Everything – or nothing – to lose

With Berlin’s International Literature Festival, another cultural event made tentative steps back to normality last month. I read with great interest Leïla Slimani’s opening speech in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Sonntagszeitung and fortunately it has made its way into the wide world with an English translation in pdf format available here. Also, I suppose in the interest of the “International …” bit, Slimani delivers her address in English so I have embedded the YouTube video (54:00) below. (I have to say, with opening passages that invites her listeners to join her in a thought experiment, Slimini immediately outs herself as a Virginia Woolf acolyte; for such is a technique not dissimilar to that which Woolf often used in her speeches (including those that were to form the basis of “A Room of One’s Own”). Sure enough Woolf is quickly catapulted to center stage; the direct quotes come from a wonderful 931 essay called “Professions for Women” – to be read here, and found in many anthologies of her work.)

Opening 21st International Literature Festival, Berlin, September 2021

A star of the literary scene in Europe and beyond, Leïla Slimani carefully constructs an argument that is concerned with some of the contemporary tendencies; ones that stifle constructive discourse and shy at the complexities of literature. Having encouraged us to (do a Virginia Woolf) and brutally kill off the angels within; she reminds us of the fates of the famous, the notorious, the literary heroines of yore; how little girls are molded to fit an ideal and come of age conditioned to please and in fear of transgression; how our voices are so often curtailed or silenced. And it is here, and with her own experiences, she connects with the fashionable preoccupation of renegotiating the past, of speaking at one’s own peril! For, she maintains, we must speak up, and without trepidation, without fear of reprisal (yes, of being cancelled.) Writers and artists (but we all really) must have the freedom to break down walls and resist categorizations and assumptions – and this can only be achieved when we are in command of our voice. There is more, so whether watched or read or both, Ms. Slimani’s words are well worthy of our time and thought.

Having now done so, and following the recent talk surrounding Slimani’s new book, In the Country of Others, the first of a trilogy and this one set mostly in post-World War II Morocco, and with very much familial biographical elements, I surprise myself by the realization that I have not read any of her work (slender though it is; to date only three novels) – even successfully “not reading” Lullaby (The Perfect Nanny in the US) her controversial, prize-winning and best-selling novel of a children-murdering nanny (well, that’s the short version, presumably there is much more to it than that). Why I deemed this a success on my part I couldn’t say. Subject matter? Aversion to hype? The first would imply an over-sensitivity that I would be quick to deny; the second, an affliction that I have often overcome. Whatever the reason, its status suggested it as an appropriate literary starter. But alas, at least here in Germany, it remains so popular that I must wait my turn at the local library.

However, the German translation of her 2015 first novel Dans le jardin de l’ogres, which was published outside France in 2019 after the success of Lullaby, was available. All das zu verlieren, meaning literally in English “everything to lose” and which was published as Adèle in English, was certainly a difficult introduction to this lauded writer. Normally, perhaps, I would have read the dust-jacket blurb and thought: well, rather not. (I swear I am of an age where I struggle with contemporary twenty-somethings or thirty-somethings with husbands or wives and/or lovers, kids, parents – none of whom understand them – doing what they sincerely believe to be radical!) What could this Adèle, for that is the thirty-something (with husband and child, et cetera) subject’s name, have to say to me?

Continue reading…

Post-script: The Odyssey Book 8

Copied beneath is a post-script to my reading of Book 8 of The Odyssey, which I have updated here.

[22. September 2021] Odysseus weeps and weeps some more as Demodocus sings of the mayhem and blood shed as Troy falls, but it has come to my attention, that the sorrow he exhibits, the tears he sheds, can be interpreted as an asymmetrical act to the grief of Andromache on the death of Hector and her anguish about what fate now awaits her.

Odysseus was melting into tears;
his cheeks were wet with weeping, as a woman
weeps, as she falls to wrap her arms around
her husband, fallen fighting for his home
and children. She is watching as he gasps
and dies. She shrieks, a clear high wail, collapsing
upon his corpse. The men are right behind.
They hit her shoulders with their spears and lead her
to slavery, hard labor, and a life
of pain. Her face is marked with her despair.
In that same desperate way, Odysseus 
was crying [...] 

