Child heroes

Thursday 18 April 2023 (continued)

Eskişehir, Türkiye

With those children, Winston thought, that wretched woman (Mrs. Parsons) must lead a life of terror.

Another year, two years, and they would be watching her night and day for symptoms of unorthodoxy.

Nearly all children nowadays were horrible.

What was worst of all was that by means of such organizations as the Spies they were systematically turned into ungovernable little savages, and yet this produced in them no tendency to rebel against the dıscipline of the Party.

On the contrary, they adored the Party and everything connected with it.

The songs, the processions, the banners, the hiking, the drilling with dummy rifles, the yelling of slogans, the worship of Big Brother – it was all a sort of glorious game to them.

All their ferocity was turned outwards, against the enemies of the State, against foreigners, traitors, saboteurs, thought criminals.

It was almost normal for people over 30 to be frightened of their own children.

And with good reason, for hardly a week passed in which the Times did not carry a paragraph describing how some eavesdropping little sneak – ‘child hero‘ was the phrase generally used – had overheard some compromising remark and denounced his parents to the Thought Police.”

(Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell)

The members of the Hitler Youth were viewed as ensuring the future of Nazi Germany and were indoctrinated in Nazi ideology, including racism. 

The boys were indoctrinated with the myths of Aryan racial superiority and to view Jews and Slavs as subhumans. 

Members were taught to associate state-identified enemies such as Jews with Germany’s previous defeat in the First World War and societal decline. 

The Hitler Youth were used to break up church youth groups, spy on religious classes and Bible studies and interfere with church attendance. 

Education and training programs for the Hitler Youth were designed to undermine the values of traditional structures of German society.

Their training also aimed to remove social and intellectual distinctions between classes, to be replaced and dominated by the political goals of Hitler’s totalitarian dictatorship. 

Sacrifice for the Nazi cause was instilled into their training.

As historian Richard Evans observes:

The songs they sang were Nazi songs.

The books they read were Nazi books.

Former Hitler Youth Franz Jagemann said that the notion “Germany must live” even if the members of the HJ had to die, was “hammered” into them.

The Hitler Youth appropriated many of the activities of the Boy Scout movement (which was banned in 1935), including camping and hiking.

However, over time it changed in content and intention.

For example, many activities closely resembled military training, with weapons familiarization, assault course circuits and basic fighting tactics.

The aim was to turn the HJ into motivated soldiers. 

There was greater emphasis on physical ability and military training than on academic study. 

More than just a way to keep the German nation healthy, sports became a means of indoctrinating and training its youth for combat.

This was in keeping with tenets outlined in Hitler’s notorious work, Mein Kampf.

In a 1936 edition of Foreign Affairs, an article discussing the appropriation of sports by contemporary dictatorial regimes such as Nazi Germany, commented that:

The dictators have discovered sport.

This was inevitable.

Middle-aged and older persons have their roots in the ground, have affiliations with former régimes.

The hope of the dictators, therefore, was to win over youth to the new conception of life, the new system.

They found that they could best succeed through sport.

From being a simple source of amusement and recreation, it became a means to an end, a weapon in the hands of the All Highest.

It became nationalistic.

The ideal of sport for sport’s sake became an object of ridicule.

The real preoccupation of those who directed athletics became the mass production of cannon fodder.

By 1937, there was a HJ rifle school established, partially at the behest of General Erwin Rommel, who toured HJ meetings and lectured on “German soldiering“, all the while he pressured Schirach to turn the HJ into a “junior army“. 

During 1938, some 1.5 million HJ members were trained to shoot rifles. 

Starting in early 1939, the OKW began supervising HJ shooting activities and military field exercises.

Upwards of 51,500 boys had earned their HJ Marksmanship Medal before the year’s end.

On 15 August 1939, a fortnight before the beginning of World War II, Schirach agreed with General Wilhelm Keitel that the entire Hitler Youth leadership must have “defence training“.

On 1 May 1940, Artur Axmann was appointed deputy to Schirach, whom he succeeded as Reichsjugendführer of the Hitler Youth on 8 August 1940. 

Axmann began to reform the group into an auxiliary force which could perform war duties. 

The Hitler Youth became active in German fire brigades and assisted with recovery efforts to German cities affected by Allied bombing.

The Hitler Youth also assisted in such organisations as the Reich postal service, the Reich railway services, and other government offices. 

Members of the HJ also aided the army and served with anti-aircraft defence crews.

In 1942 Hitler decreed the establishment of “Hitler Youth defence training camps“, led by Wehrmacht officers. 

Nazi leaders began turning the Hitler Youth into a military reserve to replace manpower which had been depleted due to tremendous military losses.

The idea for a Waffen-SS division made up of Hitler Youth members was first proposed by Axmann to Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler in early 1943. 

The plan for a combat division made up of Hitler Youth members born in 1926 was passed on to Hitler for his approval.

Hitler approved the plan in February and Gottlob Berger was tasked with recruiting. 

Fritz Witt of SS Division Leibstandarte (LSSAH) was appointed divisional commander.

In 1944, the 12th SS-Panzer-Division Hitlerjugend was deployed during the Battle of Normandy against the British and Canadian forces to the north of Caen.

Over 20,000 German youths participated in the attempt to repulse the D-Day invasion. 

While they knocked out 28 Canadian tanks during their first effort, they ultimately lost 3,000 lives before the Normandy assault was complete. 

During the following months, the division earned a reputation for ferocity and fanaticism.

When Witt was killed by Allied naval gunfire, SS-Brigadeführer Kurt Meyer assumed command and became the divisional commander at age 33.

As German casualties escalated with the combination of Operation Bagration and the Lvov-Sandomierz Operation in the east, and Operation Cobra in the west, members of the Hitlerjugend were recruited at ever younger ages.

By 1945, the Volkssturm was commonly drafting 12-year-old Hitler Youth members into its ranks.

During the Battle of Berlin, Axmann’s Hitler Youth formed a major part of the last line of German defence, and they were reportedly among the fiercest fighters.

Although the city commander, General Helmuth Weidling, ordered Axmann to disband the Hitler Youth combat formations, in the confusion this order was never carried out.

The remnants of the youth brigade took heavy casualties from the advancing Russian forces.

Only two survived.

In 1945, there were various incidents of Hitler Youth members shooting prisoners, participating in executions, and committing other wartime atrocities.

The Hitler Youth was disbanded by Allied authorities as part of the denazification process.

Some Hitler Youth members were suspected of war crimes but, because they were children, no serious efforts were made to prosecute these claims.

While the Hitler Youth was never declared a criminal organisation, its adult leadership was considered tainted for corrupting the minds of young Germans.

Many adult leaders of the Hitler Youth were put on trial by Allied authorities.

German children born in the 1920s and 1930s became adults during the Cold War years.

Since membership was compulsory after 1936, it was neither surprising nor uncommon that many senior leaders of both West and East Germany had been members of the Hitler Youth.

Little effort was made to blacklist political figures who had been members, since many had little choice in the matter.

These German post-war leaders were nonetheless once part of an important institutional element of Nazi Germany.

Historian Gerhard Rempel opined that Nazi Germany itself was impossible to conceive without the Hitler Youth, as their members constituted the “social, political and military resiliency of the Third Reich” and were part of “the incubator that maintained the political system by replenishing the ranks of the dominant party and preventing the growth of mass opposition“. 

Rempel also reports that a large percentage of the boys who served in the HJ slowly came to the realization that “they had worked and slaved for a criminal cause“, which they carried for a lifetime.

Some of them recalled a “loss of freedom” and claimed that their time in the HJ “had robbed them of a normal childhood“. 

Historian Michael Kater relates how many who once served in the HJ were silent until older age when they became grandparents.

While they were eventually able to look back at their place in “a dictatorship which oppressed, maimed and killed millions“, he maintains that an honest appraisal should lead them to conclude that their past contributions to the regime had “damaged their own souls“.

Once Nazi Germany was defeated by the Allied Powers, the Hitler Youth was officially abolished by the Allied Control Council on 10 October 1945 and later banned by the German Criminal Code.

Children in the military, including state armed forces, non-state armed groups, and other military organizations, may be trained for combat, assigned to support roles, such as cooks, porters/couriers, or messengers, or used for tactical advantage such as for human shields, or for political advantage in propaganda.

Children (defined by the Convention on the Rights of the Child as people under the age of 18) have been recruited for participation in military operations and campaigns throughout history and in many cultures.

Children are targeted for their susceptibility to influence, which renders them easier to recruit and control.

While some are recruited by force, others choose to join up, often to escape poverty or because they expect military life to offer a rite of passage to maturity.

Child soldiers who survive armed conflict frequently develop psychiatric illness, poor literacy and numeracy, and behavioral problems such as heightened aggression, which together lead to an increased risk of unemployment and poverty in adulthood. 

Research in the United Kingdom has found that the enlistment and training of adolescent children, even when they are not sent to war, is often accompanied by a higher risk of suicide, stress-related mental disorders, alcohol abuse, and violent behavior.

Since the 1960s, a number of treaties have successfully reduced the recruitment and use of children worldwide.

Nonetheless, around a quarter of armed forces worldwide, particularly those of third-world nations, still train adolescent children for military service, while elsewhere, the use of children in armed conflict and insurgencies has increased in recent years.

History is filled with children who have been trained and used for fighting, assigned to support roles such as porters or messengers, used as sex slaves, or recruited for tactical advantage as human shields or for political advantage in propaganda.

In 1813 and 1814, for example, Napoleon (1769 – 1821) conscripted many young teenagers for his armies.

Thousands of children participated on all sides of the First and Second World Wars.

Children continued to be used throughout the 20th and early 21st century on every continent, with concentrations in parts of Africa, Latin America, and the Middle East.

Only since the turn of the millennium have international efforts begun to limit and reduce the military use of children.

The adoption in 2000 of the Optional Protocol on the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict (OPAC) committed states who ratified it to “take all feasible measures” to ensure that no child takes a direct part in hostilities and to cease recruitment below the age of 16. 

As most states have now opted into OPAC, the global trend has been towards reserving military recruitment to adulthood, known as the Straight-18 standard.

Above: A map of parties to the Optional Protocol on the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict. Parties in dark green, countries which have signed but not ratified in light green, non-members in grey.

Nonetheless, as of 2018, children aged under 18 were still being recruited and trained for military purposes in 46 countries, which is approximately one quarter of all countries.

Most of these states recruit from age 17, fewer than 20 recruit from age 16, and an unknown, smaller number, recruit younger children.

As of 2022, the United Nations (UN) verified that nine state armed forces were using children in hostilities: 

  • Central African Republic, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Mali, Somalia, and South Sudan in Africa
  • Palestine, Syria and Yemen in Western Asia
  • Afghanistan in Central Asia
  • Myanmar in South East Asia.

Above: Flag of the United Nations

The United Nations (UN) Committee on the Rights of the Child and others have called for an end to the recruitment of children by state armed forces, arguing that military training, the military environment, and a binding contract of service are not compatible with children’s rights and jeopardize healthy development.

These include non-state armed paramilitary organisations such as militias, insurgents, terrorist organizations, guerrilla movements, armed liberation movements, and other types of quasi-military organisation.

As of 2022, the UN identified 12 countries where children were widely used by such groups: 

  • Colombia in South America
  • Central African Republic, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Mali, Somalia, South Sudan, and Sudan in Africa
  • Lebanon and Palestine in the Middle East
  • Syria and Yemen in Western Asia 
  • Afghanistan in Central Asia
  • Myanmar in South East Asia.

Above: Emblem of the United Nations

Not all armed groups use children and approximately 60 have entered agreements to reduce or end the practice since 1999.

For example, by 2017, the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) in the Philippines had released nearly 2,000 children from its ranks.

In 2016, the FARC-EP guerrilla movement in Colombia agreed to stop recruiting children.

Above: FARC–EP coat of arms: shield, flag, and country

Other countries have seen the reverse trend, particularly Afghanistan and Syria, where Islamist militants and groups opposing them have intensified their recruitment, training, and use of children.

In 2003, one estimate calculated that child soldiers participated in about three-quarters of ongoing conflicts.

Above: Flag of Afghanistan

In the same year, the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (UNOCHA) estimated that most of these children were aged over 15, although some were younger.

Above: The logo of the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs

Due to the widespread military use of children in areas where armed conflict and insecurity prevent access by UN officials and other observers, it is difficult to estimate how many children are affected.

  • In 2003 UNICEF estimated that some 300,000 children are involved in more than 30 conflicts worldwide.

Above: Emblem of the United Nations Children’s Emergency Fund

  • In 2017, Child Soldiers International estimated that several tens of thousands of children, possibly more than 100,000, were in state- and non-state military organisations around the world, and in 2018 the organisation reported that children were being used to participate in at least 18 armed conflicts.

  • In 2023 the UN Secretary General report presented 7,622 verified cases of children being recruited and used in armed conflicts in 23 countries. More than 12,460 children formerly associated with armed forces or groups received protection or reintegration support during 2022.

Above: United Nations Secretary General Antonio Guterres

It is estimated that girl soldiers make between 10% and 30%, 6% and 50%, or over 40% of the child soldier population. 

Of the verified cases presented in the 2023 UN Secretary General report, girls make 12.3% of all child soldiers recruited or used by armed groups.

Despite children’s physical and psychological underdevelopment relative to adults, there are many reasons why state- and non-state military organisations seek them out, and why children themselves are often are drawn to join up of their own volition.

Relative to adults, the neurological underdevelopment of children, including adolescent children, renders them more susceptible to recruitment and also more likely to make consequential decisions without due regard to the risks.

With these susceptibilities in mind, military marketing to adolescents has been criticised in Germany, the UK and the US for glamorizing military life while omitting the risks and the loss of fundamental rights.

Research in the same three countries finds that recruiters disproportionately target children from poorer backgrounds. 

In the UK, for example, the army finds it easier to attract child recruits from age 16 than adults from age 18, particularly those from poorer backgrounds.

Once recruited, children are easier than adults to indoctrinate and control.

They are more motivated than adults to fight for non-monetary incentives such as religion, honour, prestige, revenge and duty.

In many countries growing populations of young people relative to older generations have made children a cheap and accessible resource for military organisations.

