darius Kopp an IT specialist, whose wife has committed suicide, after he loses his job. What Kopp discovers via his wife’s diary a world of loneliness, and humiliation, along with volatile affairs. Kopp travels to Hungary (where his wife grew up) and seeks answers and dredges up memories.

Marion Poschmann – “Die Sonnenposition,” translated as “The Position of the Sun,”

Marion Poschmann, was primarily a poet. According to the German Book Prize website, it shows with this novel. It’s a slim down refined language, with an economy of precise words. The book turns on the axis of a rundown castle. Its populated by a group of bizarre characters. With bold free association of language and imagery, Marion Poschmann shows the poets affinity with language in a novelistic form.

Monika Zeiner – “Die Ordnung der Sterne über Como,” Translated as “The Order of the Stars above Como,”

Monika Zeiner has written a six hundred page debut. It concerns itself with the intricate romantic triangle of three people living in an apartment. Monika Zeiner has a PhD in medieval poetry and is a singer in an Italian swing band. Her language is melodic; as is the speech that melds with the music that hangs over the novel. (Again according to the German Book Prize website). A novel of youth and lightheartedness.

There you have it Gentle Reader, The German Book Prize shortlist. From the personal to the historical. Poets turning to prose; and different ways of using language. The writers contemplate our potentially doomed futures, and our scared and tragic pasts. It’s a fascinating and diverse shortlist. It’ll be exciting who wins.

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 Booker Prize Shortlist 2013

Hello Gentle Reader

On September tenth, the Booker Prize shortlist, for twenty thirteen had been announced. It has so far been called one of the most varied and most interesting shortlists, since two-thousand and four’s shortlist. What is unique about this year’s Booker Shortlist is that it has, more women writers to the ratio of men. That being said, the soon to be retired, Jim Grace is, in the running with his novel “The Harvest.”

The shortlist is as follows:

“The Harvest,” by Jim Grace
“We Need New Names,” by NoViolet Bulawayo
“The Luminaries,” by Eleanor Catton
“The Lowland,” by Jhumpa Lahiri
“A Tale for the Time Being,” Ruth Ozeki
“The Testament of Mary,” by Colm Tóibín

Robert Macfarlane the chair of this year’s Booker Judges, has called this years, Booker Prize short list the most diverse in recent memory. After the Booker Prize crisis of two-thousand and eleven, it would appear that the award is back on track. The writes, are from New Zealand, Canada, Zimbabwe, Ireland and England. A Diverse list indeed, with strong and various women contenders.

Congratulations to the judges, for picking a diverse and interesting list.

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

Ladbrokes Nobel Odds

Hello Gentle Reader

The season has now started. Autumn is the season of the awards and prizes. The Booker Prize, the German Book Prize – and the most lucrative literary prize and most prestigious (if a bit eccentric one) The Nobel Prize for Literature. The betting site Ladbrokes has now offered, their own rough estimate, of who has the odds to win the Nobel Prize for Literature.

One again, the Japanese pop literature novelist is the front runner to win the Nobel Prize for literature, with an estimated chance of 3/1. I personally don’t think Murakami has the qualifications to win the award. That being said; some of have argued with the release of his monumental novel “1Q84,” he was able to leave his own, town of talking cats; and begin to really expand as a writer. That still being said, I don’t think personally he has the qualifications. Murakami is an interesting – if a bit entertaining writer; but I don’t think the merit is all there just yet to be honest. Then again I certainly do not think last year’s winner had any merit whatsoever either.

The next runner up is Joyce Carol Oats. She’s a factory of mass production of writing. This brings into question quantity over quality. She has written most likely well over a hundred novels. Does an author have anything uniquely say, when they’ve written so much? Do they risk repeating themselves, over and over and over again? Many feel that Joyce Carol Oates does not have a chance; based on her large catalogue of novels, short story collections, poetry collections, essays and memories, and other novels and works written under her pseudonyms. Oats odd are 6/1.

Peter Nadas is next in line. The Hungarian novelist is known for large, and philosophically drenched, and demanding works. His novel “Parallel Stories,” is a phone book! It runs to about one thousand, one hundred and fifty two pages. “A Book of Memories,” runs to seven hundred and twenty pages. That being said, Peter Nadas is known for an interesting, oeuvre of work. A strong high quality of writing, and philosophical discussion. He is one of Hungary’s leading writers. The odds for Nadas: 7/1

Perennial poet and highly speculated South Korean poet Ko Un, runs in at 10/1. There is not much I can say about the poet, that I have not already said. I own his collection of poems “Three Way Tavern,” and am surprised by his interest in the exterior world, not the interior world – and his ability to use poetry as a form to tell other peoples stories – not just his own observations.

Here comes Canada’s best bet to winning the Nobel Prize for Literature: Alice Munro. A master of the short story; whose only true rival in to that claim is William Trevor. I personally hope for Alice Munro to win – for a few reasons; but to see the short story being taken more seriously not just as the poor cousin of the novel. Munro’s odd are 12/1.

