(Hilary) Mantel pieces

I recall a piece about Hilary Mantel in The Guardian the other day, which mentioned a forthcoming collection of essays; and I was immediately taken by the title: “Mantel Pieces”. This I thought very clever indeed – a nice play with name in the first instance, and then there is the association to fireplace which extends to frame and flame, warmth and light, kindle and burn, etc., and extended then to the shelf above – a piece, a place of display and decoration. Many attributes that could well apply to a fine piece of writing. And certainly to most everything put to page by Hilary Mantel.

Maybe it was that I was just a little too interested in what Mantel had to say about not making the Booker shortlist (pragmatic and gracious, of course!), or maybe it was not said; for whatever reason I failed to get that the collection does in fact comprise her contributions to the London Review of Books over thirty odd years, and this I register only now on reading this blog entry at the LRB. (A delightfully informative blog entry by the way; fulfilling the requirements as stipulated by the marketing department!) Mantel Pieces, then, is a compilation of twenty essays or reviews and, even more tantalising, each is accompanied by fragments of correspondence (for instance, with the editor Mary-Kay Wilmers) or artwork relating to the piece.

Fact-checking my own recollection: in fact, the subject matter of the collection was NOT said in the abovementioned Guardian article – only the October publication date. What it did say and I should add, is that at the moment Hilary Mantel is busily at work adapting The Mirror and the Light for the stage (alas, there is no mention yet of a continuation to the BBC television effort), and so, even if inclined to, she has little time to cry in her teacups, and obviously maintains an air of optimism in terms of a return to normality in the theatrical landscape in London.

And, diverting slightly, more generally speaking on the politics of book awards, I note the following:

As I predicted, there does appear again to be murmurings about the probity of opening up of the Booker to US authors (coming mostly from the conservative media in the UK granted), but Hilary Mantel is otherwise inclined and accepts the diversification argument and encourages British and Commonwealth authors to accept the challenge of greater competition. As I said: gracious. I was actually quite peeved, specifically about the Mantel omission and more generally am sceptical of conflating powerful US book market interests with good literature !
And then, this just read in the NYT, which is illustrative of the above said, and is some affirmation of my argument:

…another major literary event threatens to make an already overcrowded fall publishing season even more chaotic: the release of former President Barack Obama’s memoir, “A Promised Land.”
On Tuesday, the Booker Prize said it was moving its award ceremony, previously scheduled for Nov. 17, to Nov. 19 to avoid overlapping with the publication of Mr. Obama’s book…
…[this]could also fuel new criticism that the prize, originally established in 1969 to honor writers from Commonwealth countries and the Republic of Ireland, has become too Americanized and increasingly focused on the U.S. book market. American authors have dominated the Booker nominees in recent years, following a 2014 rule change that made any novel written in English and published in the U.K. eligible…

It is clear, the book business (and when all’s said and done awards are after all just another element of merchandising) operates on a global scale as with most everything else these days – for good or ill, and that is unlikely to change.

Yes, yes…I get it that the Booker people fear their winner will go under in the Barack Obama hype, it is just that I consider their argument somewhat specious – many, many people will read Obama and a lot, lot less people will read a fine contemporary novel, and some will read both, and maybe I am the latter, but they are hardly works in competition to each other. More honest would have been to admit to kowtowing to the pressure of monolithic publishing companies.

The good news is: in former President Obama, we have an ardent reader, from whom we can expect each summer one of his cult reading lists, which is sure to include National Book Award and Booker nominees and unknown gems and certainly NOT a de rigeur presidential afterlife – granted he has no reason to read a thousand pages of politicking; he lived it to write it!

A philosophical mix – or fix!

Some balm for the tormented psyche (or tortured soul in shifted state)! Of which there are enough in these days of late! A bit of philosophising can never go astray; here, then, a very nice podcast (this from Spotify, but only because I can embed it here which doesn’t apply to other platforms like Apple from which it is also available) that has come my way by chance. It is somehow consoling to reflect upon the fact that so many of our trials and tribulations, that we recognise as particular to our own time, have in fact been pondered upon by our ancestors since antiquity.

The Panpsycast Philosophy Podcast

Aimed at teachers and students in the United Kingdom, some of the subject matter is fairly dense, some not so, and mostly accessible to an enquiring mind, and there could be worse ways in which to while away an hour or so. Here is the website with some further information, and from which it is easier to explore and dive into episodes of particular interest.

Start the Week…

with Marilynne Robinson et al.

Always a very good listen, but I was especially delighted with Marilynne Robinson being a guest on Andrew Marr’s BBC Radio 4 program “Start the Week” this morning. Here it is at Spotify (also available as podcast at Apple.)