In a 2004 study of children in military organisations around the world, Rachel Brett and Irma Specht pointed to a complex of factors that incentivise children to join military organisations, particularly:

  • Background poverty including a lack of civilian education or employment opportunities.
  • The cultural normalization of war
  • Seeking new friends
  • Revenge (for example, after seeing friends and relatives killed)
  • Expectations that a “warrior” role provides a rite of passage to maturity

The following testimony from a child recruited by the Cambodian armed forces in the 1990s is typical of many children’s motivations for joining up:

I joined because my parents lacked food and I had no school.

I was worried about mines but what can we do — it’s an order to go to the front line.

Once somebody stepped on a mine in front of me — he was wounded and died.

I was with the radio at the time, about 60 metres away.

I was sitting in my hammock and saw him die.

I see young children in every unit.

I’m sure I’ll be a soldier for at least a couple of more years.

If I stop being a soldier, I won’t have a job to do because I don’t have any skills.

I don’t know what I’ll do.

Above: Flag of Cambodia

Some leaders of armed groups have claimed that children, despite their underdevelopment, bring their own qualities as combatants to a fighting unit, often being remarkably fearless, agile and hardy.

The global proliferation of light automatic weapons, which children can easily handle, has also made the use of children as direct combatants more viable.

Child soldiers who survive armed conflict face a markedly elevated risk of debilitating psychiatric illness, poor literacy and numeracy, and behavioural problems.

Research in Palestine and Uganda, for example, has found that more than half of former child soldiers showed symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder and nearly nine in ten in Uganda screened positive for depressed mood.

Researchers in Palestine also found that children exposed to high levels of violence in armed conflict were substantially more likely than other children to exhibit aggression and anti-social behaviour.

The combined impact of these effects typically includes a high risk of poverty and lasting unemployment in adulthood.

Further harm is caused when armed forces and groups detain child recruits.

Children are often detained without sufficient food, medical care, or under other inhumane conditions, and some experience physical and sexual torture.

Some are captured with their families, or detained due to one of their family members’ activity.

Lawyers and relatives are frequently banned from any court hearing.

While the use of children in armed conflict has attracted most attention, other research has found that military settings present several serious risks before child recruits are deployed to war zones, particularly during training.

Research from several countries finds that military enlistment, even before recruits are sent to war, is accompanied by a higher risk of attempted suicide in the US, higher risk of mental disorders in the US and the UK, higher risk of alcohol misuse and higher risk of violent behaviour, relative to recruits’ pre-military experience.

Military academics in the US have characterized military training as “intense indoctrination” in conditions of sustained stress, the primary purpose of which is to establish the unconditional and immediate obedience of recruits.

The research literature has found that adolescents are more vulnerable than adults to a high-stress environment, particularly those from a background of childhood adversity. 

It finds in particular that the prolonged stressors of military training are likely to aggravate pre-existing mental health problems and hamper healthy neurological development.

Military settings are characterized by elevated rates of bullying, particularly by instructors.

In the UK between 2014 and 2020, for example, the army recorded 62 formal complaints of violence committed by staff against recruits at the military training centre for 16- and 17-year-old trainee soldiers, the Army Foundation College. 

Joe Turton, who joined up aged 17 in 2014, recalls bullying by staff throughout his training.

For example:

The corporals come into the hangar where we sleep and they’re wild-eyed, screaming, shoving people out.

A massive sergeant lifts a recruit in the air and literally throws him into the wall.

A corporal smacks me full-force around the head — I’ve got my helmet on but he hits me so hard that I’m knocked right over, I mean this man’s about 40 and I’m maybe 17 by then.

A bit later, we’re crawling through mud and a corporal grabs me and drags me along the ground, half-way across a field.

When he lets go I’m in that much pain that I’m whimpering on the ground.

When the other corporal, the one who hit me, sees me crying on the ground, he just points at me and laughs.

Elevated rates of sexual harassment are characteristic of military settings, including the training environment. 

Between 2015 and 2020, for example, girls aged 16 or 17 in the British armed forces were twice as likely as their same-age civilian peers to report rape or other sexual assault.

The military use of children has been common throughout history.

Only in recent decades has the practice met with informed criticism and concerted efforts to end it.

Progress has been slow, partly because many armed forces have relied on children to fill their ranks, and partly because the behaviour of non-state armed groups is difficult to influence.

After the adoption of the Optional Protocol on the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict, a campaign for global ratification made swift progress.

As of 2018 OPAC had been ratified by 167 states. 

The campaign also successfully encouraged many states not to recruit children at all.

In 2001, 83 states only allowed adult enlistment.

By 2016 this had increased to 126, which is 71% of countries with armed forces.

Approximately 60 non-state armed groups have also entered agreements to stop or scale back their use of children, often brokered by the UN or the NGO Geneva Call.

Child Soldiers International reports that the success of the OPAC treaty, combined with the gradual decline in child recruitment by state armed forces, has led to a reduction of children in military organisations worldwide. 

As of 2018 the recruitment and use of children remains widespread.

In particular, militant Islamist organisations such as ISIS and Boko Haram, as well as armed groups fighting them, have used children extensively. 

In addition, the three most populous states – China, India and the United States – still allow their armed forces to enlist children aged 16 or 17, as do five of the Group of Seven countries: Canada, France, Germany, the United Kingdom and the United States, again.

Red Hand Day (also known as the International Day Against the Use of Child Soldiers) on 12 February is an annual commemoration day to draw public attention to the practice of using children as soldiers in wars and armed conflicts.

The date reflects the entry into force of the Optional Protocol on the Involvement of Children in Armed Conflict.

Above: Red Hand Day, the International Day Against Use of Child Soldiers, is often marked by displaying red handprints.

Child labour is the exploitation of children through any form of work that interferes with their ability to attend regular school, or is mentally, physically, socially and morally harmful.

Such exploitation is prohibited by legislation worldwide, although these laws do not consider all work by children as child labour.

Exceptions include work by child artists, family duties, supervised training, and some forms of work undertaken by Amish children, as well as by Indigenous children in the Americas.

Child labour has existed to varying extents throughout history.

During the 19th and early 20th centuries, many children aged 5 – 14 from poorer families worked in Western nations and their colonies alike.

These children mainly worked in agriculture, home-based assembly operations, factories, mining and services such as news boys – some worked night shifts lasting 12 hours.

With the rise of household income, availability of schools and passage of child labour laws, the incidence rates of child labour fell.

As of 2023, in the world’s poorest countries, around one in five children are engaged in child labour, the highest number of whom live in sub-saharan Africa, where more than one in four children are so engaged.

This represents a decline in child labour over the preceding half decade. 

In 2017, four African nations (Mali, Benin, Chad and Guinea-Bissau) witnessed over 50% of children, aged 5 – 14 working. 

Worldwide agriculture is the largest employer of child labour. 

The vast majority of child labour is found in rural settings and informal urban economies.

Children are predominantly employed by their parents, rather than factories.

Poverty and lack of schools are considered the primary cause of child labour. 

UNICEF notes that “boys and girls are equally likely to be involved in child labour“, but in different roles, girls being substantially more likely to perform unpaid household labour.

Globally the incidence of child labour decreased from 25% to 10% between 1960 and 2003, according to the World Bank.

Nevertheless, the total number of child labourers remains high, with UNICEF and ILO acknowledging an estimated 168 million children aged 5 – 17 worldwide were involved in child labour in 2013.

Child labour is still common in many parts of the world.

Estimates for child labour vary.

It ranges between 250 and 304 million, if children aged 5–17 involved in any economic activity are counted.

If light occasional work is excluded, ILO estimates there were 153 million child labourers aged 5–14 worldwide in 2008.

This is about 20 million less than ILO estimate for child labourers in 2004.

Some 60% of the child labour was involved in agricultural activities such as farming, dairy, fisheries and forestry.

Another 25% of child labourers were in service activities such as retail, hawking goods, restaurants, load and transfer of goods, storage, picking and recycling trash, polishing shoes, domestic help, and other services.

The remaining 15% laboured in assembly and manufacturing in informal economy, home-based enterprises, factories, mines, packaging salt, operating machinery, and such operations. 

Two out of three child workers work alongside their parents, in unpaid family work situations.

Some children work as guides for tourists, sometimes combined with bringing in business for shops and restaurants.

Child labour predominantly occurs in the rural areas (70%) and informal urban sector (26%).

Above: Map for child labour worldwide in the 10–14 age group, in 2003, per World Bank data. The data is incomplete, as many countries do not collect or report child labour data (coloured gray). The colour code is as follows: yellow (<10% of children working), green (10–20%), orange (20–30%), red (30–40%) and black (>40%). Some nations such as Guinea-Bissau, Mali and Ethiopia have more than half of all children aged 5–14 at work to help provide for their families.

Contrary to popular belief, most child labourers are employed by their parents rather than in manufacturing or formal economy.

Children who work for pay or in-kind compensation are usually found in rural settings as opposed to urban centres.

Less than 3% of child labour aged 5 – 14 across the world work outside their household, or away from their parents.

Child labour accounts for 22% of the workforce in Asia, 32% in Africa, 17% in Latin America, 1% in the US, Canada, Europe and other wealthy nations. 

The proportion of child labourers varies greatly among countries and even regions inside those countries.

Africa has the highest percentage of children aged 5–17 employed as child labour, and a total of over 65 million.

Asia, with its larger population, has the largest number of children employed as child labour at about 114 million.

Latin America and the Caribbean region have lower overall population density, but at 14 million child labourers has high incidence rates too.

Accurate present day child labour information is difficult to obtain because of disagreements between data sources as to what constitutes child labour.

In some countries, government policy contributes to this difficulty.

For example, the overall extent of child labour in China is unclear due to the government categorising child labour data as “highly secret“. 

China has enacted regulations to prevent child labour.

Still, the practice of child labour is reported to be a persistent problem within China, generally in agriculture and low-skill service sectors as well as small workshops and manufacturing enterprises.

Above: Flag of China

In 2014, the US Department of Labor issued a List of Goods Produced by Child Labor or Forced Labor, where China was attributed 12 goods, the majority of which were produced by both underage children and indentured labourers. 

The report listed electronics, garments, toys, and coal, among other goods.

The Maplecroft Child Labour Index 2012 survey reports that 76 countries pose extreme child labour complicity risks for companies operating worldwide.

The ten highest risk countries in 2012, ranked in decreasing order, were: Myanmar, North Korea, Somalia, Sudan, DR Congo, Zimbabwe, Afghanistan, Burundi, Pakistan and Ethiopia.

Of the major growth economies, Maplecroft ranked Philippines 25th riskiest, India 27th, China 36th, Vietnam 37th, Indonesia 46th, and Brazil 54th, all of them rated to involve extreme risks of child labour uncertainties, to corporations seeking to invest in developing world and import products from emerging markets.

The ILO suggests that poverty is the greatest single cause behind child labour. 

For impoverished households, income from a child’s work is usually crucial for his or her own survival or for that of the household.

Income from working children, even if small, may be between 25 and 40% of the household income.

Lack of meaningful alternatives, such as affordable schools and quality education, according to the ILO, is another major factor driving children to harmful labour.

Children work because they have nothing better to do.

Many communities, particularly rural areas where between 60 and 70% of child labour is prevalent, do not possess adequate school facilities.

Even when schools are sometimes available, they are too far away, difficult to reach, unaffordable or the quality of education is so poor that parents wonder if going to school is really worth it.

In European history when child labour was common, as well as in contemporary child labour of modern world, certain cultural beliefs have rationalised child labour and thereby encouraged it.

Some view that work is good for the character-building and skill development of children.

In many cultures, particular where the informal economy and small household businesses thrive, the cultural tradition is that children follow in their parents’ footsteps.

Child labour then is a means to learn and practice that trade from a very early age.

Similarly, in many cultures the education of girls is less valued or girls are simply not expected to need formal schooling and these girls pushed into child labour such as providing domestic services.

Children’s rights or the rights of children are a subset of human rights with particular attention to the rights of special protection and care afforded to minors. 

The 1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) defines a child as “any human being below the age of eighteen years, unless under the law applicable to the child, majority is attained earlier“. 

Children’s rights includes their:

  • right to association with both parents
  • human identity 
  • physical protection
  • food
  • universal state-paid education
  • health care
  • criminal laws appropriate for the age and development of the child
  • equal protection of the child’s civil rights
  • freedom from discrimination on the basis of the child’s race, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, national origin, religion, disability, colour, ethnicity or other characteristics

Above: Human rights logo

Interpretations of children’s rights range from allowing children the capacity for autonomous action to the enforcement of children being physically, mentally and emotionally free from abuse, though what constitutes “abuse” is a matter of debate.

Other definitions include the rights to care and nurturing. 

There are no definitions of other terms used to describe young people such as “adolescents“, “teenagers“, or “youth” in international law, but the children’s rights movement is considered distinct from the youth rights movement.

The field of children’s rights spans the fields of law, politics, religion and morality.

Sir William Blackstone, in his  Commentaries on the Laws of England (1765 – 1769) recognized three parental duties to the child: maintenance, protection, and education.

 In modern language, the child has a right to receive these from the parent.

Above: Portrait of English jurist, justice and politician Sir William Blackstone (1723 – 1780)

The 1796 publication of Thomas Spence’s Rights of Infants is among the earliest English-language assertions of the rights of children.

Above: English radical Thomas Spence (1750 – 1814)

Throughout the 20th century, children’s rights activists organized for homeless children’s rights and public education.

In the UK the formation of a community of educationalists, teachers, youth justice workers, politicians and cultural contributors called the New Ideals in Education Conferences (1914 – 1937) stood for the value of ‘liberating the child‘ and helped to define the ‘good‘ primary school in England until the 1980s.

Their conferences inspired the UNESCO organization, the New Education Fellowship.

Above: Logo of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO)

A.S. Neill’s 1915 book A Dominie’s Log (1915), a diary of a headteacher changing his school to one based on the liberation and happiness of the child, can be seen as a cultural product that celebrates the heroes of this movement.

The League of Nations adopted the Geneva Declaration of the Rights of the Child (1924), which enunciated the child’s right to receive the requirements for normal development, the right of the hungry child to be fed, the right of the sick child to receive health care, the right of the backward child to be reclaimed, the right of orphans to shelter, and the right to protection from exploitation.