Further down the line is Irish short story writer and novelist William Trevor at 33/1. Seamus Heaney, Ireland’s living Nobel Laureate, recently passed away. Is William Trevor going to pick up the mantle? – I sometimes like to fantasise, Trevor and Munro sharing the award.

At 14/1 is Adunis, the Syrian poet, and the grandfather of Modern Arabic poetry. Syria has been in the news a lot, over the years. With its rising civil war, the alleged use of chemical weapons, and increased pressure from western nations to cease fire – while some are calling on strikes; and others saying any illegal strike, will be met with the regime being supported by other nations. It’s a tricky diplomatic situation.

Assia Djebar is also at 14/1. Many feel she is a strong contender. She’s from a North African country, she is female, and feminist and political oriented body of work. I have not read anything by, Assia Djebar but I know she won the Neustadt International Prize for Literature in nineteen-ninety six.

Next comes the usual bemoaned bride’s maid, of not getting the Nobel, Philip Roth. Roth has been actively seeking the Prize. In fact it’s such a touchy subject with him, that he has not won the Prize (‘yet’,) that interviewers are often advised, at not referring to the contentious discussion, with the begrudged author. Some have called on the Swedish Academy, to award the prize to Roth, as a ‘retirement gift,’ – but then again missing the universal squabbling and outrage of an American not winning the award, and the “Who?” that follows, would be sorely missed.

Amos Oz is at 16/1 as well. The liberal Israeli thinker, and writer, just won the Franz Kafka Prize in two-thousand and thirteen. Maybe it’s his year.

Ngugi wa Thiog’o is at 20/1. Speculation has been on the rise that a African will win this year, after the death of Chinua Achebe. That and Africa (as a continent) is seriously lacking in representation.

Then there is the American conspiracy theorist, postmodern satirist – and in my opinion, overhyped, red eyed, psychedelic odd ball Thomas Pynchon, with his odds set at 20/1.

Milan Kundera, another perennial Nobel contender, comes in at 25/1. His greatest literary weight rests on “The Unbearable Lightness of Being.”

At 40/1 comes Dacia Maraini, an Italian feminist, novelist and playwright. She was also the companion to Alberto Moravia. With such high speculation, that a woman will win this year, many are looking at Dacia Maraini. It has been over a decade since Italy won a Nobel in Literature – and it went to a dud Dario Fo. I do not know a lot about Dacia Maraini. She’s not that well represented in English – and what is, is out of stock, usually.

Nuruddin Farah the Somalian writer is at 40/1 in his odds. This may change as we get closer to the Nobel time.

From there on out, big name novelists, compete against lesser known, on slots, from 50/1 odds all the way to 100/1 odds. Bob Dylan is also included. But his odds (should be) are slim, to non-existent.

There you have it Gentle Reader the Nobel Prize for Literature, speculaton by Ladbrokes. I am hoping for a bit of a surprise this year, with the award, much like Herta Müller was when she had won the prize.

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

To view the full list, go to the following link:

http://sportsbeta.ladbrokes.com/2013-Nobel-Prize-in-Literature/Awards-N-1z0xxrmZ1z10gli/

We find its September Again

Hello Gentle Reader

A few days ago, each of us woke up. To our awoken eyes, it is September again. The past few days of August, had been filled with a fluttering anxiety. The kind of anxiety that prey feels when it’s suspicious of being watched, with prowling eyes and empty stomachs, is at its most intense. Autumns orange eyes had been viewing the last days of summer keenly. Stores are packed with mothers and their grumbling children. Paper, pencils, pens – they take what they need. The kids try on clothes. Through the years, it’s becoming more personalized, with individual style. Still each of them is aware of their own ending freedom. Summer and time has betrayed them yet again. There is a tree in the back garden. It’s been anxiously awaiting the end. Turning its leaves yellow prematurely. The wild grass has lost its green waxy sheen. It is now thin and gold. Tuffs of oat like seeds, crowning their heads. Everything is sensing the impending, hibernation. The coats of animals are thicker and darker. Cows are fatter. Fields are beginning to ripen. Local corn is being sold. A golden vegetable, that each of us enjoy, during this special time of year. Still with baton of, yellow kernels, autumn is approaching. Its slipped its foot in the doorway. By October it will have taken residents.

Someone told me, a few days ago: “I hope we have a long fall [autumn].” I didn’t have the heart to tell, that person, that it doesn’t matter, if it’s a long autumn or not. Winter will take its debt either way. It’ll shorten the spring or it will shorten the autumn.

This last long weekend, was the last long weekend of summer. The last chance to go camping. The last change to enjoy those final moments of freedom. It’s the last hurrah. Hopefully it was spent well.

Kiki Dimoula wrote a poem titled: “Incompatibles.” – It’s a fitting poem for the current change in the season, and the restlessness that, one feels in the diming lights. The early dusks. The cooler evenings. The last fires of summer. The changing leaves of green to yellows fears and red eyes. To be discovered as translucent brown ghosts in the following spring.