Andrew Marr talks to Marilynne Robinson and Rowan Williams September 28, 2020.

Robinson discusses her new novel in the context of her wider work and concerns in the modern world; both the sacred and the profane. Her co-guest is Rowan Williams, former Archbishop of Canterbury, who speaks on the 16th century Benedictine monastic tradition; subject of his recent book The Way of St. Benedict, and its relevance now.

With such a pairing one expects the sacred to win out, but Marr ensures the more profane does not come up short. For me, at least, a very nice start to the week.

Reading Reviews – on “Jack”

That’s a thing with pre-sale reviews: does oneread, or does one not? And that question arises especially when applied to a work long awaited, and, for me, that is the case with Marilynne Robinson’s Jack; her fourth novel in a series that started with Gilead in 2004, which is in stores, on shelves (or coming via one of those ubiquitous “distribution centres” or appearing on a screen out of thin air; named for a mythical tribe of female warriors, or for the tributaries of some mighty waters) next week.

Alas, the temptation can not be resisted, and all my resistance must be directed instead against undue influence. But I usually do this well enough.

Here, then, a selection from the last couple of days:

Jordan Kisner’s reading is the one with the most intellectual depth. It is clear she knows the place from where Robinson comes, metaphorically if not in a real sense. It may, or may not, be called “Gilead”, but I would guess it has the essence of nonetheless. An excellent essay, I think. Should I wonder that they – Kisner and Robinson – share a publisher? Well I could but I won’t – and her piece is certainly not uncritical, but it is written with admiration and serious intent. She really makes some quite profound observations, not the least her identification of “predestination” as a leitmotif in Robinson’s work:

…Robinson is a Calvinist, and over the course of these novels, Jack has stood out among her characters—troublesome, seductive, full of pathos—because he most represents a central theological question raised by the Calvinist doctrine of predestination: Can a person be damned to perdition? Or, to use non-Calvinist language: Can a person be irretrievably and miserably wrong, broken, no-good, unsalvageable? If he is, and he knows that he is, what is he then to do? Does he have anything he can hope for?
The Atlantic, October 2020 issue

A wonderful extension of this, is Kisner’s assertion that Robinson has “trapped Jack and Della in a kind of structural predestination….”. This can only really be understood having read the other novels of the Gilead series with their sometimes parallel and sometimes circular chronologies, being such that we do know how it ends for Jack and Della. (Though I could qualify that and say: well, up to a point – who knows!)

Now, Dwight Garner at the NYT approaches Robinson with a determinably non-religious attitude. Which is okay, because I did likewise (and in some ways still do). But her work – and I can’t imagine this new novel to be otherwise – can not be understood without reference to the inherent Calvinistic stance from which it comes. Don’t say it can’t be done – see James Wood’s 2004 NYT piece; and I shouldn’t have to tell anybody where Wood stands when it comes to religion! It is obvious Garner can’t see much beyond the obvious when it comes to Jack; a miscreant, a bum – slick, unsavoury. As true as the nouns may be, so the adjectives. It’s just that I would call him: the loneliest of men; a weary, tormented soul. And Della? Garner says: “…[she is] a fascinating character [who] should resonate far more than she does…”. How can she possibly fascinate if she does not resonate? He goes on to bemoan that neither character has an “independent life” because the author has placed them both in “halters” of her own making. All I can say here is – besides well, they are her (Robinson’s) characters after all – is that I will return to this after my own reading.

Am I wrong in thinking that Garner didn’t have much interest in reading this novel (he sort of admits as much, or at least his ambivelence!) let alone reviewing it? Did the NYT have nobody else doing books this week? Anything by Marilynne Robinson deserves more consideration than that granted in this review. Mr. Garner didn’t have to like it, but he could have accorded just a modicum of the effort granted by Ms. Kisner. (Should I be sounding peeved, may I say in my defence, I am a really fair in this regard. For example, earlier in the year Daniel Mendelsohn gave a rather unfavourable review of Hilary Mantel’s final Cromwell tome, a lot of which I was not in agreement, but it was so well written, original in thought, fair in criticism …and respectful! That’s important I think, and what I miss in Garner’s review.)

The Odyssey (9): Books 15 – 16

Letting the mask drop

What does it mean to finally come home? Place is one thing, but what of the heart? And should those loved remain distant, or never there? Now, that a much more complicated matter, and for each alone to decide.

The scene has been set, the rehearsals are over, but the characters – sometimes costumed, sometimes not – are ready in the wings; the time approaches to tread the boards, reveal their true selves, and see where fickle Fate may lead.