Above: Flag of the League of Nations (1920 – 1946)

The 1927 publication of The Child’s Right to Respect by Janusz Korczak strengthened the literature surrounding the field.

Above: Polish Jewish pediatrician /educator /children’s author / pedagogue / children’s rights advocate Henryk Goldszmit (aka Janusz Korczak) (1878 – 1942)

The United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948) in Article 25(2) recognized the need of motherhood and childhood to “special protection and assistance” and the right of all children to “social protection“.

The United Nations General Assembly adopted the United Nations Declaration of the Rights of the Child (1959), which enunciated ten principles for the protection of children’s rights, including the universality of rights, the right to special protection, and the right to protection from discrimination, among other rights.

Above: Children’s day 1928 in Bulgaria. The text on the poster is the Geneva Declaration.

Consensus on defining children’s rights has become clearer in the last 50 years. 

A 1973 publication by Hillary Clinton (then an attorney) stated that children’s rights were a “slogan in need of a definition“.

Above: American politician Hillary Clinton

According to some researchers, the notion of children’s rights is still not well defined, with at least one proposing that there is no singularly accepted definition or theory of the rights held by children.

Today dozens of international organizations are working around the world to promote children’s rights.

Young people need to be protected from the adult-centric world, including the decisions and responsibilities of that world. 

In a dominantly adult society, childhood should be idealized as a time of innocence, a time free of responsibility and conflict, and a time dominated by play.

National Sovereignty and Children’s Day (Turkish: Ulusal Egemenlik ve Çocuk Bayramı) is a public holiday in Turkey commemorating the foundation of the Grand National Assembly of Turkey, on 23 April 1920.

It is also observed by Northern Cyprus.

23 April is the day that the Grand National Assembly of Turkey was founded in 1920.

The national council denounced the government of the Ottoman Sultan Mehmed VI (1861 – 1926) and announced a temporary constitution. 

Above: The 36th / last Sultan of the Ottoman Empire and 115th / last Caliph of Islam, Mehmed VI

During the War of Independence, the Grand National Assembly met in Ankara and laid down the foundations of a new, independent, secular and modern republic from the ashes of the Ottoman Empire.

Following the defeat of the Allied invasion forces on 9 September 1922 and the signing of the Treaty of Lausanne on 24 July 1923, the Turkish Government started the task of establishing the institutions of a state.

23 April was declared “National Sovereignty Day” on 2 May 1921. 

Above: Seal of the Turkish Parliament

Since 1927, the holiday has also been celebrated as a children’s day. 

Thus, Türkiye became the first country to officially declare children’s day a national holiday. 

In 1981, the holiday was officially named “National Sovereignty and Children’s Day“.

Every year, children in Türkiye celebrate National Sovereignty and Children’s Day as a national holiday.

Similar to other April events, Children’s Day celebrations often take place outdoors.

Schools participate in week-long ceremonies marked by performances in all fields in large stadiums watched by the entire nation. 

Students decorate their classrooms with flags, balloons and handmade ornaments. 

Anıtkabir is visited by children and politicians every year. 

Among the activities on this day, the children send their representatives to replace state officials and high ranking civil servants in their offices.

The President, cabinet ministers, provincial governors and mayors all turn over their positions to children’s representatives in a purely ceremonial exercise. 

On this day, children also replace parliamentarians in the Grand National Assembly and hold a ceremonial special session to discuss matters concerning children’s issues.

After UNESCO proclaimed 1979 as the International Year of the Child, the Turkish Radio and Television Corporation (TRT) organized the first TRT International April 23 Children’s Festival. 

Five countries participated in this first holiday.

Over the years, this number grew steadily, resulting in children from about 50 countries coming to Türkiye in an official ceremony every year to participate in the festival.

During this time, children stay with Turkish families and interact with Turkish children and learn about each other’s countries and cultures.

The foreign children groups also participate in the ceremonial session of the Grand National Assembly.

There are aspects of Türkiye’s Children’s Day that I find disturbing.

I am in no way, shape or form, suggesting that Türkiye has children in the military.

In Turkey, compulsory military service applies to all male citizens from 21 to 41 years of age.

It is six months for all males regardless of education degree.

Different rules apply to Turks abroad.

For Turks with multiple citizenship, the conscription lapses if they have already served in the army of another country.

Conscripts can be deployed in all parts of the Turkish armed forces, except in combat operations or active conflicts.

For example, only professional soldiers are used in operations by Turkey against the PKK.

Women are not conscripted, but they are permitted to become officers.

Each year, approximately 300,000 men over the age of 20 are called up for military service.

According to 2018 data from the Turkish government, a total of 1.9 million young men have been deferred from military service because of their studies.

Three million other men have asked for a postponement for other reasons.

An exception was 2017, the year after the coup attempt, when the Turkish government did not call on new conscripts to register.

No professional soldiers were hired in that year either.

Above: Abandoned military vehicle used during putsch in Ankara, near the bombed building of the Directorate of Police, 16 July 2017

Many companies require men to have completed their military service before their job candidacies can be accepted.

Traditionally, families do not consent to their daughters marrying men who have not served their terms.

The reason behind this requirement is an irregular loss of workforce; the companies are legally bound to discharge draft evaders or face legal consequences, however valuable an asset these people are.

It is a common opinion that having completed military service carries a symbolic value to the majority of Turks. 

It is commonly regarded as a rite of passage to manhood.

Most men grow up with the anticipation of serving out their time.

On the other hand, it is held to be one of the main reasons behind the brain drain prevalent among well-educated young professionals.

Above: Seal of the Rurkish Armed Forces

Turkish Economics Professor Cevdet Akçay has stated that conscription always results in a net loss of wealth for any country, and that politicians do not discuss the topic of conscription based on objective and logical arguments.

Akçay states:

One side might say that, mandatory military service is a net loss for our economy and therefore I don’t support it.

Whereas the other side might support it despite its effect on the economy and explain their reasons, but such discussion does not happen in our country.

I too have my objections regarding conscription, but that can be a subject of discussion for another time.

Above: Conscription map of the world:

Green: Countries that do not have any armed service. 

Blue: Countries that do not have conscription. 

Purple: Countries with active, but limited conscription.  

Orange: Countries where the current government is planning to abolish conscription. 

Red: Countries with active conscription. 

Grey: No information.

Neither am I suggesting that Türkiye engages in child labour, for according to statistics, only 2.6% of the Turkish labour force are children between the ages of 7 and 14.

0% would be ideal but compared to some of the abovementioned countries with massive records of child employment Türkiye has quite a low number of child workers.

My objections stem from the nationalistic and adult-centric elements of this holiday.

I find the combined day to be a touch Orwellian.

Above: English writer Eric Blair (aka George Orwell) (1903 – 1950)

Students decorate their classrooms with flags.

Anıtkabir is visited by children and politicians every year.

(Anıtkabir is a complex located in the Çankaya district of Ankara, which includes the mausoleum of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk.

In addition to the mausoleum building, the complex consists of various structures and monuments, as well as a wooded area known as the Peace Park.

After Atatürk’s death on 10 November 1938, it was announced that his remains would be kept at the Ankara Ethnography Museum until a mausoleum could be constructed in Ankara.

On 10 November 1953, Atatürk’s remains were transferred to Anıtkabir in a ceremony.

The main building in the complex is the mausoleum, which includes Atatürk’s symbolic sarcophagus in the section known as the Hall of Honour, while his actual tomb is located in the lower level of the building.

The entrance to the complex is through a tree-lined avenue called the Lions’ Road, which leads to the ceremony square.

The mausoleum is situated on one side of this square, surrounded by colonnades, while the exit from the complex is located on the opposite side of the square along the path of the Lions’ Road.

The complex features ten towers at the four corners of the Lions’ Road, at the exit of the ceremony square, and at the corners of the square, as well as two sculpture groups and the Atatürk and Independence War Museum.

All of these structures, collectively known as the Monument Block, are surrounded by a wooded area called Peace Park.

The structures in the complex are made of reinforced concrete and feature surfaces and floors made of various types of marble and travertine, as well as decorative elements created using relief, mosaic, fresco, and carving techniques.

The Neoclassical style of the Second National Architecture Movement features elements inspired by the Hittite, Greek, Seljuk, and Ottoman cultures that have dominated the region now known as Turkey throughout history.

The responsibility for all services and tasks at Anıtkabir belongs to the Turkish Armed Forces General Staff, and events to be held here are regulated by law.

Official commemoration ceremonies are held at Anıtkabir on national holidays in Turkey and on the anniversary of Atatürk’s death on 10 November, organized by the government.

In addition to these, ceremonies are also organized by individuals and representatives of legal entities who are included in the state protocol.

Anıtkabir is a place that is occasionally visited and official ceremonies are held at the site by foreign government officials during their official visits to Turkey.)

Happy is the one who says: ‘I am a Turk.’ ” is the much quoted maxim of the much-quoted man, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, Türkiye’s founding president, who uttered the words as the emotional finale to a speech in 1933, marking the 10th anniversary of the Republic.

It is a simple idea – “If you think you are Turkish, then you are.” – that belies a sophisticated approach to nation-building.

You become a Turk by feeling the benefits and obligations of being a citizen of the Republic of Türkiye.

In historical context, Atatürk’s emphasis on Turkishness was a way of forging an inclusive national identity out of disparate parts.

In this, Atatürk was very successful.

Today, Turkish nationalism is a very powerful force.

Above: Mustafa Kemal Atatürk (1881 – 1938)

It does not take long for the most casual visitor to conclude that Türkiye subscribes to the “Great Man” view of history.

Portraits of Atatürk hang in schools, public offices, private businesses and many homes.

Even I have a picture of Atatürk in a dark corner of my apartment kitchen that I inherited when I helped a friend move apartments.

Atatürk is Türkiye’s George Washington, Winston Churchill and FDR.

He is celebrated as both soldier and statesman.

Atatürk represents a common denominator of what modern Türkiye is all about.

First is the creation of a nation within secure boundaries, one that embraces modernity, that tries to keep religion largeşy confined to the private realm, and that takes its international responsibilities seriously.

High in the pantheon of most quoted sayings is his “Peace at home, peace abroad“.

I cannot nor will not detract from the significance of Atatürk.

Kemal Atatürk is commemorated by many memorials throughout Turkey, such as the Atatürk International Airport in Istanbul, the Atatürk Bridge over the Golden Horn (Haliç), the Atatürk Dam, and Atatürk Stadium.

Above: Atatürk Airport, İstanbul

Above: Atatürk Bridge, İstanbul

Above: Atatürk Dam, Euphrates River, Türkiye

Above: Atatürk Olympic Stadium, İstanbul

Atatürk statues have been erected in all Turkish cities by the Turkish Government and most towns have their own memorial to him.

His face and name are seen and heard everywhere in Turkey.

His portrait can be seen in public buildings, in schools, on all Turkish lira banknotes, and in the homes of many Turkish families. 

Above: Atatürk Mask, Izmir, Türkiye

At 9:05 am on every 10 November, at the exact time of Atatürk’s death, most vehicles and people in the country’s streets pause for one minute in remembrance.

In 1951, the Democrat Party-controlled Turkish parliament led by Prime Minister Adnan Menderes (despite being the conservative opposition to Atatürk’s own Republican People’s Party) issued a law (Law on Crimes Committed Against Atatürk) outlawing insults to his memory (hatırasına alenen hakaret) and destruction of objects representing him. 

Above: Adnan Menderes (1899 – 1961)

The demarcation between a criticism and an insult was defined as a political argument.

The Minister of Justice (a political position) was assigned in Article 5 to execute the law rather than the public prosecutor.

A government website was created to denounce websites that violate this law.

In 2011, there were 48 convictions for “insulting Atatürk” and insulting Atatürk’s memory is punishable by up to three years in jail.

In 2010, the French-based NGO Reporters Without Borders objected to the Turkish laws protecting the memory of Atatürk, arguing that they contradict the current European Union standards of freedom of speech in news media.

Above: Logo of Reporters sans frontières (Reporters Without Borders)

Atatürk’s cult of personality was started during the life of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk and continued by his successors after his death in 1938, by members of both his Republican People’s Party and opposition parties alike, and in a limited amount by himself during his lifetime in order to popularize and cement his social and political reforms as founder and first President of Türkiye. 

The cult has been compared to similar personality cults in the authoritarian regimes of Central Asia and the former Soviet Union.

The Economist wrote in 2012 that his personality cult “carpets the country with busts and portraits of the great man” and that this has been “nurtured by Turkey’s generals, who have used his name to topple four governments, hang a Prime Minister and attack enemies of the Republic“.

A 2008 article in National Identities also discussed Atatürk’s ubiquitous presence in the country:

Atatürk’s houses exist in an Atatürk-inundated context with his face and sayings appearing on all official documents, buildings, television channels, newspapers and schoolyards, coins and banknotes.

Moreover, regardless of personal belief, every Turk lives in a country where nationalism is part of standard political discourses.

Politicians, teachers and journalists appeal to the nation and Atatürk on a daily basis.

Yet they are not alone in this.

The omnipresence of Atatürk paraphernalia can only be partly attributed to state sponsorship.

Atatürk’s face appears on posters behind supermarket counters, in barbershops and video stores, in bookshops and banks.

Atatürk talismans even dangle from car mirrors, while Atatürk pins adorn lapels.

And even the Turks who do not join in with such spontaneous commemorations know how to ‘read’ the Atatürk semiotic universe.

Above: Mustafa Kemal Atatürk

To remember the Great Man and to commemorate the events that formed the nation should be celebrated and commemorated, but why must we combine national sovereignity and children together?

Why can we not give children their own isolated day, a day just for them, without the waving of flags and the marching of troops, where we instead focus not on their nationalism nor on their assumption of adult roles, but rather why not simply have a fun day that focuses on the joy of being a child?

Physical activities certainly remain a great idea, but what about the spirit, the mind, the heart, the imagination of children?

The first seeds of children’s literature in Turkey were planted long before the tradition of printed books.

The distinctive feature of this early period is one based on oral cultures, such as folk legends, lullabies, nursery rhymes, heroic tales or religious stories.

Around the time of the Tanzimat Period – defined as the movement of Westernisation and reform in the Ottoman Empire (1839 – 1876) – these oral works were turned into written texts, and some children’s books of western origin began to appear in Turkish.