“Incompatibles,”

All my poems about spring
remain incomplete.

Spring is always in a hurry,
my mood always long delayed.

That’s why I’m compelled
to complete
almost every poem I write about spring
with an autumn season.

By Kiki Dimoula, from “In Absentia,” (1958) – collected in “The Brazen Palagrist: Selected Poems.” -- All rights to Kiki Dimoula.

Its only in autumn do we truly miss spring.

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

Seamus Heaney Dies Aged 74

Hello Gentle Reader

The Emerald Isle, is in a moment of shock. Their Nobel Laureate in Literature, the poet Seamus Heaney, has passed away. His work is surrounded by the green landscape of Ireland. His works “Death of a Naturalist,” and “Door in The Dark,” dealt with the parochial country living, and details of rural living. Other works like “Wintering Out,” and “North,” dealt with the troubles of Ireland. With these works, Heaney had tried to place the unrest, in historical context. In these regards, it would allow the human experience of the unrest to become more universal. Unfortunately, Heaney was referred to as an ‘apologist,’ for these attempts. Still, Heaney was a symbol of hope for some. The last time, I personally saw Heaney, was his interview in regards to Transtromer winning the Nobel Prize. Something that Heaney had said: ‘we had all been hoping for that, for years now.’

Heaney was considered the greatest Irish poet since William Butler Yeats. His work was known for its praise of the everyday. According to the citation by the Swedish Academy, he was awarded: “for works of lyrical beauty and ethical depth, which exalt everyday miracles and the living past.” –

I personally do not own a collection of Heaney’s. That being said, from the poems that I have read, he shows grace, and wisdom. Wisdom that came from his inspiration of being a farm boy, but also that comes from the contemporary history, in which he witnessed. Helen Vendler had called him a poet of the in-between. He was the poet who stood in the narrow gap between Ireland and England; Catholicism and Protestantism. Heaney used poetry as an attempt to console the nation of Ireland over the loss of the innocent. Heaney was aware of the educational properties of poetry, on a personal level; where it reaches one, not by lecture, but by a shared personal experience.

Seamus Heaney is a remarkable poet – which can only hint at the longevity of his poems.

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

M. Mary

The Best European Fiction 2013

Hello Gentle Reader

Europe is so vast and complex place, yet paradoxically small. Yet despite its sometimes geographical shortcomings, it is still a place of political powers and economic as well as historical and cultural importance and significance. This makes Europe a grand place of the world, whose blood runes through the ancient ruins, of their past cities and the cities beneath their feet, but also of their new world conquests of the America's, and Caribbean; as well as Africa, Asia, Oceania/pacific as well as India and the Middle East. That is why Europe refuses to relinquish its own importance - self and genuine. The borders of Europe have constantly changed. Empires have been built and crumbled by the weariness of time. Monarchies have come and once again dissipated in times tireless hands. Dictators have controlled and ruled; only to be in the end overthrown or to die, usually in some bloody revolution and struggle. The breath of change constantly blows through the continent; all the way from Albania down to the United Kingdom. Yet Europe is an amazing place, full of countries unique and overlooked. From Liechtenstein landlocked in the alpines, constantly in the shadow of both Switzerland and Austria. Then there is the small country of Belgium who has felt the horrors of both World Wars and is often identified as being one country along with the Netherlands - and for some reason going under the name Holland. Then there is Bosnia who is never called by its true name Bosnia and Herzegovina - somehow it's just Bosnia and is the bad brother of Croatia. Which both countries, have been formed after the dissolution of Yugoslavia, which dissolved after the liquidation of the former Soviet Union and the surrounding Iron Curtain. Poor Malta so small, is often forgotten. With a population of only four hundred nine thousand eight hundred thirty-six, it is no wonder that Malta is forgotten. Yet it does look like a wonderful place to visit - warm yet not stifling, and no worries about a drug cartel lopping off one's head. Then of course there are the unique countries like Hungary, Finland and Estonia who do not speak an Indo-European language; but rather a long structurally complex language of deep throated pronunciations and is actually a Uralic language. Then one heads to the complicated and political charged east of Europe. A place where green eyed cats bare quite a grudge. They bare these grudges from old Russia who took their lands over, and was not about to hand them over: from poor little Poland constantly changing hands; to the dark horse of Europe Romania; all the way to the poor forgotten Albania in the south east of Europe.