Book 15: the prince returns

pp. 350-368

Athena in her inimitable way, of deception and persuasion and prophecy, arranges that Telemachus make a quick departure from Sparta and from his host Menalaus. En route, in Pylos, he bids farewell to this new friend, Pisistratus, avoiding King Nestor who would surely demand he stay, before embarking again upon high seas – there is a time to enjoy the fruits of hospitality and a time to make haste.

Back on Ithaca another gifted story teller joins the fray. Eumaeus tells Odysseus his tale of a life robbed from him as a child through wicked circumstance and the avarice of others, and offered to the highest bidder; to be enslaved, but saved from the worst by the generosity of Odysseus’ father, Laertes, and finding favour with his mother and sister. Does Odysseus even wonder why it is that he does not know this story of his noble slave?

Book 16: Father and son

pp. 369-385

I note with interest that on his arrival at Eumaeus’ hut, Telemachus is greeted not only with delight by the loyal swineherd but with calm and familiarity by his dogs; previously, had Eumaeus not intervened, Odysseus would certainly have been mauled by them. This says something I think about time – at least one canine generation has passed since Odysseus left his home shores; these fierce (fiercly loyal) dogs know only his son to be their master’s master. Again, does Odysseus wonder? I say “again” because it sometimes occurs to me that for someone supposedly so clever, Odysseus has a way of overlooking the obvious in his midst. Does his heart swell not just a little with pride and does he not think: “My son has garnered the respect of these beasts, and that is no easy thing; he is the lord they know not I.”?

Telemachus is interested in this “stranger” that he finds in Eumaeus company, accords him courtesy and respect – a noble manner that does impress Odysseus – and when Eumaeus has departed to tell Penelope of her son’s safe return, the opportunity arises for Athena to transform Odysseus once again into some version of his younger self; least ways a version that quickly convinces Telemachus that this is indeed his father. Emotionally charged is an understatement to describe their reunion, but swiftly the mood changes into one of vengeful plotting. At the palace, the target – that pesky band of suitors – peeved at their unsuccessful efforts to date, is also making plans to have another go at ridding themselves of Telemachus (not unanimous granted – Amphinomus is a voice of dissent). Penelope confronts them with her knowledge of their wicked plans, of which they are quick to deny, and Athena must help to bring sleep to this grieving wife and mother that night.

And as if she had nothing else to do, Athena’s busy wand must transform Odysseus back to his old beggar self before Eumaeus return. But now another is privy to his disguise; for he has a co-conspirator (“But what about me?” Athena may well haughtily demand!), and what better person than one’s own flesh and blood. Father and son would surely sleep well this night.

A “Booker” update

Well, Hilary Mantel will not be winning a third Booker prize; the short list confirms that my laws of probability held true, and the closest to home-grown, so to speak, in the all but final call of the United Kingdoms’s premier book award is a Glasgow-born American – Douglas Stuart. But it is a diverse and interesting group, with some new names, and I do declare if very few seem to have much appetite for scandal in this ‘stranger than fiction’ year!

An interesting additive: here is a really nice piece in The New York Times, giving a glimpse of a socially-distanced, long-distance literary judging process in days of Corona. By the way, my attention momentarily turned to the accompanying screen shot of the jury at work, and the caption: “Emily Wilson, she/her, judge” – and a memo to myself to seriously investigate pronouns!

A pig in a poke

In a blog entry for the LRB in 2018, Emily Wilson gave a lesson in reportage gone awry – lost in translation or just plain misunderstood. Whichever, the claims circulating in the media at the time that a clay tablet discovered near Olympia, with lines from Book 14 of the Odyssey, was perhaps the oldest extract from the epic, were way off-base – for all the reasons she explains in her entry.

For my purposes, I mention this in passing only because of where I am at the moment in my epic reading, and Emily Wilson’s comments in respect to the nature of the inscription. Following is some of the passage on the tablet, and in her own translation:

His yard was high and visible for miles,
of fieldstones topped with twigs of thorny pear.
He built it in the absence of his master,
with no help from Laertes or the mistress.
Around the yard, he set a ring of stakes,
of wood with bark stripped off. Inside the yard,
he made twelve sties all next to one another, 
...

Book 14 [lines 8-14] The Odyssey, trans. Emily Wilson

Of course, we have here the beginning of Book 14, and Odysseus, in the beggar’s guise created for him by Athena, is approaching the humble yard of the swineherd, Eumaeus. It is this descriptive passage that leads Wilson to wonder at the purpose of the artefact – the subject matter is hardly the most profound; perhaps its origins were of a more mundane or utilitarian nature than cultural.