Book 8 [lines 521-532], The Odyssey, trans. Emily Wilson (pp. 237-239)

It is really quite extraordinary that it is a woman who is introduced as a simile for the state of the grieving Odysseus, and then takes on a life of her own in the verse. And that life could be, generically speaking, the widow who has lost her beloved on the battlefield and is facing an uncertain future, or it could be imagined more specifically as Andromache. Though, in the moment, Odysseus’ emotions are being stirred by his intense warrior pride and the desire to hear again tales of days of glory, perhaps I was remiss in not allowing some credence to the possibility that Odysseus’ reaction was not also a gesture of empathy for those who had suffered in Troy; after all he has come some way – and in more than nautical miles – since the Trojan war.

Amartya Sen

pub. Allen Lane (UK) 2021

Enjoyed very much this long read (a couple of months old) by the great Amartya Sen at The Guardian; adapted from his memoir, Home in the World: A Memoir , that was published in the UK this summer by Allen Lane. This particular extract, which is memoir only in that it harks back to the India of his youth, resembles more a miniature lesson in post-colonial imperatives, and one in which Sen refutes some of the spurious arguments in defense of the Raj that regularly do the rounds.

For example, the oft spun notion of the inherent isolationism of the sub-continent, regional kingdoms and ethnic and religious fragmentation; purportedly to be solved only through imperialism. Sen offers instead alternative narratives of what might have been from which follows an imagined history, but nevertheless one that inspires a more thoughtful awareness of how India’s long history was (and still is, he would suggest) embellished and appropriated to fit a particular world view. Contrary to the social and economic arguments that show British rule in a good light, Amartya Sen emphasizes the two centuries of, amongst other things, economic stagnation and low literacy rates that all the virtues of parliamentary governance and public service can not recast. Of course, the East India Company can not help but make its ugly presence known, and this reminds me of William Dalrymple’s 2019 book The Anarchy: The Relentless Rise of the East India Company, reviewed here at The Guardian. (Dalrymple also contributed a very worthy long read on the aforesaid in 2015.)

Amartya Sen was on my mind not so long ago – well, on reflection, longer than I thought, last year actually – when he was awarded the Friedenspreis des Deutschen Buchhandels (Peace Prize of the German Book Trade – clumsy, I know, but their English translation not mine!); usually a very big deal in Germany – lots of fanfare, sometimes controversy, and the presentation televised on the final day of the Frankfurter Buchmesse. Unfortunately, the 2020 honouring of Sen got somewhat lost in the cancellation of the Book Fair (Covid!) but, through the wonders (!) of our digital second-life, the laudatory remarks from the German president, Frank-Walter Steinmeir (but delivered by Burkhart Klaußner because …you guessed it – Covid quarantine!) and Sen’s gracious acceptance speech are available here.

Iliad translation: Emily Wilson update

An update on Emily Wilson’s translation of the Iliad is always welcome news, and especially given that I have been reading through it again (well sort of!) in recent weeks and it still remains a mystery – which is okay only up to a point.

The above tweet relates to Book 10, and I do hope she is not working absolutely chronologically; should she be, there is an awful long way to go! Ever the optimist, this YouTube video clip is of a segment from Book 18 (recited by Wilson in Greek and her work in progress English translation) where Thetis and the nereids are singing their lament, suggests otherwise. Actually, I would be really interested in knowing a little about her work practice and methods.

Angela Merkel and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

From the previous post – in Dresden with a Baroque master one day and the evening prior in Düsseldorf with a contemporary literary superstar. As I suggested: some of the perks of higher office!

As I post, I haven’t as yet seen this video, but the event has been well reported upon in Germany and I hear tell it was a successful meeting of two outwardly very different women – of different generations and heritage – but both of whom during the last decade or so have found (international) fame and influence, and a search for (and finding of) commonality that included, beyond their respective crafts of State and art, a quiet and personal discussion on grief springing from Adichie’s essay (now book) that I have previously discussed and an open and sincere invitation from Adichie for the soon to be ex-Bundeskanzlerin to visit Nigeria, that is, with all the freedoms and interests of the private person.

Vermeer in Dresden

In the waning days of her Kanzlerschaft, and plagued still by the crises that have defined it, Angela Merkel must surely crave for some moments of respite. One of them may well have been her opening last week, alongside the Prime Minister of the Netherlands, Mark Rutte, of the Johannes Vermeer. On Reflection exhibition at the Dresden Gemäldegalerie.