"The Best European Fiction," series is the pet project of Aleksandar Hemon. A Bosnian (then born Yugoslavian) author who has since immigrated to America, because of the Yugoslavian war. Hemon is the editor and anthologist of this particular project. Besides "The Best European Fiction," series to his name; Hemon is a short story writer, novelist and columnist. He is also a recipient of the Macarthur Foundation Grant. One of Hermon's most famous books is "The Lazarus Project," which is a interesting book in that it uses the comical and linguistic games of humour and grammatical beats of jokes, in order to tell a more cruel story. Not a story of despair and horror with ironic humour. Rather a comedic story of despair - a paradox because it makes one laugh; but only on the most uncertain grounds. It is thanks to Aleksandar Hemon that we can owe "The Best European Fiction." It's a mix box of chocolates - or if you prefer a more healthy snack; a mixed bowl of nuts or even a variety basket of fruit. With this collection one is going to find the familiar but also they are going to find the surreal nightmares, the allegorical dreamscapes, and the flights of the fantastical in the most realistic and mundane of settings. Yet they are also going to find stories, which deal with the past and the recent history. These stories are populated by: a shadow (?) or some dark mass with, a purpose - sinister or otherwise; unknown. There is a theatre troupe who takes the concept of Brechtian theatrical dealings of alienation to a surprisingly new level. A.S. Byatt makes an appearance - past well known contributors from the United Kingdom/England have been two-time Booker Prize winning author Hilary Mantel, and shortlisted Booker Prize author Deborah Levy. Other past contributors include Norwegian playwright and novelist Jon Fosse; the Swiss German language author Peter Stamm; Olga Tokarczuk of Poland; and German author Ingo Schulze. These authors that some English readers may recognise, allows for a point of reference or comfort to the rest of the unknown authors. It also allows for a sense of illusion that we read International Literature, from other languages, and are not just interested in our own language works. The fact that, John Banville also wrote the preface for this anthology, further shows not just an attempt to make English readers more interested in translated books; but also show that we are not insolent in our interest in foreign cultures.

There are so many stories in this book - and many of my notes on them have gone missing; it is difficult to talk about them and write a review. One of my personal favourites was Hungarian authors Miklos Vajda's story "Portrait of a Mother in an American Frame," which is a story about the ambiguous stories a son feels towards his mother. Maternal love is certainly expressed; yet it is something that is unable to be expressed verbally between the two characters. This allows for the story to remain in a less sentimental area. It's not melodramatic or overtly emotional. It reads more of an account of the personal meeting the greater and wider historical events. Semezdin Mehmedinovic from Bosnia, story "My Heart," discusses a fifty year old man's heart attack he has in the shower. Certainly not the most convenient place to have a heart attack; but it is less of a comedic situation than it sounds. "My Heart," is one of the longer stories in this collection, but it is also one of the well written stories, especially in its stream-of consciousness like style. Where the events pass by like the landscape of a car window. They just melt into each other. Scene after scene; event after event. Everything becoming a spinning nightmarish world where one has no real control over the events.

"What is more, the ease with which these strangers shift my body through space creates an impression of my own weightlessness. I am what is left over of me, my mortal remains, as I lie in my bathrobe, under which I am naked."

Serbian writer Borivoje Adasevic in his story "For a Foreign Master," deals with the liquidation of Yugoslavia and the horrors of the resulting war, through a multilayered story, in which the brutality that was committed throughout the war, is addressed in a frank way.

That being said, not all these stories deal with the historical past, and the events that have since shaped the future. The first stories of this collection appeared surreal, and strange. I was wondering what kind of book I had got myself into. These slightly funny works where we doubt the sanity of the characters and the events presented to us. Yet these sometimes turn out to some absurdly funny stories. Like Bulgarian author Rumen Balabanov whose story "The Ragiad," deals with a poor man turned into a rag, and at first the poor housewife who must cope with this complaining household item, who does not want to dust or wipe or anything down - and who has a slight alcohol problem it almost appears. Yet do not be deceived by that premise, it is still a well accomplished story. The others like it, such as "The Breakup," in which some shapeless mass grows behind the television set, becomes allegorical. Then there is a story of a group of people who become stuck in an elevator. There desperate attempt at survival against one another, and the prospect of never being rescued. Yet when they finally are freed of their small confinement there is a longing to be with each other.

One of the best stories of this collection comes from Finland with Tiina Raevaara, and her story "My Creator, My Creation," which has been labeled and linked to a modern day version of Frankenstein. This story deals with the creation, and the eventual development of the creations character. Also its tragic relationship it has with its own creator. Written in deceptively simple prose and with delicate naivety in the first person, as a reader we come to inhabit this creations daily life and the observations are abound. Dame A.S. Byatt's story "Doll's Eyes," is a story of love - in more ways than just one; a slight creepy pseudo-collection for lack of a better word; and the betrayal that happens of loving another person. From Ireland there is the comedic tale of a man who hears an orchestra that plays in his bones. Hence the title "Music in the Bone." The story that ensures is a comedic farce of trying to understand it, and an embarrassed, wife of her musically gifted husband. Whose musical performances in public received no applauds - because no one else could hear the music. Other stories worth mention like "The Eye of the Maple," by Ieva Toleikytė tells of a nameless disease that turns children blue - and the pseudo-doctors who try to heal them - and the barbaric acts of casual almost ritualistic violence of children. Then there is the hilariously romp of a story "Me and My Sacred Cow," which is surreal strange and yet a thorough delight, in all its oddities, which comes from Tania Maliarchuk of the Ukraine. Frances Marie Redonnet and her story "Madame Zabee's Guesthouse," discusses our inability to control fate - as the characters cross cultural borders and nationalities and sexual taboos and genders, we understand that no matter how we change, it still a very fatalist story. Yet well written in a lush prose style. A peculiar example of Europe and its language crossing barriers is the Turkish writer Zehra Cirak who writes in German. Her story "Memory Cultivation Salon," is one of bitter sweet feel good. The premise is about the main character - an elderly woman; reminisces about her first kiss with an older man, and where she learned to blow smoke rings. It's incredibly bittersweet, at least for me. The memories of sharing a first kiss and the fact that no one will ever achieve that again that first moment that sensation is a bitter sweet and wistful feeling. One were you smirk to yourself in that private memory.