With the proclamation of the Republic in 1923, the alphabet revolution and the beginning of educational mobilisation, children’s literature in its current sense began.

Above: Atatürk introducing the new Turkish alphabet to the people of Kayseri. 20 September 1928

In the first 50 years of the Republic, works for children were primarily designed to prepare them for citizenship and social life according to the period’s ideology.

They were generally realistic and instructive.

Above: The flag of the Republic of Türkiye

The development of children’s literature was also shaped by Orhan Veli, one of Turkey’s most important poets, and his adaptations of La Fontaine’s fables and his compilation of Nasrettin Hoca’s Anecdotes.

Above: Orhan Veli (1914 – 1950)

Above: French fabulist Jean de la Fontaine (1621 – 1695)

Above: Statue of Nasreddin Hoca (1208 – 1285), Eskişehir Train Station

Other influential writers from this period include Ahmet Haşim, Ziya Gökalp, Ömer Seyfettin, Peyami Safa, Kemalettin Tuğcu, and Eflatun Cem Güney.

Above: Turkish poet Ahmet Haşim (1887 – 1933)

Above: Turkish sociologist, writer, poet, and politician Ziya Gökalp (1876 – 1924)

Above: Turkish writer Ömer Seyfettin (1884 – 1920)

Above: Turkish writer / journalist Peyami Safa (1899 – 1961)

Above: Photo of Turkish writer Kemalettin Tuğcu (1902 – 1996)

Eflatun Cem Güney received the “Hans Christian Andersen Award”, “Andersen Honor Diploma” and “World Children’s Literature Honor Certificate” for his fairytale compilations.

Above: Turkish writer Eflatun Cem Güney (1896 – 1981)

During the 1970s, authors such as Aziz Nesin, Rıfat Ilgaz, Muzaffer İzgü, and Gülten Dayıoğlu began to introduce the notion of ‘suitability for children’.

Above: Turkish writer / humorist Aziz Nesin (1915 – 1995)

Above: Turkish writer Rıfat Ilgaz (1911 – 1993)

Above: Turkish writer / teacher Muzaffer İzğu (1933 – 2017)

Above: Turkish children’s writer Gülten Dayıoğlu (far left)

Can Göknil brought the art of painting to children’s literature.

Above: Turkish painter / writer Can Göknil

In 1978, UNESCO declared the following year International Year of the Child which encouraged some of the country’s most important literary figures – Yaşar Kemal, Orhan Kemal and Nâzım Hikmet – to publish works for children.

Above: Turkish-Kurdish author / human rights activist Yaşar Kemal (1923 – 2015)

Above: Turkish writer Orhan Kemal (1914 – 1970)

Above: Turkish poet / writer Nâzim Hikmet

The first children’s publishing house, Mavi Bulut Yayınları was founded in the 1980s by author Fatih Erdoğan.

Above: Turkish writer Fatih Erdoğan

This was a fascinating period when significant writers such as Yalvaç Ural, Behiç Ak and Sevim Ak started producing books.

Above: Turkish writer Yalvaç Ural

Above: Turkish cartoonist / writer / film director Behiç Ak

Above: Turkish writer chemical engineer Sevim Ak

In the 1990s, the children’s publishing industry in Turkey began to develop, with an increase in the number of writers and books.

More publishing houses also became involved with children’s literature, investing both intellectually and financially.

One of the most significant of these was Günışığı Kitaplığı.

The writers, illustrators and editors that this publishing house brought to the industry offered a new perspective on children’s literature.

With their wide range of titles and content, other noteworthy presses from this time are:  Mavi Bulut, Can Çocuk Yayınları, Altın Kitaplar, Doğan Egmont, Tudem Publishing Group, Timaş Publications, Nesin Publications, İthaki Child, İletişim Child, Word Publications, Redhouse Kids, Dinozor Child.

Here is a summary of some books that have already been translated into English.

The Red Apple is a lyrical story about a cute bunny looking for ways to fill his stomach on a cold winter day.

He cooperates with other animals in the forest to reach the red apple.

A Friend in Winter starts with Leo the Cat who is bored.

He lives in a wooden house on the edge of the forest and this tale evolves into a beautiful story of friendship.

Based on an exciting gift a little boy received from his grandfather when he started primary school, Grandpa’s Book of Daydreams establishes a dialogue with the reader using some blank pages and unpainted sketches, giving space for the reader to add their own dreams to the little’s boy’s grandfather’s notebook of daydreams.

The King of Seasons’ Birthday is celebrated every year on the first day of Autumn.

He takes off his paints and starts working to celebrate his birthday. He has to draw Autumn and change all summer colours.

However, the King can’t do it, probably because someone doesn’t want the summer to end. 

My Grandad’s Magical Wardrobe is a fascinating illustrated story based on the meeting of a boy who lost his grandfather meeting with his new grandfather. 

Three Cats, One Wish tells the heart-warming adventures of three very different friends, Piti, Pati and Pus.

The book emphasizes the importance of working together to achieve a dream.

A Wonderful Day in Istanbul tells the story of three friends and their cat, who stroll the streets of Istanbul to show the city to their friends from abroad, taking children on a beautiful historical journey.

My Grandpa’s Grocery Store is a story full of fun facts from a child’s mind.

The funny anecdotes of a small-town girl who dreams of making a big commercial breakthrough in her grandfather’s grocery store.

The Beyoğlu Adventure takes place in one of the oldest districts of Istanbul.

Along with his dog Bilgin, knowledge hunter Sinan’s mission becomes an adventure thanks to the Password Pirates, taking readers to historical places on the streets of Beyoğlu.

The book, which is a work of art with beautiful illustrations, has an interactive structure, inviting its readers to decipher the codes hidden in the story. 

During the week of Children’s Day, children stay with Turkish families and interact with the Turkish children and learn about each other’s countries and cultures.

And how better to learn than to compare children’s literature?

I think of Ivana Brlić-Mažuranić (18 April 1874 – 1938) was a Croatian writer, praised as the best Croatian writer for children.

On 15 August 1891 , Ivana Mažuranić and Vatroslav Brlić, lawyer and politician, got engaged. 

Their wedding was on 18 April 1892, on Ivan’s 18th birthday, in the Church of St. Brand. 

After the wedding, Ivana moved with her husband to Brod na Sava (today Slavonski Brod), where she lived most of her life, which she devoted to her family, education and literary work.

As a mother of seven children, she had the opportunity to become familiar with children’s psyche, and thus understand the purity and naivety of their world.

Above: Ivana Brlić-Mažuranić

Ivana Brlić-Mažuranić started writing poetry, diaries and essays rather early, but her works were not published until the beginning of the 20th century.

Her stories and articles, like the series of educational articles under the name “School and Holidays” started to be published more regularly in the journals after the year 1903.

It was in 1913 when her book The Marvelous Adventures and Misadventures of Hlapić the Apprentice (also known as The Brave Adventures of Lapitch / Čudnovate zgode šegrta Hlapića) was published that really caught the literary public’s eye.

In the story, the poor apprentice Hlapić accidentally finds his master’s lost daughter as his luck turns for the better.

A poor young orphan called Lapitch works as the apprentice for the Scowlers – a mean-mannered shoemaker, and his kind-hearted wife.

After Master Scowler blames him for the wrong size of a customer’s shoes, Lapitch leaves a note and runs away from home.

Later joined by Bundaš, the Scowlers’ dog, he sets off on a seven-day adventure, during which he meets Gita, a circus performer, and encounters a local thief known as the Black Man and his henchman named Grga.

Her book Croatian Tales of Long Ago (Priče iz davnine), published in 1916, is among the most popular today in large part because of its adaptation into a computerized interactive fiction product by Helena Bulaja in 2006.

In the book Mažuranić created a series of new fairy tales, but using names and motifs from the Slavic mythology of Croats.

It was this that earned her comparisons to Hans Christian Andersen and Tolkien who also wrote completely new stories but based in some elements of real mythology.

Above: Danish writer Hans Christian Andersen (1805 – 1875)

Above: English writer / philologist John Ronald Reuel (J. R. R.) Tolkien (1892 – 1973)

Croatian Tales of Long Ago (Priče iz davnine / “Stories from Ancient Times“), is a short story collection  her masterpiece and features a series of newly written fairy tales heavily inspired by motifs taken from ancient Slavic mythology of pre-Christian Croatia.

The following is the list of original titles followed by English titles as translated by Copeland (stories missing from the English version are marked with the † symbol):

  • Kako je Potjeh tražio istinu (How Quest Sought the Truth)
  • Ribar Palunko i njegova žena (Fisherman Plunk and His Wife)
  • Regoč (Reygoch)
  • Šuma Striborova (Stribor’s Forest)
  • Bratac Jaglenac i sestrica Rutvica (Little Brother Primrose and Sister Lavender)
  • Lutonjica Toporko i devet župančića †
  • Sunce djever i Neva Nevičica (Bridesman Sun and Bride Bridekins)
  • Jagor †

The environment exerted the strongest influence on my sensitive child’s soul.

The first conscious feeling that arose in me in my parents’ house was love for the Croatian homeland.

When my parents finally moved to Zagreb in 1882, the impression (and all other impressions of my parents’ home) increased even more by staying in my grandfather’s house every day, poet and Ban Ivan Mažuranić.

Of course, I should mention that before (when I was 4 and 5 years old) I visited my grandfather in Banski dvori on Markovo trg with my parents.

Although life in the Ban Palace brought a lot of things that greatly occupied the interest of such a young child, I still clearly and particularly clearly remember the person of my grandfather from that age.

But his real influence on me only started at the time I want to talk about, when we moved to Zagreb.

In my grandfather’s home, his extended family met every evening, so that 15-18 people would always sit at the table.

The table was chaired by Grandfather himself, he led the conversations, and his physically and mentally powerful presence had an unfathomable influence on my being – the strict patriarchal spirit made any rapprochement with Grandfather impossible.

Nevertheless, during these four years (from the age of 12 to 16) that I was attached to his desk, I developed under the impression of his great appearance my whole being as it is now.

Every word of his, every debate (he was happy to engage in debates and did not let the subject fall until he was exhausted) was sublime in mind, and even more sublime in that purity and rigor of ethical views with which it seems that this mighty old man permeated all his surroundings, all his home, all his knee.”

(Ivana Brlić-Mažuranić) 

Above: The house where Ivana Brlić Mažuranić lived and worked in Slavonski Brod

Brlić-Mažuranić was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature four times – in 1931 and 1935 she was nominated by the historian Gabriel Manojlović, and in 1937 and 1938 he was joined by the philosopher Albert Bazala, both based in Zagreb.

In 1937 she also became the first woman accepted as a Corresponding Member into the Yugoslav Academy of Sciences and Arts. 

Above: Croatian Academy of Sciences and Arts, Zagreb, Croatia

She was awarded the Order of Saint Sava.

Above: The Order of Saint Sava medal

Her books of novels and fairy tales for children, originally intended to educate her own, have been translated into nearly all European languages.

Highly regarded and valued by both national and foreign literary critics, she obtained the title of Croatian Andersen.

After a long battle with depression, she committed suicide on 21 September 1938 in Zagreb.

She is buried in Mirogoj Cemetery in Zagreb.

Above: The grave of Ivana Brlić Mažuranić

I cannot claim to comprehend depression nor can I condemn those who are in such physical and / or psychological pain that the ending of their own lives seems to them like a release from their suffering and sorrow.

I only have a sense that somehow the world has failed them.

Above: Édouard Manet – Le Suicidé (1877)

What I do believe is that how we develop as children moulds us into the adults we eventually become.

Part of that formation is the mythologies and ideologies, the hopes and dreams, the facts of life and the tales of fiction that we expose them to.

I think in many cases our approach in forming our future generations is failing them.

We need to teach them how to think for themselves, how to love all humanity, how to live life joyfully.

Indoctrination and oppression only creates robots or rebels, neither of which is good for a nation or for the world.

We need to encourage free expression so the interchange of ideas is possible.

If a government is doing well by its people it needs not view dissent as a threat but rather as a challenge to better itself.

Censor that which is destructive but encourage debate and discussion whenever possible.

Make men out of boys and women from girls by encouraging them to read books, instead of causing them to seek solace by isolating themselves from the world with eyes glued to phone screens and ears plugged into iPods.

I firmly believe that chidren’s literature plays a crucial role in the formation of our future and the development of children into healthy and happy fully-functioning adults.

Teach them a love of literature and the adventure of intellectual and emotional discovery.

Let them naturally fall in love with the poetry and prose of their nation.

Let them curiously compare Orhan Veli and Nasrettin Hoca with the literature of La Fontaine, the artistry of Andersen and the brittle brilliance of Brlić-Mažuranić.

Let us encourage poets and musicians, essayists and novelists to write children’s literature.

Children need wholesome stories in the same way that they need fibre and fruit.

Just as there has been a concerted effort to reintroduce children to the benefits of exercise and decent nutrition, there needs to be a battle to engage the hearts and minds of children with the joy and adventure of reading.

Despite the grumbling that Turks do when they consider their spiralling economy, Türkiye still has the 18th-largest economy in the world and the 7th-largest economy in Europe.

It also ranks as the 11th-largest in the world and the 5th-largest in Europe.

According to the IMF, Turkey has an upper-middle income, mixed-market, emerging economy.

Türkiye has often been defined as a newly industrialized country since the turn of the 21st century. 

The country is the 4th most visited destination in the world and has over 1,500 R & D centres established both by multinational and national firms. 

Türkiye is among the world’s leading producers of agricultural products, textiles, motor vehicles, transportation equipment, construction materials, consumer electronics, and home appliances.

It is a culture of plenty.

Most people in Türkiye have plenty of food, decent accommodation as well as education, health, recreation and entertainment facilities that would astonish our ancestors and is the envy of other nations.

And yet Türkiye, much like the economic powerhouse nations of the West, seems determined to squander these gifts.

Our children are bored witless despite a plethora of entertainment options that someone born just a generation ago can only marvel at.

As recently as the 1970s who could have predicted digital TV or the rise of Internet games where hundreds of thousands of players compete without ever meeting – without even being on the same continent?

We have Wii, PSP, Nintendo, giant plasma screen HD TVs and computer games to suit every taste and yet…

Many children are restless and dissatisfied while their parents, overworked and overfocused on consumerism, are consequently frustrated and cross.

