Me reading from Rob Cowen at the Permaculture Convergence

Me reading from Rob Cowen at the Permaculture Convergence

Reading and writing

In recent months I've been acquainting myself with a few Dutch authors (in translation of course). Trying to get a feel for this culture by reading some of its literary output. A few months ago I read Cees Nooteboom's "In the Dutch Mountains" - a multi layered but short novel which had good sections but others where I found I was wanting to skip across paragraphs- never a good sign. More recently I asked a shop assistant to recommend a good Dutch author and went home with W.F. Hermans' "Beyond Sleep": a tale of a Dutch Geology PhD student pushing himself to the utmost to complete some implausible research above the artic circle (hence the title). It is considered an iconic book and was well written, but didn't push my buttons, although he really did a good job of catching the discomfort - physical and psychological - of a young Dutchman confronting the wilderness of the tundra. (My favourite novel based around being a PhD student is Patricia Dunker's "Hallucinating Foucault". It's become a cult gay book -but it's focus on reading and passion have a universal appeal). The most recent Dutch novel was "In Babylon" - not so much a Dutch novel as a Jewish one - but one largely set in the Netherlands and written by a Dutchman. Based on series of flashbacks and dreams it follows the trials, triumphs and tragedies of a Jewish family tracing the family tree back to wandering clock repairers in C17th Eastern Europe through to their ancestors who worked on Project Manhattan and become men of letters and new-age gurus in the late C20th. A hugely ambitious book, with large elements of magical realism, it only occasionally falls short of its ambitions and held me entranced thoughout most of it. The best of the batch so far. Does anyone have any more recomendations?

For whom the bell tolls

A few weeks ago I was at a friend’s house and saw a book of short stories by Ernest Hemingway on the shelf. “Is he good?” I asked. I’d never really been a fan. I knew him more by his reputation as drunk, a womaniser and adventurer, than as a writer. Perhaps he is most famous for popularising running with the bulls in Pamplona. He was a writer loved by my father’s generation and a “man’s man” – together enough to put me off for a long time.

I borrowed the book and - as I was going through a phase of insomnia – hardly put it down for a week. He is such a skilful and minimalist writer. He writes well about places – whether the lakes of Michigan, the Alps, or the African veld - capturing their feel in a few words. He imbues his stories with suspense and plays beautifully with social tensions – between men and women, the young and the old and particularly between the working and “leisured” classes. He is certainly not PC. His stories focus on drinking, whoring, war stories and big game hunting. But that doesn’t make them any less insightful, or any less telling of human dynamics. My favourite in the short stories was “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber:” a tale of fear, loathing, adultery and murder on an African game shoot. It’s kind of exciting to find a new (to me) master writer. I hope his novels are as good as his short stories.

Hemmingway once bet his colleagues that he could write a short story in six words. They took the bet and lost. Here’s the story:
“For sale. Baby’s shoes. Never worn.”
He thought it was his best piece of writing. Ever.
Wired recently ran an article inviting leading contemporary writers to do the same. None came close to capturing my imagination with so few words.

A valentine's surf

A slightly tongue in cheek song in praise of single-life for any singles tempted on this day to think that a significant other would make their life better or happier....



Today there was news item about the earliest recorded reading of Howl being discovered in a University vault. I found this clip while hunting for the one above it shows how much Waits followed in the footsteps of the Beats


Thinking about Ginsberg led me to this clip from Renaldo and Clara


And then to this - rare footage of Kerouac reading from On the Road.


It's strange but despite having read most of his work and been infleunced by him I'd never seen more than a photo of him

On reading

Doris Lessing gave her acceptance speech for the Nobel Literature Prize last night. It is one of the most moving things I have read for ages.

Since her award was announced some six weeks ago I have seen her novels all over the place in prime locations: at train stations and general book stores. Let's hope that this sudden boost in sales can help her send a few more books to where they are needed. I'm also wondering whether I and others (who read this blog and are affiliated to organisations that I belong to) might not help this cause by donating unwanted and unloved books that do no more than gather dust on our bookshelves. Does anyone fancy a Christmas clear-out?