There you have it Gentle Reader. "The Best European Fiction [of] 2013," a delightful mixture of surreal and magically mundane tales; to the political and historical to the personal tales dealing with memories and the individual lost in the greater historical era. Some succeed, while others do not match their counterparts. These stories are funny, powerful, haunting, personal and tragic - they are even difficult. They are carnivalesque masks in which each author adorns, and celebrates European fiction. A delightful read that, in the future I can see myself dipping into repeatedly.

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

Nobel Speculation (continued)

Hello Gentle Reader

First and foremost – allow me to extend my warmest and gracious thanks to all of you who have read my previous post in regards to my own speculation, of the Nobel Prize for Literature. As summer winds down the literary awards start the final round – the most notable one: The Nobel – and for English readers The Booker and for the German readers The German Book Prize. Again my thanks to all the readers, who read the speculative nominees. Still Gentle Reader, there is so many more author’s I’d like to name – and we will get to them. First and foremost though I wanted to talk about an interesting article I read the other day.

The other day, I read an article in the online publication of “World Literature Today,” in regards to Ismail Kadare – a perennial runner for the Nobel Prize for Literature – along with Czech writer Milan Kundera. The article titled “Why Ismail Kadare Should Win the 2013 Nobel Prize in Literature,” by Nina Sabolik a PhD student – begins with: “I should hate Ismail Kadare.”

What follows is a dissertation and historical lesson on Albanian and Macedonian feud. Which Kadare further supported with his refusal to sign a petition, which recognized Macedonia under its constitutional name. In doing so Kadare was the only one out of seventy authors at the conference, not to sign the petition. Five of those seventy authors were Albanian. In these regards the dissolution of the Former Yugoslavia’s consequences in some regards are still felt. Another reason the author claims why she should hate Kadare is that he collaborated with communist leader Enver Hoxha and his regime. In doing so Kadare did not protest enough. Still what I have understood is that Kadare did work for the government – but; was also highly critical of the government, and had committed publishing offenses. To the point where the censors – the police of the official party reality; had actually banned his books from publication. So this is not the Mo Yan case. Still at the end of this, first paragraph Ms. Sabolik, clarifies that she does not hate Kadare – after reading his work; and is so amazed by his work that she would like to nominate him for the Nobel Prize for Literature. From here on she explains why.

The bulk of this article was what pleased me the most. The author (Nina Sabolik) didn’t just base her opinion on the fact that the author was popular or at the forefront of Albanian or a giant of world literature. She analytically provided factual data, in order to support her claim. The most aggravating aspect of, people touting their favourite authors to win the world’s most prestigious and lucrative literary prize is that they just say:

“Because he is the king of [insert country here] letters.”

“Because [insert country here] has not won the prize ever/been two decades [or more].”

Among other; less factual statements. What most people to need to understand about the, Nobels (all of them) is that they are not the Olympics. These are scientists, writers and poets, activists and politicians and doctors, each nominated for the award, based upon their individual merit. This is not running around a track, throwing a javelin; skating in figure eights. The authors nominated, are not donning their head bands, and putting on their running shoes. They’re not running around the track like some horse race.

Sabolik goes on to detail the achievements and life of Kadare. She details his avoidance of writing clearly about the dictatorship. In favour of being elusive, and metaphorical in his criticism of the government. Often making compassions of historical figures or historical times and atrocities and folklore, to get the message across. For this though, the President of the League of Albanian writers and Artists had deliberately criticized Kadare; for his inability to deal with contemporary political situations. Instead focusing on history and folklore. The greatest piece of work that Sabolik uses, in favour of Kadare is his monumental novel “The Siege.”

“The Siege,” has been given comparison to Márquez, Coetzee, Pamuk, and Rushdie. Set in the fifteenth century the novel deals with Albania’s inability to come to terms with the Ottoman Empire. This means war is lurking overhead, and the fate of the people has been sealed. – Then the inevitable happens. The war begins. The novel details the days, weeks and months that follow the war. The battles that ensure, the despair of the plain, the bloodshed and all those involved. – It can be in a way difficult to think of this as a parable, to contemporary Albania. Annexed into the Soviet Union; and the puppet rule of Enver Hoxha.