Part of the problem is that a lot of the entertainment choices pushed at children are junk, the equivalent of a non-stop diet of pop and sweets.

A good book can show them that life is much more enriching, much more fulfilling, much more thrilling than anything electronics can produce.

Reading might seem hard work when compared with sitting in front of a television or a game console all day, but for the mind and heart and soul and spirit reading is far more rewarding.

The modern world is loud and bright and children have access to unlimited entertainment.

Reading can offer a rare and vital moment of peace and reflection.

Let me see children playing outside and reading in libraries and I promise you a land of future happiness.

When you’re happy, the sun is chasing you.

(Ivana Brlić-Mažuranić)

Oh, grown-ups cannot understand

And grown-ups never will

How short the way to fairy land

Across the purple hill.”

(Alfred Noyes)

Above: English poet Alfred Noyes (1880 – 1958)

Children like to read about other children, not adults.

Children’s writers need to make the heroes children.

Children’s writers need to make sure they solve the mysteries and overcome the odds on their own rather than with adult help.

Children need a day to play with children not to pretend to be adults.

I want to rediscover the boy inside the man.

If I can’t find a favourite children’s book then I will learn how to write one.

There will always be children who will always need children’s books.

There will always be adults who will need to rediscover the joy and wonder of childhood.

So long so long so long he’s been away
So long so long so long he’s back again
When I turned seventeen
We had passion, we had dreams
Thought the love we were fighting for
Was something holy, something more

When I turned twenty-one
We were outside on the run
When I walked out with my girl
We went halfway around the world

I dreamed I saw her standing there
Running for the boy inside the man
I was hit hard by the light so bright it burned
All at once I knеw she’d understand

Boy inside thе man
The boy inside the man
When I turned twenty-five
We were hungry, we had drive
When I turned much older then
When the boy was lost in pride

Now I just turned thirty-one
I have lost and I have won
Still I’ve kept my dreams alive
‘Cause the boy will never die

I dreamed I saw her standing there
Running for the boy inside the man
I was hit hard by the light so bright it burned
All at once I knew she’d understand

Boy inside the man
The boy inside the man
When I turned twenty-five
We were hungry, we had drive
When I turned much older then
When the boy was lost in pride

Ah do you understand

I dreamed I saw her standing there
Running for the boy inside the man
I was hit hard by the light so bright it burned
All at once I knew she’d understand

Boy inside the man
The boy inside the man
When I turned twenty-five
We were hungry, we had drive
When I turned much older then
When the boy was lost in pride

The boy inside the man
The boy inside the man
So long so long so long
You been away
So long so long so long
You’re back again

Sister cool this face
As if it’s carved in stone
Don’t leave me in this place
Like a boy without a home
Like a boy without a home
Boy inside the man

Above: Two parents and a child: the statue Family in the garden of the Palace of Nations (United Nations Office at Geneva, Switzerland) is a commemoration of the International Year of the Child (1979).

Sources

Wikipedia

Google Photos

How to Be a Writer, Stewart Ferris

An Overview of Children’s Literature in Turkey”, worldkidlit.org, Gulşah Özdemir Koryürek

Get Started in Creative Writing, Stephen May

The Penniless Parliament of Threadbare Poets

Eskişehir, Türkiye

Thursday 18 April 2024 (continued)

I get up in the evenin’
And I ain’t got nothin’ to say
I come home in the mornin’
I go to bed feelin’ the same way
I ain’t nothin’ but tired
Man, I’m just tired and bored with myself
Hey there, baby, I could use just a little help

You can’t start a fire
You can’t start a fire without a spark
This gun’s for hire
Even if we’re just dancin’ in the dark

Messages keep gettin’ clearer
Radio’s on and I’m movin’ ’round my place
I check my look in the mirror
Wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face
Man, I ain’t gettin’ nowhere
I’m just livin’ in a dump like this
There’s somethin’ happenin’ somewhere
Baby, I just know that there is

You can’t start a fire
You can’t start a fire without a spark
This gun’s for hire
Even if we’re just dancin’ in the dark

You sit around gettin’ older
There’s a joke here somewhere and it’s on me
I’ll shake this world off my shoulders
Come on, baby, the laugh’s on me

Stay on the streets of this town
And they’ll be carvin’ you up alright
They say you gotta stay hungry
Hey baby, I’m just about starvin’ tonight
I’m dyin’ for some action
I’m sick of sittin’ ’round here tryin’ to write this book
I need a love reaction
Come on now, baby, gimme just one look

You can’t start a fire
Sittin’ ’round cryin’ over a broken heart
This gun’s for hire
Even if we’re just dancin’ in the dark


You can’t start a fire
Worryin’ about your little world fallin’ apart
This gun’s for hire
Even if we’re just dancin’ in the dark


Even if we’re just dancin’ in the dark
Even if we’re just dancin’ in the dark
Even if we’re just dancin’ in the dark
Hey baby

(“Dancin’ in the Dark“, Bruce Springsteen)

In my last blogpost (Middleton and other musings) I wrote about Thomas Middleton (18 April 1580 – July 1627), an English Jacobean playwright and poet, who was among the most successful and prolific of playwrights at work in the Jacobean period, and among the few to gain equal success in comedy and tragedy, and whom T. S. Eliot thought was second only to Shakespeare.

Of his works In the early 17th century, Middleton made a living writing topical pamphlets, including one –Penniless Parliament of Threadbare Poets – that was reprinted several times and became the subject of a parliamentary inquiry.

Above: Thomas Middleton

I have been unable, so far, to find neither a copy of this nor even a synopsis of what this pamphlet contained.

But the title intrigues me and has me asking a question:

Do writers (or any other artists) need be “threadbare“?

“A romantic notion persists:

The artist, the writer, crammed in a tiny city apartment, water stains above their head, mice running in the wall.

They are bent over a beautiful creation:

A painting, a story, a dish on a menu, a clay figurine.

They have flowers next to them, not in a vase, but in a bottle.

The window is open.

The night is starry and warm.

Above: The Starry Sky, Vincent van Gogh

The sounds of the city provide the eternal soundtrack.

You can hear the sound of the underground trains
You know it feels like distant thunder
You can hear the sound of the underground trains
You know it feels like distant thunder

You know there’s so many people living in this house
And I don’t even know their names
You know there’s so many people living in this house
And I don’t even know their names

I guess it’s just a feeling
I guess it’s just a feeling (in the city)
I guess it’s just a feeling
I guess it’s just a feeling (in the city)

You can hear the sound of the underground trains
You know it feels like distant thunder
You can hear the sound of the underground trains
You know it feels like distant thunder

Walls so thin, I can almost hear them breathing
And if I listen in, I hear my own heart beating
Walls so thin, I can almost hear them breathing
And if I listen in, I hear my own heart beating
In the city

I guess it’s just a feeling
I guess it’s just a feeling (in the city)
I guess it’s just a feeling
I guess it’s just a feeling (in the city)

(Repeat 4X)

(“This City Never Sleeps“, Eurhythmics)

Though the writer wears thrift store finds, they are stylish enough, retro in a way.

Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by, you can spend the night beside her
And you know that she’s half-crazy but that’s why you wanna to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges that come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her that you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer that you’ve always been her lover

And you want to travel with her, and you want to travel blind
And then you know that she will trust you
For you’ve touched her perfect body with your mind

And Jesus was a sailor when he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching from his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain only drowning men could see him
He said all men will be sailors then until the sea shall free them
But he himself was broken, long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human, he sank beneath your wisdom like a stone

And you want to travel with him, and you want to travel blind
And then you think maybe you’ll trust him
For he’s touched your perfect body with his mind

Now, Suzanne takes your hand and she leads you to the river
She’s wearing rags and feathers from Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey on our Lady of the harbor
And she shows you where to look among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed, there are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love and they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror

And you want to travel with her, and you want to travel blind
And then you know that you can trust her
For she’s touched your perfect body with her mind

(“Suzanne“, Leonard Cohen)

A bowl of noodles sits nearby, already cold because, being so consumed by the process of creation, the artist has forgotten to eat.

Because the art is everything.

This is the artist’s choice.

They are choosing to be a maker, a creater, someone who does something significant.

Above: Bedroom in Arles, Vincent van Gogh

They have no job.

They have no prospects but for this half-made art in front of them.

They have chosen to jump out of the plane without a parachute, dangerously, madly, wonderfully assured that they will figure out how to make a parachute on the way down.

She’s a good girl, loves her mama
Loves Jesus and America too
She’s a good girl, is crazy ’bout Elvis
Loves horses and her boyfriend too

And it’s a long day livin’ in Reseda
There’s a freeway runnin’ through the yard
And I’m a bad boy, ’cause I don’t even miss her
I’m a bad boy for breakin’ her heart

And I’m free
Free fallin’
Yeah, I’m free
Free fallin’

And all the vampires walkin’ through the valley
Move west down Ventura Boulevard (Ventura Boulevard)
And all the bad boys are standin’ in the shadows
And the good girls are home with broken hearts

And I’m free
I’m free fallin’
Yeah, I’m free
Free fallin’

Free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’, now I’m

Free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’, now I’m

I wanna glide down over Mulholland (oh-ah)
I wanna write her name in the sky (oh-ah)
I’m gonna free fall out into nothin’ (oh-ah)
Gonna leave this world for awhile (oh-ah)

And I’m free (free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’, now I’m)
Free fallin’ (free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’, now I’m)
Yeah, I’m free (free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’, now I’m)
Free fallin’ (free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’, now I’m)

Free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’, now I’m
Yeah, I’m free
Free fallin’

Oh! (Free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’, now I’m)
Free fallin’ (free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’, now I’m)
And I’m free (free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’) oh! (Now I’m)

Free fallin’ (free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’, now I’m)
Free fallin’, now I’m free fallin’, now I’m
Free fallin’ (free fallin’, now I’m free…)

(“Free Fallin’, Tom Petty)

Follow your dreams, writers.

Reckless abandon.

Give your art your everything.

Tell your story at any cost.

Well, I won’t back down
No I won’t back down
You could stand me up at the gates of Hell
But I won’t back down

No I’ll stand my ground
Won’t be turned around
And I’ll keep this world from draggin’ me down
Gonna stand my ground
And I won’t back down

Hey baby
There ain’t no easy way out (I won’t back down)
Hey I will stand my ground
And I won’t back down

Well, I know what’s right
I got just one life
In a world that keeps on pushin’ me around
But I’ll stand my ground
And I won’t back down

Hey baby
There ain’t no easy way out (I won’t back down)
Hey I will stand my ground (I won’t back down)
And I won’t back down

Hey baby
There ain’t no easy way out (I won’t back down)
Hey I won’t back down

Hey baby
There ain’t no easy way out (I won’t back down)
Hey I will stand my ground (I won’t back down)
And I won’t back down (I won’t back down)
No I won’t back down

(“I Won’t Back Down“, Tom Petty)

It all sounds quite nice.

It is not that this is entirely wrong.

A life in service to art and story is one that features a little bit of sacrifice, at least in the sense that when you choose to do something it means you perhaps close other doors.

Eventually, picking a path means rejecting other paths.

You can go back and return to those rejected paths, but that requires different sacrifices, including the sacrifice of time and effort.

As the idea goes, we have only so much time in our day and so many days in our life, so get busy writing or that time is lost.

Above: Scene from The Shawshank Redemption

But there is a line.

A very important line.

It is one thing to take your work seriously and give it your all.

It is another where you sacrifice a normal life and its essentials in its pursuit.

To cut to the chase:

You should not be ashamed of your day job.

Been working like a dog gone crazy
I’ve been giving everything I’ve got
I need something short and sweet to save me
A little something that can hit the spot

I’ve been living like a man in a prison
I’ve been living like a monk in a cave
I need a woman with a good position
I start searching at the end of the day

Pack it in and go to town
When the sun goes down (down, down, down)
And do the tomcat prowl
When the sun goes down (down, down, down)

I’ve been punching out a clock since 15
I’ve been living on a working wage
You keep paying me, and I’ll keep lifting
I keep a-lifting ’til the end of the day

Then pack it in and go to town
When the sun goes down, mmm, yeah!
Do the moon dog howl
When the sun goes down (down, down, down)
And do the tomcat prowl
When the sun goes down (down, down, down)
Howl! (Down)

Gotta find a way to ease that pressure
Gotta find a way to ease that pain
Gotta find myself some buried treasure
Gotta find it before the sun comes up again

It doesn’t matter if you’re sane or crazy
It doesn’t matter if you’re weak or strong
It doesn’t matter if your past is hazy
It doesn’t matter, you can all come along

Pack it in and go to town
When the sun goes down
And do the tomcat prowl
When the sun goes down (down, down, down)
Sun goes down!

Pack it in and go to town
When the sun goes down (sun goes down, yeah!)
And do the tomcat prowl
When the sun goes down (howl!)

Do the moon dog howl
When the sun goes down

(“Tom Cat Prowl“, Doug and the Slugs)

Why are day jobs a good thing?

Starvation is not a good condition for making art.

Being worried about where your next paycheck is going to come from does not make it easy to effortlessly create art.

Half the time I would want to spend writing I would instead just looking for jobs.

It was easier to write when I was working jobs, despite jobs taking up the lion’s share of time.

And, on the flip side of it, having those moderately stupid and occasionally terrible jobs also reminded me that this was not what I wanted to do for a living.

So it gave the impetus to push, to look for different, to look for better, and to keep on writing every moment I could spare.

Before work, during lunch breaks, after work, I would write.

And eventually I seized an opportunity to write freelance and did that for just over a decade.

But I still didn’t quit my day job for years into that freelance gig.

When I did, ıt was a difficult transition:

I had to learn to budget, to really chase deadlines, to chase jobs.

And when I transitioned from freelance to writing novels, that was tough, too.

Last night, I had the strangest dream
I sailed away to China
In a little rowboat to find ya
And you said you had to get your laundry clean
Didn’t want no one to hold you, what does that mean?
And you said

[Chorus]
Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride
Nobody gonna slow me down
Oh no, I got to keep on moving
Ain’t nothin’ gonna break-a my stride
I’m runnin’ and I won’t touch ground
Oh no, I got to keep on moving


You’re on a roll and now you pray it lasts
The road behind was rocky
But now you’re feeling cocky
You look at me and you see your past
Is that the reason why you’re runnin’ so fast?
And she said

[Chorus]
Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride
Nobody gonna slow me down
Oh no, I got to keep on moving
Ain’t nothin’ gonna break-a my stride
I’m runnin’ and I won’t touch ground
Oh no, I got to keep on moving

Getting to go fulltime as a writer was, for me, an epic and profound privilege.