Paperback writer

It seems that no trip to Germany is complete without a visit to a station bookstore and buying the latest Haruki Murakami. I don't know why, but every time I go there I find his latest book on the shelves, so for me so reading his books is indelibly associated with travelling on German trains. Perhaps the Germans have a special love of him. It suits me because English language paperbacks are considerably cheaper in Germany than in the NL.

The latest Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman is a book of short stories - written between 1980 and 2005. Maybe not the best introduction to him for a novice (for starters you should try Sputnik Sweetheart, Norwegian Wood or Kafka on the Shore) but reading it you get the impression of a writer learning and developing his craft. Some early stuff is clearly derivative (Poor Aunt Story reads like a less dark version of Kafka's Metamorphosis) and other stories later became lietmotifs for complete novels (Norwegian Wood and Sputnik Sweetheart). Its fun to revisit those and see how they first took shape. Some of the stories are truly uplifting, particularly the last and most recent five which were originally published in Japanese as a volume of stories about Tokyo. They contain twists and elements of the unexpected, without veering off completely into surreal dream worlds, which has sometimes been a weakness in some of his more recent novels. All in all a great read, especially as short stories fit well with train journeys.

On writing- A scene from Family Matters

I read a lot of books about India. The country seems to produce so many stunningly good novelists (and has also inspired many non Indian writers too). The latest to come to my attention (via our newly formed ex-pat editors book club) is Rohinton Mistry, whose 2002 Booker-shortlisted novel “Family matters” kept me distracted for much of last week. It’s a long novel, set in the Jain community of modern day Bombay and offers insights into both. To directly quote a Van Morrison interview I listened to this week it is “like all art, about redemption through suffering.”

I was particularly drawn by one of the side avenues of the book: a character who only makes a few cameo appearances and is almost a literary device rather than an character who develops throughout the novel. Vilas runs a bookshop next to the shop managed by the main hero. As well as running a bookshop he also works a scribe, writing and reading letters for the illiterate migrants to Bombay who do the most menial jobs. He does this as a hobby and a way of finding fulfilment. He enjoys being able to put people in touch with each other, sees it as his mission in his life and sees his clients and their distant relatives as an extended family. Through this character/device Mistry is able to provide a link between rural and urban India and make keen and key observations about rural urban relations and the joys and barbarity of rural Indian life. Through this Mistry also brings home what a wonderful thing it is be able to be able to read (the power of education is a sub theme throughout the book).

Vilas starts writing letters when a cleaner he has hired comments that he is surrounded by books all day, smells them and even dreams about them but cannot read a word. Vilas asks if he would like to learn to read and he replies that he would just like Vilas to write a letter to his family. Here’s the scene (pp.138-9).

After the shop had closed the two sat on the steps and Vilas prepared to scribble a quick paragraph. Between the salutation “My dear Pitaji and Mataaji” and the leave taking “Your obedient son” he filled five pages.

Three weeks later came a reply, the first letter Suresh had ever received. He held his breath, watching as his benefactor took a sandalwood letter opener from the counter display and slit the envelope.

“Only one page” observed Suresh sadly.

“Don’t be disappointed” said Vilas. “A letter is like perfume. You don’t need apply a whole bottle. Just one dab will fill your senses Words are the same - a few are sufficient”.

Suresh was sceptical as Vilas began to read the scrawl of the village scribe. There were invocations for success and good wishes for health and prosperity. But the rest was devoted to conveying the family’s happiness at listening to Suresh’s letter. Such a beautiful letter they said, it is like being with you in the city, sharing your life, taking the train to your bookshop, watching you work. And we hear your voice in every line, so wonderful is the effect of words.

Suresh was glowing pride as the letter ended. “One page only” said Vilas. And see how much pleasure it has given you?”

The power of words, expressing the power of words.