The best quote from this article in regards to Kadare and why he should win the Nobel Prize for Literature is the following:

“All the main objections to Kadare’s nomination for the Nobel Prize stem from a single source: the inability of a Western audience to leave behind its own cultural provincialism and appreciate a writer who does not fit the world literature stereotype of, as James English describes it, a locally flavored multicultural mélange.”

Nina Sabolik; goes into further detail that Kadare is not an openly dissident author. He left Albania and sought out political asylum in nineteen-ninety one, only a year before Albania communist regime collapsed. Though many called Kadare the “Albanian Solzhenitsyn.” The west felt it has been misplaced on him. Still with Kadare’s comments:

“Dictatorship and authentic literature are incompatible. The writer is the natural enemy of dictatorship.”

Obviously this no Mo Yan again. At the same time, Kadare has also been a bit critical of being referred to as a “Solzhenitsyn-figure,” – because dissidence in Enver Hoxha regime was impossible, according to Kadare:

“Dissidence was a position no one could occupy [in Enver Hoxha's Albania], even for a few days, without facing the firing squad. On the other hand, my books themselves constitute a very obvious form of resistance.”

In these regards, Kadare is neither a conformist, nor a dissident, but an author who just happened to escape; and slyly took on Hoxha. This again though is not Mo Yan’s cowardly display of criticism. Criticism, which is given only to the regional political matters – not to that of the totalitarian government as a whole. Kadare went after Hoxha, and his regime. Kadare used folklore and historical references to hide his attack, in less political atmosphere, which was still criticised.

Still it doesn’t matter that Kadare’s work is opaque, his country too small, or that readers don’t know about Albania period. Then there is the complaint that his work is to sparse. What these critics who are grasping for straw need to remember, in Sabolik’s opinion, is that Kadare is awarded not by his country, not by his works difficult; but the merit that is there. Kadare is a giant in world literature. This however does not guarantee anything. But to for anyone to find fault in Kadare’s work, based on region, subject matter, or writing style is a bit ridiculous. Opaque is James Joyce’s “Finnegan’s Wake.” Overwritten is Thomas Pynchon.

I write the above though, not in support, but as my own enjoyment of what I had read, by Nina Sabolik. Ms. Sabolik writes with confidence in her dissertation. She provides coherent and detailed, factual evidence that, supports her claim. She provides evidence, why it could not happen, and then counter argues. Her statements were clear and concise. They were easily understandable and Ms. Sabolik has enough confidence in her arguments that they, hold their own weight.

This brings me to the following.

Mieko Kanai – Japan – Kanai is my alternative to Murakami. This Japanese author is a poet and a fiction writer. She has two books translated into English – one from “Dalkey Archive Press,” – “The Word Book,” while the other is “Indian Summer,” and is impossible to find. Mieko Kanai at the age of twenty years old, she was the runner up for the Dazu Osamu Prize. The following year she received the Gendashi Techo Prize for poetry. Her work is known for its sensuality, and its meta-fictional properties (fiction wise), and its dream-like landscapes of “The Word Book.” One of the stories, had inspired a short film: “The Fragments of Winter.” The film is based off the short story “The Moon,” by Kanai, from her short story collection “The Word Book.” It was filmed by Edmund Yeo, and was acclaimed.

Friederike Mayröcker – Austria – To be honest Gentle Reader, I was very mad at myself for letting Mayröcker slip my mind. She’s Austria’s foremost poet. She’s known for a avant-garde style of poetry. It is rather complicated and complex. She’s described her writing process as being infused visually. Everything for Friederike Mayröcker comes in pictures. Her memory is filled, with photographs. Like an art gallery/exhibit, or a photo album. Mayröcker then goes inside of the pictures, and from there turns the pictures into language. This effectively translating the image into the linguistic realm. She is one of the most influential members of the Vienna Group. It should be noted that Mayröcker finds it impossible, to write outside of Vienna. The entire city has become part of her creative process. Mayröcker has known to experiment with short prose pieces. She has found success outside of poetry with radio dramas.

I forgot a few writers, and poets that I had not included in the previous Nobel Speculation thread.

H. A. Sayeh – Iran/Germany – An Iranian poet, who has been living in Germany since nineteen-eighty seven. He first published poetry while still a high school student. However Sayeh’s output has been small. He has an obsession with perfection – phraseology and philosophical discussion. This often leaves his poetry glittering in its well perfected craftsmanship.

Kiwao Nomura – Japan – This is an avant-garde Japanese poet. Again an alternative to the popular Murakami. He’s poems are different, subtle and unique. They play with form, linguistic structure. They are also known for being performed by dancers – and Nomura himself is known for his creative, performances as a poet, and organizer of poetry festivals. It is said that Nomura and fellow Japanese poet Yoshimasu Gozo have no equivalent in the English language.