I only got to do it in part because the freelance work became so much that I had to either cut it or the day job out.

You need food to live and a roof over your head.

You need the security of health care.

Anthony works in the grocery store
Savin’ his pennies for someday
Mama Leone left a note on the door
She said, “Sonny, move out to the country
Workin’ too hard can give you
A heart attack (ack, ack, ack, ack, ack)
You oughta know by now (oughta know)
Who needs a house out in Hackensack
Is that what you get for your money?

It seems such a waste of time
If that’s what it’s all about
Mama if that’s movin’ up
Then I’m movin’ out
I’m movin’ out

Sergeant O’Leary is walkin’ the beat
At night he becomes a bartender
He works at Mister Cacciatore’s down
On Sullivan Street
Across from the medical center
He’s tradin’ in his Chevy for a Cadillac (ack, ack, ack, ack, ack)


You oughta know by now
And if he can’t drive
With a broken back
At least he can polish the fenders

It seems such a waste of time
If that’s what it’s all about
Mama if that’s movin’ up
Then I’m movin’ out
I’m movin’ out

You should never argue with a crazy mind (mi-, mi-, mi-, mi-, mi-)
You oughta know by now
You can pay Uncle Sam with the overtime
Is that all you get for your money


If that’s what you have in mind
If that’s what you’re all about
Good luck movin’ up
‘Cause I’m moving out
I’m moving out (mmm)
Ou, ou, uh huh (mmm)

I’m moving out

(“Movin’ Out“, Billy Joel)

There is zero shame in a day job.

And a day job may very well be crucial, because writing – as a hobby, as a semi-pro endeavour or as a fully professional gig – is not always a delivery system for reliable income.

Hell, even when the money is good, it can arrive erratically.

Feast or famine.

During times of famine, a day job will keep you fed.

You get up every morning from your alarm clock’s warning
Take the 8:15 into the city
There’s a whistle up above and people pushin’, people shovin’
And the girls who try to look pretty
And if your train’s on time, you can get to work by nine
And start your slaving job to get your pay
If you ever get annoyed, look at me I’m self-employed
I love to work at nothing all day

And I’ll be taking care of business (every day)
Taking care of business (every way)
I’ve been taking care of business (it’s all mine)
Taking care of business and working overtime, work out

If it were easy as fishin’ you could be a musician
If you could make sounds loud or mellow
Get a second-hand guitar, chances are you’ll go far
If you get in with the right bunch of fellows
People see you having fun just a-lying in the sun
Tell them that you like it this way
It’s the work that we avoid, and we’re all self-employed
We love to work at nothing all day

And we be taking care of business (every day)
Taking care of business (every way)
We be been taking care of business (it’s all mine)
Taking care of business and working overtime

Mercy
Whoo
All right

Take good care of my business
When I’m away, every day
Whoo

They get up every morning from their alarm clock’s warning
Take the 8:15 into the city
There’s a whistle up above and people pushin’, people shovin’
And the girls who try to look pretty
And if your train’s on time, you can get to work by nine
And start your slaving job to get your pay
If you ever get annoyed, look at me I’m self-employed
I love to work at nothing all day

And I be taking care of business (every day)
Taking care of business (every way)
I’ve been taking care of business (it’s all mine)
Taking care of business and working overtime, take care

Takin’ care of business, whoo
Takin’ care of business
Takin’ care of business
Takin’ care of business
Takin’ care of business (every day)
Takin’ care of business (every way)
Takin’ care of business (it’s all mine)
Takin’ care of business and working overtime, whoo

Takin’ care of business
Takin’ care of business
We be takin’ care of business
We be takin’ care of business
Takin’ care of business
Takin’ care of business
Takin’ care of business

(“Takin’ Care of Business“, Bachman Turner Overdrive)

Most artists have day jobs.

That is how it works.

Because the alternative is starvation.

If your belly is empty, you are not going to work at your best nor will you make excellent decisions.

Art doesn’t need to be made in discomfort.

There is zero shame in comfort, in paying your bills, in eating food and enjoying the shade that comes from a ceiling, which itself is underneath a roof.

You may even be likelier to make great art while comfortable, because you are not starving or drowning or despairing.

Yes, there is certainly a romance to the scrappy young artist, not kowtowing to The Man – but there is also a lot of power behind an artist who can afford some time and space and more than a packet of ramen upon which to subsist.

You can do both.

You can work a day job and continue to make art.

Great art.

Your art.

Risky, weird, wonderful art.

Above: Vincent van Gogh painting sunflowers (1888), Paul Gauguin

Now look at them yo-yos, that’s the way you do it
You play the guitar on the MTV
That ain’t workin’, that’s the way you do it
Money for nothin’ and your chicks for free

Now that ain’t workin’, that’s the way you do it
Lemme tell ya, them guys ain’t dumb
Maybe get a blister on your little finger
Maybe get a blister on your thumb

We got to install microwave ovens, custom kitchen deliveries
We got to move these refrigerators, we got to move these color TVs

See the little faggot with the earring and the make up
Yeah, buddy, that’s his own hair
That little faggot got his own jet airplane
That little faggot, he’s a millionaire

We got to install microwave ovens, custom kitchen deliveries
We got to move these refrigerators, we gotta move these color TVs

We got to install microwave ovens, custom kitchen deliveries
We got to move these refrigerators, we got to move these color TVs
Looky here, look out

I shoulda learned to play the guitar
I shoulda learned to play them drums
Look at that mama, she got it stickin’ in the camera man
We could have some

And he’s up there, what’s that?
Hawaiian noises?
Bangin’ on the bongos like a chimpanzee
That ain’t workin’, that’s the way you do it
Get your money for nothin’, get your chicks for free

We got to install microwave ovens, custom kitchen deliveries
We got to move these refrigerators, we gotta move these color TVs

Listen here
Now that ain’t workin’ that’s the way you do it
You play the guitar on the MTV
That ain’t workin’, that’s the way you do it
Money for nothin’ and your chicks for free
Money for nothin’, chicks for free
Get your money for nothin’ and your chicks for free
Ooh, money for nothin’, chicks for free
Money for nothin’, chicks for free (money, money, money)
Money for nothin’, chicks for free
Get your money for nothin’, get your chicks for free
Get your money for nothin’ and the chicks for free
Get your money for nothin’ and the chicks for free

Look at that, look at that
Get your money for nothin’ (I want my, I want my)
Chicks for free (I want my MTV)
Money for nothin’, chicks for free (I want my, I want my, I want my MTV)
Get your money for nothin’ (I want my, I want my)
And the chicks for free (I want my MTV)
Get your money for nothin’ (I want my, I want my)
And the chicks for free (I want my MTV)
Easy, easy money for nothin’ (I want my, I want my)
Easy, easy chicks for free (I want my MTV)
Easy, easy money for nothin’ (I want my, I want my)
Chicks for free (I want my MTV)
That ain’t workin’

Money for nothing, chicks for free
Money for nothing, chicks for free

(“Money For Nothing“, Dire Straits)

Art is enough of a risk as it is without you making it riskier.

Have the day job.

Don’t starve.”

(Gentle Writing Advice, Chuck Wendig)

“You are all set up as a writer now, so go ahead.

Resign.

In a week or two you will get an advance for your sample chapter that pays off the mortgage and buys you a holiday home in the south of France, right?

Take this job and shove it
I ain’t working here no more
My woman done left and took all the reason
I was working for
You better not try to stand in my way
As I’m a-walkin’ out the door
Take this job and shove it
I ain’t working here no more

I’ve been workin’ in this factory
For now on fifteen years
All this time I watched my woman
Drownin’ in a pool of tears
And I’ve seen a lot of good folk die
That had a lot of bills to pay
I’d give the shirt right offa’ my back
If I had the guts to say

Take this job and shove it
I ain’t working here no more
My woman done left and took all the reason
I was workin’ for
You better not try to stand in my way
As I’m a-walkin’ out the door
Take this job and shove it
I ain’t workin’ here no more

Well that foreman, he’s a regular dog
The line boss, he’s a fool
Got a brand new flattop haircut
Lord, he thinks he’s cool

One of these days I’m gonna’ blow my top
And that sucker, he’s gonna’ pay
Lord, I can’t wait to see their faces
When I get the nerve to say

Take this job and shove it
I ain’t working here no more
My woman done left and took all the reason
I was workin’ for
You better not try to stand in my way
As I’m a-walkin’ out the door
Take this job and shove it
I ain’t workin’ here no more

Take this job and shove it

(“Take This Job and Shove It“, Johnny Paycheck)

Wrong.

Firstly, an unknown writer won’t get an advance for a sample chapter.

How does the publisher know you can continue writing at that quality until the end of the book?

How do they know your rip-roaring story won’t fizzle out in a few chapters?

The best-case scenario would be an encouraging letter or email saying they like the sample and would be happy to look at the finished book when it is ready.

No commitment.

No money.

Months later, when you have finished the book and sent it to them, you will then have to wait weeks for a reply.

Sometimes months.

If they make an offer to publish, you still won’t see any of that advance until the contract is signed.

Even then you still won’t see any of that advance until the contract is signed.

Even then you will only receive a portion of it.

(The rest is reserved for when the book is published, probably 18 months later.)

So your payment might be as much as two years away.

That is if you are fortunate enough to get an offer from the first publisher you send it to.

Will that royalty advance change your life?

Enormous advances hit the headlines, so understandably that is what you think you will get.

But 99% of publishing deals do not involve huge sums of cash.

An average advance in the industry is unlikely to buy you a new sofa let alone a new house.

The dilution of the publishing world that followed the dramatic success of eBooks and the ease and affordability of digital self-publishing has resulted in even lower advances as publishers attempt to shield themselves from competition that seems to grow exponentially.

You will still be able to buy a sofa with your advance, but these days it is likely to be from the charity shop.

The cynical side of me would therefore say that the best way to make a living as a writer is to get another job (or keep the one you have already).

But it doesn’t have to be that way.

There has to be room for dreams and ambitions.

You write because you have the imagination and creativity to make something out of nothing.

If you have the power to perform such alchemy, the ability to monetize your output must be within your grasp.

Just don’t do anything to harm your original source of income until you have proven that not only can you replace it with cash derived from writing but that you can do so consistently.”

(How to Be a Writer, Stewart Ferris)

You may write for your own enjoyment or for the challenge of it, but it is not until your work is published – made public – that you can truly call yourself a writer.

Presumably you write in the hopes of making some money.

I work all night, I work all day to pay the bills I have to pay
Ain’t it sad?
And still there never seems to be a single penny left for me
That’s too bad
In my dreams I have a plan
If I got me a wealthy man
I wouldn’t have to work at all, I’d fool around and have a ball

Money, money, money
Must be funny
In the rich man’s world
Money, money, money
Always sunny
In the rich man’s world
Aha
All the things I could do
If I had a little money
It’s a rich man’s world
It’s a rich man’s world

A man like that is hard to find but I can’t get him off my mind
Ain’t it sad?
And if he happens to be free I bet he wouldn’t fancy me
That’s too bad
So I must leave, I’ll have to go
To Las Vegas or Monaco
And win a fortune in a game, my life will never be the same

Money, money, money
Must be funny
In the rich man’s world
Money, money, money
Always sunny
In the rich man’s world
Aha
All the things I could do
If I had a little money
It’s a rich man’s world

Money, money, money
Must be funny
In the rich man’s world
Money, money, money
Always sunny
In the rich man’s world
Aha
All the things I could do
If I had a little money
It’s a rich man’s world
It’s a rich man’s world

(“Money Money Money“, ABBA)

If, however, you have to begin by writing for publishers who can’t afford to pay you, you will still gain valuable experience, compile a clipping file and increase your confidence for more lucrative assignments to come.

“Everything in life has to start everywhere and that somewhere is always at the beginning.

Stephen King, Stephanie Meyer, Jeff Kinney, Nora Roberts – they all had to start at the beginning.

Above: Stephen King

It would be great to say becoming a writer is as easy as waving a magic wand over your manuscript and “Poof!” you’re published, but that is not how it happens.

Above: Stephenie Meyer

While there is no one true “key” to becoming successful, along well-paid writing career can happen when you combine four elements:

  • Good writing
  • Knowledge of writing markets
  • Professionalism
  • Persistence

Above: Jeff Kinney

Good writing is useless if you don’t know which markets will buy your work or how to pitch and sell your writing.

Above: Nora Roberts

If you are not professional and persistent in your contact with editors, your writing is just that:

Your writing.

But if you are a writer who embraces the above four elements, you have a good chance at becoming a paid published writer who will reap the benefits of a long and successful career.

As you become more involved with writing, you may read articles or talk to editors and authors with conflicting opinions about the right way to submit your work.

The truth is, there are many different routes a writer can follow to get published, but no matter which route you choose, the end is always the same:

Becoming a published writer.

DEVELOP YOUR İDEAS, THEN TARGET THE MARKETS.

Writers often think of an interesting story, complete the manuscript and then begin the search for a suitable publisher or magazine.

While this approach is common for fiction, poetry and screenwriting, it reduces your chances of success in many non-fiction writing areas.

Instead, choose categories that interest you and study those sections in Writer’s Market.

Select several listings you consider good prospects for your type of writing.

Sometimes the individual listings will even help you generate ideas.

Next, make a list of the potential markets for each idea.

Make the initial contact with markets using the method stated in the market listings.

If you exhaust your list of possibilities, don’t give up.

Instead, reevaluate the idea or try another angle.

Contınue developing ideas and approaching markets.

Identify and rank potential markets for an idea and continue the process.

As you submit to various publications, it is important to remember that every magazine is published with a particular audience and slant in mind.

Probably the number one complaint editors have is the submissions they receive are completely wrong for their maagazines or book line.

The first mark of professionalism is to know your market well.

Getting that knowledge starts with Writer’s Market (or The Canadian Writer’s Market – for Canadians, eh?), but you should also do your own detective work.