The exhibition has as its centerpiece the familiar Girl Reading a Letter at an Open Window, with an unfamiliar new look. After years of restoration, during which it was proven that the ‘picture within a picture’ on the rear wall (uncovered by x-ray imaging forty odd years ago) had been painted over by another hand than that of Vermeer, the Cupid has now been revealed and the painting restored to its original condition.

  • Before restoration
  • Restored to reveal Cupid on wall
Girl Reading a Letter at an Open Window, Johannes Vermeer, circa. 1657-59, Staatlichen Kunstsammlungen Dresden (SKD)

For a chronology of the painting’s not uneventful life, and the technical aspects of the restoration, refer to the SKD website (details are also in English). And, the NYT had a very informative article during the week.

More than well spun…

No longer a favourite white tee for him and her (or me), but still it caught my eye; any wonder when it so cries: “Fruits of the loom: why Greek myths are relevant for all time!” And, it continues, and gets only better: “…Classicist Charlotte Higgins explores stories that weave together the fabric of our existence“. A must read, then, on The Guardian website.

Greek Myths: A New Retelling

And having done so – read the above said article I mean – I know this to be an introduction of sorts to coincide with the publication in the UK of Charlotte Higgins’ own new book Greek Myths: A New Retelling (Jonathon Cape, 2021), and which is to be published in the US in December. I haven’t read Higgins’ previous books, but she is known to me from her excellent and varied cultural journalism at The Guardian, and her declared rational behind her “retelling” is so compelling, that this too now a must read.

Interesting, also: drawings by Chris Ofili! What a coup by whoever, or whatever circumstance, initiated his involvement.

The Great Wave

In the digital magazine, Aeon (very accessible and very much to be recommended) “Great Art Explained” series: the famous Hokusai work, The Great Wave off Kanagawa (circa. 1830) in a short video (also on YouTube and embedded below) explained.

And, exceedingly well explained in my opinion; especially informative is the greater look at the rigid class hierarchy of the Edo period from which ukiyo-e (simplistically put: the traditional Japanese wood block prints of the time) sprung, and evolved – from its folkloric, hedonistic beginnings to a broader range of subjects that, with Hokusai, would find inspiration in the landscape. Mount Fuji would replace the Kabuki actor as the star of the popular print.

The video, then, is not just about one work, nor one artist, but offers a glimpse at an art form rooted in the traditions – cultural and technical – of Japan but, with a nation’s opening up to the world after two centuries of self-imposed isolationism, that was to be influenced from without (for instance; away from the human form as prime subject, Prussian blue ink, perspective techniques), and then, in turn, to make its own mark on movements elsewhere, especially on the impressionist and post-impressionist movements in 19th century western Europe. (This Wikipedia article on ‘Japonisme’ is informative in this respect.) Not dissimilar to the to and fro of waves – both great and small – falling upon shores – near and far- in a continual rhythmic exchange; dislocating silt and sand from one place and depositing it in the next.

This latter observation reminded me of a – to then be sought out again – stunning interactive piece last year from Jason Farago, and still on the NYT website (for those with access). Linked to here and headed A Picture of Change for a World in Constant Motion, Farago investigates another Katsushika Hokusai print, “Ejiri in Suruga Province” from his renowned cycle “Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji.”. Without the iconic appeal of “The Great Wave”, Farago does however excavate from this work an awful lot of stuff that feels contemporaneous, and connects our fast and furious times to the frenetic pace of life on the brink of modernity at the turn into the last century; in disparate regions of the world with cultural traditions in opposition only when considered under a purely chauvinistic gaze.

“Ejiri in Suruga Province” Katsushika Hokusai – Donated to Wikimedia Commons as part of a project by the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In this tenth print of the series, the wave metaphor has been blown away by the wind – the winds of change perhaps; more than fishing vessels on high seas threatened, their crews bowed, praying in unison, the mighty Mount Fuji made minute, this landscape, while treacherous still and with a winding path difficult to traverse, it is well-peopled by those taking their destiny in their own hands, doggedly facing down the head-winds.

And, if all that was not enough, the master is to feature in an upcoming exhibition at the British Museum; Hokusai: The Great Picture Book of Everything (30 September 2021 – 30 January 2022) – a recently acquired collection of small drawings, rarely before seen. The exhibition website is a wellspring of information, and includes an online look at the entire collection.