Yoshimasu Gozo – Japan – Is another avant-garde Japanese poet. He is also well known as a photographer, artist and filmmaker, along with other activities. Many of his poems feature a cross-bending of linguistic word play. As well as multilingual blending elements from: French, English, Gaelic, Chinese and Korean, to name just a few. His poems rely on an intimate closeness, to them. Usually it happens in a historical location or geographical spot. This allows for the present and past to co-exist in the experience.

There you have it Gentle Reader. My blog post, to apologize for missing yesterday, because of some technical difficulties. I wanted to continue the Nobel speculation, and apologize to the above authors. Again trying to be as open to authors throughout the world, and genres: fiction writer, poet, and playwright; in countries that are not well known. As well as discussing, a good article that makes their case; quite well and strong. The Nobel speculation will continue when Ladbrokes announces their own, betting odds.

The Article:

http://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/why-ismail-kadare-should-win-2013-nobel-prize-literature#.Uhj8mtKkpKw

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

Maidenhair

Hello Gentle Reader

There was a line in “Maidenhair,” by Mikhail Shishkin – one of the greatest and renowned contemporary authors of Russian Literature; that (this will not be quotes because it may not be verbatim – I was reading in travel when I read this passage): fate takes pity on some, punishes others. This all happens with no scrutiny. Peter the master of fate in “Maidenhair,” by Mikhail Shishkin, scrutinizes, and is well aware that he holds the keys to the gates of paradise. Looking across the table of the refugees who, do their best to make their case heard. While our main character only known as the “the interpreter,” (of Russian refugee’s) only translates the petitioners pleas for mercy, for asylum. Yet Peter is skeptical. His matter of fact way of interviews, Name, Age, and reason for asylum is all meant to discover a lie; any false information at all. Yet there is an issue. The ever skeptical Peter is out to look for fault some false embellishing of information. But if you have only your story – your words; all past evidence of documentation or testimony’s left behind; how can you convince the ever skeptical Peter?

In this long sprawling novel, of just over five hundred pages, Mikhail Shishkin tries to answer the question; but also questions about life and death; love and world; as well as God. Ambitious subject matter – that also has potential to fall into cliché. Yet with such a novel that defies easy summarization, Shishkin has done something rather unique. Something difficult and does not always succeed in. Yet he accomplished something that I doubt many authors will or would be able to do, and pull off. It’s ambitious. it’s difficult and tightly packed with literary allusions, and shifting narratives and a continual steam of consciousness like style that – at times as a reader one may feel that they have bitten off more than they can chew – and often wonder if Mikhail Shishkin has also bitten off more than he can chew as well.

Mikhail Shishkin is not a new name on the literary scene. Shishkin is the handsome contemporary Russian author. With salt and pepper hair, trimmed scruff, and those pale sky blue eyes. I first came to know who Mikhail Shishkin back in two-thousand and eleven. The German website “signandsight.com,” had an interview with the Russian author. The interview was conducted because the German version of Maidenhair then translated as “Venushaar,” had won that, years “German International Literature Award.” Mikhail Shishkin has been living abroad though, for quite some time. Since nineteen-ninety five – almost twenty years; the author has been living in Switzerland. Though the Russian reading public and critics have revered and celebrated the author. In the interview, Shishkin has explained why his novels, were difficult to get translated in German. They were often rejected because they were seen as too ‘demanding,’ and therefore were risky in the market. Yet with the publication of “Venushaar,” in Germany and now “Maidenhair,” in English speaking countries – it is certainly understandable why there were reasonable concerns in regards to publishing a translation; at the same time it has proven to be well worth the risk.

If there are two literary darlings of two-thousand and twelve and two-thousand and thirteen it would be the Hungarian author László Krasznahorkai and Mikhail Shishkin. Both authors write demanding and challenging work. Yet both have been well received by critics and international readers, for their ability to challenge and reward. Mikhail Shishkin has had a different life from Krasznahorkai. After graduating from university where he studied English and German, Shishkin worked as a street sweeper, road worker, journalist, translator, and school teacher – then finally in nineteen-ninety three, Shishkin debuted with a short story “Calligraphy Lessons.” From nineteen-ninety five he lived in Zurich, Switzerland. Shishkin’s prose has been compared from Dostoevsky to Tolstoy all the way to expatriate author Vladimir Nabokov and even to James Joyce. Though many say if he were to be compared to any Russian writer it, would be Pushkin. Shishkin however had this to say in regards to the authors that have taught him, and which he admires:

“Bunin taught me not to compromise, and to go on believing in myself. Chekhov passed on his sense of humanity – that there can’t be any wholly negative characters in your text. And from Tolstoy I learned not to be afraid of being naïve.”

Mikhail Shishkin also made some news back in the early part of May. Mikhail Shishkin had asked for his name to be removed from an international literary event, as he did not want to represent a country: “where power has been seized by a corrupt, criminal regime [and] where the state is a pyramid of thieves.” Shishkin therefore did not attend the expo on ethical grounds as he put it. Though it still has not changed much political efforts in Russia. Just recently the government signed legislation that would ban talking about homosexuality and its existence with children – Santa Claus exists but not gay people! Other criticism has come over Russia defending the Syrian government regime, and there unresponsive attitude towards North Korea’s threats.