Search out back issues of the magazines or the backlist of the book publishers you wish to write for, pick up recent issues at your local newsstand or recently published titles at your local bookstore, or visit magazines’ and publisher websites – anything that will help you figure out what subjects specific magazines and book publishers publish.

This research is also helpful in learning what topics have been covered ad nauseum – the topics you should stay away from or try another angle.

Continue developing ideas and approaching markets.

Identify and rank potential markets for an idea and continue the process.

Paperback writer (paperback writer)

Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It’s based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job
So I wanna be a paperback writer
Paperback writer

It’s a dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn’t understand
His son is working for the Daily Mail
It’s a steady job
But he wants to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer

Paperback writer (paperback writer)

It’s a thousand pages, give or take a few
I’ll be writing more in a week or two
I could make it longer if you like the style
I can change it ’round
And I wanna be a paperback writer
Paperback writer

If you really like it you can have the rights
It could make a million for you overnight
If you must return it you can send it here
But I need a break
And I wanna be a paperback writer
Paperback writer

Paperback writer (paperback writer)
Paperback writer (paperback writer)
Paperback writer (paperback writer)
Paperback writer (paperback writer)
Paperback writer (paperback writer)

(“Paperback Writer“, The Beatles)

Prepare for rejection and a lengthy wait.

When a submission is returned, check your file folder of potential markets for that idea.

Cross off the market that rejected the idea.

If the editor has given you suggestions or reasons why the manuscript was not accepted, you might want to incorporate these suggestions when revising your manuscript.

After revising your manuscript mail it to the next market on your list.

Take rejection with a grain of salt.

Rejection is a way of life in the publishing world.

It is inevitable in a business that deals with such an overwhelming number of applicants for such a limited number of positions.

Anyone who has published has lived through many rejections.

Writers with a thin skin are at a distinct disadvantage.

A rejection letter is not a personal attack.

It simply indicates your submission is not appropriate for that market.

Writers who let rejection dissuade them from pursuing their dreams or who react to an editor’s “No” with indignation or fury do themselves a disservice.

Writers who let rejection stop them do not get published.

Resign yourself to facing rejection now.

You will live through it.

You will eventually overcome it.”

(The Writer’s Market, Writer’s Digest Books)

In this proud land we grew up strong
We were wanted all along
I was taught to fight, taught to win
I never thought I could fail

No fight left or so it seems
I am a man whose dreams have all deserted
I’ve changed my face, I’ve changed my name
But no one wants you when you lose

Don’t give up
‘Cause you have friends
Don’t give up
You’re not beaten yet
Don’t give up
I know you can make it good

Though I saw it all around
Never thought I could be affected
Thought that we’d be last to go
It is so strange the way things turn

Drove the night toward my home
The place that I was born, on the lakeside
As daylight broke, I saw the earth
The trees had burned down to the ground

Don’t give up
You still have us
Don’t give up
We don’t need much of anything
Don’t give up
‘Cause somewhere there’s a place
Where we belong

Rest your head
You worry too much
It’s going to be alright
When times get rough
You can fall back on us
Don’t give up
Please don’t give up

Got to walk out of here
I can’t take anymore
Gonna stand on that bridge
Keep my eyes down below
Whatever may come
And whatever may go
That river’s flowing
That river’s flowing

Moved on to another town
Tried hard to settle down
For every job, so many men
So many men no-one needs

Don’t give up
‘Cause you have friends
Don’t give up
You’re not the only one
Don’t give up
No reason to be ashamed
Don’t give up
You still have us
Don’t give up now
We’re proud of who you are
Don’t give up
You know it’s never been easy
Don’t give up
‘Cause I believe there’s a place
There’s a place where we belong

(“Don’t Give Up“, Peter Gabriel)

“There is more to becoming a successful writer than mastering the rules of grammar and syntax and being gifted with the ability to put to paper an interesting string of words.

These are necessary prerequisites, to be sure.

But to join that elite group of published writers – which consists of only 4% of all those who write – one must have endurance, perseverance and marketing savvy.

Whatever you do, don’t give up.

Richard Bach had his classic, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, rejected 16 times.

Robert Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was turned down 121 times.

Dick Wimmer’s Irish Wine: 162 rejections

Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen’s Chicken Soup for the Soul: 144 rejections

James Lee Burke, The Lost Get-Back Boogie: 111 rejections

Lisa Genova, Still Alice: 100 rejections

Kathryn Stockett, The Help: 60 rejections

Stephen King, Carrie: 30 rejections

John Grisham, A Time to Kill: 28 rejections

Frank Herbert, Dune: 23 rejections

Joseph Heller, Catch-22: 22 rejections

William Golding, Lord of the Flies: 21 rejections

Richard Hooker, M.A.S.H. : 21 rejections

James Joyce, Dubliners: 18 rejections

Bad news don’t ruin my appetite
Don’t let the papers tell me if it’s wrong or right
I just do what I do and I do it
Day by day by day by day by day

Live a life and I take it slow
Made mistakes but oh that’s the way it goes
I just know what I know it
Day by day by day by day by day

Day by day I’m feeling stronger
Day by day I’m lasting longer
Day by day you help me make my way

I speak up when I feel it’s right
I jump up when I know that I got to fight
Until then I just take it
Day by day by day by day by day

Day by day I’m feeling stronger
Day by day I’m lasting longer
Day by day you help me make my way

With you don’t worry ’bout it
With you don’t worry ’bout it
With you don’t worry ’bout it
Day by day by day by day by day

Sometimes they deny it and I
I feel strangely blue?
Sometimes they deny it and I
Like the evil I get from you

Day by day you show me a better way
Day by day you help me to find a place
Day by day you help me make it
Day by day by day by day by day

Day by day I’m feeling stronger
Day by day I’m lasting longer
Day by day you help me make it
Day by day by day by day by day

Day by day I’m feeling stronger
Day by day I’m lasting longer
Day by day you help me make it
Day by day by day by day by day

Day by day I’m feeling stronger
Day by day I’m lasting longer
Day by day you help me make my way

(“Day by Day“, Doug and the Slugs)

The point is clear.

If you have the talent and the passion for writing, don’t ever give up.

(Writing for Dollars, John McCollister / “The Most Rejected Books of All Time“, Emily Temple, https://lithub.com)

The professional writer is the amateur who didn’t quit.”

(Richard Bach)

Above: Richard Bach

Here are a few ideas for writing:

  • the feature article
  • the short story
  • creative non-fiction – memoir, biography, autobiography, historical events
  • travel writing
  • blogging
  • writing for children
  • the novel
  • stage plays
  • screenwriting
  • creative writing classes
  • literary festivals and conferences
  • contests and awards

You do not need to be a permanent member of the Penniless Parliament of Threadbare Poets.

The people have spoken.

Just a little more time is all we’re asking for
‘Cause just a little more time could open closing doors
Just a little uncertainty can bring you down

And nobody wants to know you now
And nobody wants to show you how

So if you’re lost and on your own
You can never surrender
And if your path won’t lead you home
You can never surrender

And when the night is cold and dark
You can see, you can see light
‘Cause no one can take away your right
To fight and to never surrender

With a little perseverance
You can get things done
Without the blind adherence
That has conquered some

And nobody wants to know you now
And nobody wants to show you how

So if you’re lost and on your own
You can never surrender
And if your path won’t lead you home
You can never surrender

And when the night is cold and dark
You can see, you can see light
‘Cause no one can take away your right
To fight and to never surrender
To never surrender

And when the night is cold and dark
You can see, you can see light
No one can take away your right
To fight and to never surrender
To never surrender

Oh, time is all we’re asking for
To never surrender
Oh, oh, you can never surrender

The time is all you’re asking for
Ooh, stand your ground, never surrender
Oh, I said
You never surrender, oh

(“Never Surrender“, Corey Hart)

Sources

  • Wikipedia
  • Google Photos
  • Takin’ Care of Business“, Bachman Turner Overdrive
  • Paperback Writer“, The Beatles
  • Suzanne“, Leonard Cohen
  • Day by Day“, Doug and the Slugs
  • Tomcat Prowl“, Doug and the Slugs
  • This City Never Sleeps“, Eurhymthics
  • How to Be a Writer, Stewart Ferris
  • Never Surrender“, Corey Hart
  • Get Started in Creative Writing, Stephen May
  • The Canadian Writer’s Market (McClelland and Stewart)
  • Writing for Dollars, John McCollister
  • Take This Job and Shove It“, Johnny Paycheck
  • Free Fallin’ “, Tom Petty
  • I Won’t Back Down“, Tom Petty
  • Dancin’ in the Dark“, Bruce Springsteen
  • The Most Rejected Books of All Time“, Emily Temple, lithub.com, 22 December 2017
  • Gentle Writing Advice, Chuck Wendig
  • Break My Stride“, Matthew Wilder
  • Writer’s Market (Writer’s Digest Books)

The Ministry of Story

Barlinnie Prison, Glasgow, Scotland

17 April 1976

I thought of the beautiful cool evening, how I long to be walking in it outside this cell.

All of this took place while I sat in the semi-dark reading a book.

The thoughts on freedom were only momentary but so powerful that they seem to tear my soul apart.

There is something about being alone in a cell, about the inability to rise from a chair, open a door and speak to someone.

I would like to get up this minute and discuss this subject with someone.

I would like to put these feelings into a piece of sculpture and although sitting typing out the feelings is important there is a tremendous amount of strain and frustration attached to it.

During these periods I find it hard to read a book or watch TV, which I hardly do anyway.

The only solution is to tackle the mood and try to do something about it.

(Jimmy Boyle)

Above: Jimmy Boyle, Barlinnie Prison, Glasgow, Scotland

Eskişehir, Türkiye

Wednesday 17 April 2024

Above: Sazova Park, Eskişehir, Türkiye

Jimmy Boyle is a Scottish former gangster and convicted murderer who became a sculptor and novelist after his release from prison.

In 1967, Boyle (23) was sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of another gangland figure, William “Babs” Rooney.

He served 14 years before his release in 1980. 

Boyle has always denied killing Rooney, but has acknowledged having been a violent and sometimes ruthless moneylender from the Gorbals, one of the roughest and most deprived areas of Glasgow.

During his incarceration in the special unit of Barlinnie Prison, he turned to art, with the help of the special unit’s art therapist, Joyce Laing.

Above: Jimmy Boyle

He wrote an autobiography, A Sense of Freedom (1977), which was later turned into a film of the same name. 

In 1980, while still in prison, Boyle married psychiatrist Sara Trevelyan.

In 2017, Trevelyan wrote Freedom Found, a book about her 20-year marriage to Boyle.

In an interview after her book’s publication, she stated that she had never felt unsafe with him. 

Upon his release from prison on 26 October 1981, he moved to Edinburgh to continue his artistic career.

He designed the largest concrete sculpture in Europe called “Gulliver” for the Craigmillar Festival Society in 1976.

Above: “Gulliver“, Edinburgh, Scotland

In 1983, Boyle set up the Gateway Exchange with Trevelyan and artist Evlynn Smith:

A charitable organisation offering art therapy workshops to recovering drug addicts and ex-convicts.

Though the project secured funding from private sources (including actor Sean Connery, comedian Billy Connolly and John Paul Getty), it lasted only a few years.

In 1994, his son James, a drug addict, was murdered in the Oatlands neighbourhood of Glasgow.

Boyle has published Pain of Confinement: Prison Diaries (1984) and a novel, Hero of the Underworld (1999).

The latter was adapted for a French film, La Rage et le Rêve des Condamnés (The Anger and Dreams of the Condemned), which won the best documentary prize at the Fifa Montréal awards in 2002.

He also wrote a novel, A Stolen Smile, which is about the theft of the Mona Lisa and how it ends up hidden on a Scottish housing scheme.

Clearly our Jimmy has led an interesting life, but is his life an interesting story?

Above: Jimmy Boyle

From the cursory bio that Wikipedia provides it seems that Jimmy never studied literature at some fancy university.

That being said, he is a published diarist and novelist.

He somehow had to learn how to write.

A person can learn how to write, because I am still learning.

Jimmy wasn’t doomed to be just an ex con.

He learned craft, things that worked for him, that he could understand and use right away.

Craft can be taught and with diligence and practice, I, you, everybody, can improve our writing.

To break through with this thing called craft, you will need to be your own disciplinarian.

James Scott Bell recommends what it takes to learn:

  1. Get motivated.

Write a statement of purpose, one that gets you excited.

Today I resolve to take writing seriously, to keep going and never stop, to learn everything I can and make it as a writer.

Put it on your wall where you can see it every day.

Come up with your own item of visual motivation.

(During my first Christmas here in Eskişehir our staff “Christmas” party had a Secret Santa arrangement where we would receive a gift from someone anonymously and give one in return to someone else anonymously.

Through the wonders of Photoshop, a colleague created a montage of me standing with Charles Dickens in front of the Canadian Parliament Buildings in Ottawa beneath the caption “A Tale of Two Legends“.

That my colleague felt that I could be (one day) comparable to Dickens remains a great motivation for me.)

Above: Charles Dickens (1812 – 1870)

Go to bookstores and browse.

Look at the author’s pictures and bios.

Read their openings.

And think:

I can do this!

Find some ritual that gets your creative juices flowing.

Don’t waste it.

Turn it into words on a page.

2. Try stuff.

Try out what you learn, see if you get it and try some more.

Take the time to digest what you learn and then apply what you learn to your own writing.

3. Stay loose.

Write freely and rollickingly.

4. First get it written, then get it right.

Let the world burn through you.

Throw the prism light, white hot, on paper.”

(Zen in the Art of Writing, Ray Bradbury)

5. Set a quota.

Writing is how you learn to write.

Writing daily, as a discipline, is the best way to learn.

Most successful writers make a word goal and stick to it.

The daily writing of words, once it becomes a habit, will be the most fruitful discipline of your writing life.

You will be amazed at how productive you will become and how much you will learn about the craft.

I only write when I am inspired.

I make sure I am inspired every morning at 9 a.m.

(Peter DeVries)

Above: American writer Peter De Vries (1910 – 1993)

6. Don’t give up.

The main difference between successful writers and unsuccessful writers is persistence.

There are legions of published novelists who went years and years without acceptance.

They continued to write because that is what they were inside:

Writers.

KEEP WRITING.