Not exactly a pig in a poke, but close. Just as it is wise to check your purchases, so it is to double check sources of information. Emily Wilson ends on a positive note anyway:

The bright side to this inaccurately reported story is that it reveals a hunger among the general public for news about the ancient world. […] Maybe this fake news story will inspire more people to investigate the ancient world for themselves, and also to realise that the stories told about the Odyssey are – like the poem’s wily, scheming, deceitful protagonist himself – not always to be taken at face value.
LRB Blog, 14 JULY 2018, “Making a Pigsty” by Emily Wilson

The Odyssey (8): Books 13 – 14

A tricky coming home

Kindred spirits, our hero and his guardian goddess. Considered in a favorable light, a case could be made that the characteristics that unite Athena and Odysseus are those of intelligence, cleverness, shrewdness and super quick with a plan for all occasions. A couple of strategists you could say! Less charitably, but equally apt, is that we have here a duplicitous pair of incorrigible schemers and tricksters! And the sympathy Athena and Odysseus share for one another is tempered by their conceits, be they godly or very human. Just who is the cleverest of us all? I am! – cries she. No, I am! – returns he. Between these two, stuff is always complicated. But before they can go toe to toe and show off their stuff, Odysseus has to get home.

And it is Odysseus’ long delayed homecoming that opens the next book of the epic. Having survived the dangers of foreign shores and treacherous seas, nostos describes the very special return of the Ancient Greek hero, one such as Odysseus, to the land of their fathers.

BOOK 13: Two tricksters

pp. 316-331

*Odysseus departs from the Land of the Phaeacians*, painting by Claude Lorrain (1646)

And the time came for Odysseus to bid farewell to the Phaecians; they who were such a willing audience to his tales of tribulations and conceits, and offered so much hospitality in return. With all honor hosts and guest feasted together for one last time, and then King Alcinious sent Odysseus on his way – and with his finest ship and crew and a trove of gifts.

Odysseus slept at last the sleep of the contented, and when he woke the crew had left him with all his abundant gifts near the Nereids’ cave on Ithaca shore; so disguised by Athena that Odysseus would not recognize it as his home (to what end? ). Not so lucky the brave crewmen who, upon their home journey, met their fate at the hands of the ever vengeful Poseidon. The Phaecians must pay highly for their Gastfreundshaft.

Athena, under the guise of a shepherd boy, tells Odysseus that he is on Ithaca, and, delighted as he may by these words that he so longed to hear, he is not convinced, and in turn does not reveal himself but spins a tale of Crete, of Troy, of murderous and heroic escapades. To which Athena is mightily impressed and unmasks herself with words as much about herself as about Odysseus:

                     "To outwit you
in all your tricks, a person or a god
would need to be an expert at deceit.
You clever rascal! So duplicitous,
so talented at lying! You love fiction
and tricks so deeply, you refuse to stop
even in your own land. Yes, both of us
are smart. No man can plan and talk like you,
and I am known among the gods for insight
and craftiness.You failed to recognize me:
I  am Athena, child of Zeus. I always
stand near you and take car of you, in all
your hardships...

"The Odyssey" Book 13 [292-303]

The ever wary Odysseus, still doubting of Athena’s rectitude, is only persuaded of the reality of his homecoming after the goddess raises the mist she has cast, and he sees there before him indeed his beloved land – and kisses the fertile ground he has so longed to have beneath his weary feet. Athena tells Odysseus of all the hardships faced by his wife and son at the mercy of the ill-intentioned suitors, and together they plan the demise of this disreputable troop of young men; and this, like most things with Athena, means undercover work – and a disguise! Our hero with a tap of the goddess’ golden wand is now a shriveled beggar, and soon the pair part ways – Athena to fetch Telemachus, still in Sparta, and Odysseus to seek information of his family and the all the goings-on from the loyal swineherd.

BOOK 14: a loyal slave

pp. 332-349

In the preposterous disguise conjured by Athena, Odysseus goes to the humble abode of the slave, Eumaeus; a simple swineherd, who has remained loyal to the memory of his master and to his family during his long absence; irrespective that he believes Odysseus to be long lost to the mortal world. Eumaeus saves Odysseus from a savage dog, welcomes him, is hospitable and generous with the little he possesses – and his generosity is certainly tested by his probing guest. He gladly feeds, clothes and lodges the stranger in his midst; listens to his story, falls for his tricks. Odysseus reiterates somewhat, and augments even more, the false history of his person that he had tried to spin to Athena (and we know how far he got with that!), all the time testing the loyalty of the swineherd. Eumaeus proves himself in every way – but that Odysseus lives he doubts still.