This is a difficult and demanding novel. “Maidenhair,” pushes the boundaries of logic without a second thought. The prose is lucid, lyrical and deals with a lot of stream-of-consciousness. There is no running continual arch of a story. No real plotline. This does not demean the work. As the short story writer, William Trevor once pointed out: a story does not need a plot; but it does need a point. Mikhail Shishkin’s novel does have a point over plot. He uses the interrogations or interviews between Peter and the petitioner – while the interpreter acts as the mode of correspondence; as a way of both showing the truth is subjective.

Many of the stories told through the interviews, are farfetched beyond belief. But in a sense Shishkin plays with the idea of truth, as well as stories. As it’s pointed out the people do not have any documentation or paper work to back up their claims. No matter how absurd they are. So Peter is less to catch their lies; scrutinize their supposed true accounts of their persecution. Yet these, stories like, much in this book baffles logic; and laughs at any concept of order. It is written in a sense of dream logic. Everything happens because it happens. Not with rhythm not with reason. In that sense this book can be very hard. It’s hard to get into because there is no relation and sometimes the demands that are being forced upon the reader, can sometimes be a bit too trying. In that sense its innovation is also its biggest flaw. At times it can be a rather large blemish. Yet it does succeed a lot. We understand what is going on only when we cease to attempt to place any sense of order on it. Eventually memories, memoirs, interrogation, and stories – they all merge into one another; bleed in and out.

I must admit though Gentle Reader; the question and answer format is not something that I particularly enjoyed in this book. It really tested my own tolerance for what I can accept, in an attempt at logical understanding or rational comprehension. It just proved to be frustrating, and tried the patience, that did not always run smoothly.

Yet there is salvation in the notebooks of Isabella. A young Russian girl who first starts keeping a notebook and diary during The Great War, and later lives on during the Soviet Union. She proves to be a humanely narrator. One who has hopes and dreams – she recounts observations of her family; she falls in and out of love; she feels no greater pleasure than to love. Each time she pours out her feelings of love and infatuation towards the new object of her affection. Yet later down the road it meets its eventual end. She recounts her admirable farther, her dutiful mother; her siblings that drift in and out of her life, like dandelion seeds in the wind. They all flicker in the incandescent light bulb of her memory. A continual tango of her life of highs and stalling periods, and lows where she confesses and pours out once again; only later on to be on the rise again.

Yet Isabella can at times be self-pitying and offer only banal observations that a young person can offer: such as her ugly hands; her enjoyment in the activity of singing, petty jealousies, annoyances with friends. Yet it’s much appreciated, and a sense of grounded realism and the story can be followed nicely feels more like an achievement and less like a bad mistake, or that you haven’t quite grasped what everyone else is so hyped up about. Yet its Isabella’s narrative that takes on a lot of the necessities of the novel, and in that sense, it allows for Mikhail Shishkin to show is novelistic abilities, and show, that he can deal with human concepts or abstract concepts and how they affect they individual. These themes of love, and war – death and heart break, blend so easily in with Isabella’s narrative. The loss of one of her lover, who went out to war, out of some senseless duty – or irritated jealousy and not being self-sacrificing like all the other brave soldiers; and instead finding himself sitting around debating why war happens and how to prevent it. Yet as Shishkin shows with Isabella, people have the uncanny ability to move on. Too forget their love and their loss for the dearly departed. They move on, and love again. They love the living. They feel the heartbeat. They laugh with them. They rejoice the sunshine on their skin. In a sense in Shishkin’s novel love does not belong to someone solely. It transfers and transcends from individual to individual. It is constantly in a shift. Constantly in movement. Husbands take lovers; and wives meet a gentleman caller. All because affection, has once again changed to some degree or another. Perhaps it’s not an original concept. Yet Shishkin deals with it well. Always avoiding clichés, but finding unique characters, and showing that the banality can be as interesting in the narrative in fact more true to the narrative then action filled events – like a war or some revolution. Though war and revolution also work for Shishkin; as Isabella lives though the events of the twentieth century, we see everything presented through her biased eyes. It is still very interesting.

Unfortunately this novel is very difficult to review. I feel as I’ve only been acquainted with this novel, and will most likely have to read it again and again and again before it starts to make sense; before I start to understand the literary allusions that are being presented in the text, and how they accompany and make it work. I can see why it was nominated for the Best Translated Book Award, but also how it was beat out by “Satantango,” is the Mikhail Shishkin writes and deals with themes that will need to be re-read and over looked again and again. One does not completely understand or comprehend what they are reading with “Maidenhair,” the first time they read it. They come to understand it more and more, after each re-reading, becoming not just acquainted with the work, but forming a deeper understanding and relationship with the text, and with what Shishkin has tried to accomplish and has in many ways achieved.

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