When first we mean to build, we first survey the plot, then draw the model.”

(Henry IV, Part 2, William Shakespeare)

Above: William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)

Plot happens.

But does it work?

Does it connect with readers?

What is this story about?

Is anything happening?

Why should you keep reaading?

Why should you care?

The what happens is your plot.

When you get right down to it, there is something uniquely satisfying in being gripped by a great plot, in begrudgiıng whatever real world obligations might prevent you from finding out what happens next.

It is especially satisfying to surrender to an author who is utterly in command of a thrilling and original story, an author capable of playing us like fish, of letting us get worried, then riled up, then complacent and then finally blowing us away when the final shocks are delivered.

While glorious prose is a fine thing, without an enthralling story, it is just so much verbal tapioca.

What the reader seeks is an experience that is other.

Other than what he normally sees each day.

Story is how he gets there.

A good story transports the reader to a new place via experience.

Not through arguments or facts, but through the illusion that life is taking place on the page.

Not the reader’s life.

Someone else’s.

Your characters’ lives.

An author creates a dream.

When we dream, we experience that as reality.

In reality there is one reason, and one reason only, that readers get excited about a novel:

Great storytelling.

Can creative writing be taught?

No.

Can the love of language be taught?

No.

Can a gift for stroytelling be taught?

No.

But….

Like most writers, you learn to write by writing and by reading books.

Writers learn by reading the work of their predecessors and counterparts.

They study meter with Ovid, plot construction with Homer, comedy with Aristophanes.

Above: Roman poet Ovid (43 BC – AD 18)

Above: Bust of Greek poet Homer (8th century BC)

Above: Bust of Greek playwright Aristophanes (446 – 386 BC)

They hone their prose by absorbing the sentences of Montaigne and Samuel Johnson.

Above: French philosopher Michel de Montaigne (1533 – 1592)

Above: English writer / lexicographer Samuel Johnson (1709 – 1784)

And who could ask for better teachers?

Though writers have learned from the masters in a formal, methodical way – Harry Crews has described taking apart a Graham Greene novel to see how many chapters it contained, how much time it covered, how Greene handled pacing and tone and point of view – the truth is that this sort of education more often involves a kind of osmosis.

Above: English writer Graham Greene (1904 – 1991)

For example, copying out long passages of a great writer’s work, you will notice that your own work should become, however briefly, just a little more fluent.

In the ongoing process of becoming a writer, I read and re-read the authors I have most loved.

I read for pleasure, but also more analytically, conscious of style, of diction, of how sentences were formed and information conveyed, how the writer structured their plot, created characters, employed detail and dialogue.

Writing, like reading, is done one word at a time, one punctuation mark at a time, putting every word on trial for its life.

Writers learn that which cannot be taught.

Writers learn to write by practice, hard work, repeated trial and error, success and failure.

And from the books they admire.

My blog is a sort of a “what-happened-on-this day” creation.

I like to focus on the birthdays of other writers or mention what holiday is being commemorated on this day.

Imagine we are about to be plunged into a story – any story in the world.

The curtain rises.

The cinema darkens.

We turn to the first paragraph of a novel.

The narrator utters the timeless formula:

Once upon a time…

John Ford (17 April 1586 – 1639) was an English playwright and poet born in Ilsington in Devon, England.

His plays deal mainly with the conflict between passion and conscience.

Although remembered primarily as a playwright, he also wrote a number of poems on themes of love and morality.

Above: English writer John Ford

Ford is best known for the tragedy ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore (1633), a family drama with a plot line of incest.

The play’s title has often been changed in new productions, sometimes being referred to as simply Giovanni and Annabella — the play’s leading, incestuous brother-and-sister characters.

In a 19th-century work it is coyly called The Brother and Sister

Shocking as the play is, it is still widely regarded as a classic piece of English drama.

It has been adapted to film at least twice: 

  • My Sister, My Love (Sweden, 1966)
  • Tis Pity She’s a Whore (Belgium, 1978).

On the face of it, so limitless is the human imagination and so boundless the realm of the storyteller’s command, we think that literally anything could happen next…

His plays deal with conflicts between individual passion and conscience and the laws and morals of society at large

Ford had a strong interest in abnormal psychology that is expressed through his dramas.

While virtually nothing is known of Ford’s personal life, one reference suggests that his interest in melancholia may have been more than merely intellectual.

Deep in a dump alone John Ford was gat,

With folded arms and melancholy hat.”

(Choice Drollery, Joseph Woodfall Ebsworth)

The story will have a hero or heroine or both, a central figure or figures on whose fate our interest in the story ultimately rests.

Someone with whom we can identify.

The Laws of Candy is set in Crete — “Candy” and “Candia” being archaic names for the island.

In Ford’s fictional Candy, two unusual laws are in the statute books.

One is a (highly impracticable) law against ingratitude:

A citizen who is accused of ingratitude by another, and fails to make amends, can be sentenced to death.

The second law holds that after a military victory, the soldiers will select the one of their number who has done the most to achieve the success.

Tell us, pray, what devil this melancholy is, which can transform men into monsters.

(The Lover’s Melancholy, John Ford)

The second law is the cause of the play’s conflict.

The forces of Candy have just won a great victory over the invading Venetians.

(Historically, Venice conquered Crete in the early 13th century [1209 – 1217] and ruled the island until 1669, though with many rebellions by the local populace.)

The commander of the army, Cassilanes, the leading soldier of his generation, expects to receive the acclaim of the troops, and is incensed to find that he has a rival in his own son, Antinous, who has distinguished himself in his first battle.

The father’s concern is real:

Antinous wins the approval of the soldiers.

Paradoxically, Cassilanes is even more outraged when Antinous claims his reward from the state — and names a bronze statue of his father.

To Cassilanes, this is only one more assertion of the son’s assumed power.

Above: Island of Crete, Greece

Melancholy is not, as you conceive, indisposition of body, but the mind’s disease.

(The Lover’s Melancholy, John Ford)

Cassilanes is certainly an irascible old man — but he has an additional grievance.

He has mortgaged his estates to pay the troops, who otherwise would not have fought.

The state is in no hurry to rectify the matter.

The owner of the mortgage is Gonzalo, an ambitious Venetian lord.

Gonzalo is the play’s Machiavellian villain.

He plots and manipulates with the goal of becoming both the King of Candy and the Duke of Venice.

Gonzalo, however, makes two mistakes.

One is that he takes a young Venetian prisoner of war, Fernando, into his confidence, relying on their shared nationality.

When Cassilanes retreats to a poverty-stricken retirement, Gonzalo arranges for Fernando to live in the general’s little household to further his machinations.

Fernando is a noble young man, in mind as well as in birth.

Once he falls in love with Cassilanes’ daughter Annophel, he reveals Gonzalo’s plots.

Above: Location of the island of Crete (Kriti) (in red)

Green indiscretion, flattery of greatness,
Rawness of judgement, wilfulness in folly,
Thoughts vagrant as the wind, and as uncertain.

(The Broken Heart, John Ford)

Gonzalo’s second mistake is to fall in love himself, with the Princess Erota.

The play’s list of dramatis personae describes her as “a Princess, imperious, and of an overweaning Beauty“.

Royal, rich, witty, and beautiful, she is also extravagantly vain.

She is loved by many men, including a Prince of Cyprus named Philander, but scorns them all.

Until, that is, she meets Antinous and falls in love with him.

Motivated by that love, she manipulates the vain Gonzalo into selling her Cassilanes’ mortgage and also into committing his plots and plans to writing.

Above: Map of Crete

Love is the tyrant of the heart.

It darkens reason, confounds discretion, deaf to counsel.

It runs a headlong course to desperate madness.

(The Lover’s Melancholy, John Ford)

In the play’s final climactic scene, the other odd law of Candy comes into play.

Cassilanes comes before the Senate with a complaint of ingratitude against his son.

Antinous, resigned to death, refuses to defend himself.

But Erota makes a similar complaint of ingratitude against Cassilanes — which provokes Antinous to make the same complaint against her, in a sort of round-robin festival of egomania.

The solution to this tangle comes when Annophel enters and makes her own complaint of ingratitude against the Senate of Candy, for its treatment of her father.

Above: Firkas fortress in Chania, Crete, Greece

Glories of human greatness are but pleasing dreams and shadows soon decaying.

(The Broken Heart, John Ford)

The befuddled Senate turns the matter over to the Cypriot prince Philander for judgment.

Philander prevails on Cassilanes to repent and withdraw his complaint against Antinous, which allows all the subsequent difficulties to be resolved.

Almost as an afterthought, the Cretans and Venetians unite in condemning Gonzalo to punishment.

Erota’s pride is humbled (we know this, since she tells us so herself), and she accepts her most constant (and noble) suitor, Prince Philander, as her spouse.

Above: Venetian harbour in Chania, Crete, Greece

The joys of marriage are Heaven on Earth,
Life’s Paradise, great princess, the soul’s quiet,
Sinews of concord, earthly immortality,
Eternity of pleasures, no restoratives
Like to a constant woman!

(The Broken Heart, John Ford)

In The Witch of Edmonton, Elizabeth Sawyer is a poor, lonely, and unfairly ostracized old woman, who turns to witchcraft after having been unjustly accused of it, having nothing left to lose.

A talking devil-dog Tom (performed by a human actor) appears, becoming her familiar and only friend.

With Tom’s help, Sawyer causes one of her neighbours to go mad and kill herself, but otherwise she does not achieve very much, since many of those around her are only too willing to sell their souls to the Devil all by themselves.

The play is divided fairly rigidly into separate plots, which only occasionally intersect or overlap.

Alongside the main story of Elizabeth Sawyer, the other major plotline is a domestic tragedy centering on the farmer’s son Frank Thorney.

Frank is secretly married to the poor but virtuous Winnifride, whom he loves and believes is pregnant with his child, but his father insists that he marry Susan, elder daughter of the wealthy farmer Old Carter.

Frank weakly gives in to a bigamous marriage but then tries to flee the county with Winnifride disguised as his page.

When the doting Susan follows him, he stabs her.

At this point, the witch’s dog Tom is present on stage.

It is left ambiguous whether Frank remains a fully responsible moral agent in the act.

Frank inflicts superficial wounds on himself, so that he can pretend to have been attacked.

He attempts to frame Warbeck, Susan’s former suitor, and Somerton, suitor of Susan’s younger sister Katherine.

While the kindly Katherine is nursing her supposedly incapacitated brother-in-law, however, she finds a bloodstained knife in his pocket and immediately guesses the truth, which she reveals to her father.

The devil-dog is on stage again at this point, and “shrugs for joy” according to the stage direction, which suggests that he has brought about Frank’s downfall.

Tempt not the stars, young man.

Thou canst not play with the severity of fate.”

(The Broken Heart, John Ford)

Frank is executed for his crime at the same time as Mother Sawyer, but he, in marked contrast to her, is forgiven by all.

The pregnant Winnifride is taken into the family of Old Carter.

The play thus ends on a relatively happy note — Old Carter enjoins all those assembled at the execution:

So, let’s every man home to Edmonton with heavy hearts, yet as merry as we can, though not as we would.

Revenge proves its own executioner.

(The Broken Heart, John Ford)

The note of optimism is also heard in the play’s other main plot, centering on the Morris dancing yokel Cuddy Banks, whose invincible innocence allows him to emerge unscathed from his own encounters with the dog Tom.

He eventually banishes the dog from the stage with the words:

Out and avaunt!

He hath shook hands with time.

(The Broken Heart, John Ford)

Despite the optimism of the play’s ending it remains clear that the execution of Mother Sawyer has done little or nothing to purge the play’s world of an evil to which its inhabitants are only too ready to turn spontaneously.

Firstly, the devil-dog has not been destroyed.

Indeed it resolves to go to London and corrupt souls there.

Secondly, the village’s voice of authority, the lord of the manor Sir Arthur Clarington, is represented as untrustworthy.

Mother Sawyer utters a lengthy tirade indicting his lechery – He had previously had an affair with Winnifride, which she now repents – and general corruption:

A charge which the play as a whole supports.

We are introduced to our central figure(s) in an imaginary world.

The general scene is set.

Once upon a time…

We are taken out of our present place and time into an imaginary realm where the story is to unfold.

We are introduced to our central figure(s).

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

The Witch of Edmonton may be very ready to capitalize on the sensational story of a witch, but it does not permit an easy and comfortable demonization of her.

It presents her as a product of society rather than an anomaly in it.

Something happens.

Some event, some encounter, precipates the story’s action, giving it a focus.

Once upon a time there was Someone living Somewhere.

Then one day Something happened.”

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

The plot of The Fair Maid of the Inn concerns the intertwined fortunes of two prominent Florentine families.

Alberto is the Admiral of Florence.

He is married to Mariana.

Their children are Cesario and Clarissa.

Baptista, another old sailor, is a friend of Alberto, and father of Mentivole.

Like their fathers, Cesario and Mentivole are friends.

Alberto’s is a stable nuclear family.

Mariana is a doting mother, especially in regard to Cesario.

Baptista’s situation is less happy:

Fourteen years earlier, he, a widower in his prime, contracted a secret marriage with Juliana, a niece of the Duke of Genoa.

After a short three months of contentment, the Genoese Duke discovered the marriage, exiled Baptista, and sequestered Juliana.

He has not seen her since.

We meet a little boy called Aladdin, who lives in a city in China.

One day a sorcerer arrives and leads him out of the city to a mysterious cave.

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

This situation is delineated in the play’s long opening scene.

At the scene’s opening, Cesario warns Clarissa to safeguard her virginity and her reputation, but Clarissa responds by reproving her brother about his rumoured affair with Biancha, the 13-year-old daughter of a local tavernkeeper.

(She’s the “fair maid” of the title.)

Cesario protests that his connection with the girl is above reproach:

Biancha, he says, is beautiful but chaste.

By the scene’s close, Mentivole expresses his love for Clarissa.

She responds positively and gives him a diamond ring as a token of her affection and commitment.

We meet the Scottish General Macbeth, who has just won a great victory over his country’s enemies.

Then, on his way home, he encounters mysterious witches.

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

Friends though they are, Cesario and Mentivole have a falling-out over a horse race.

They quarrel, lose their tempers and draw their swords to fight.

They are separated by other friends, but only after Cesario is wounded.

The affair escalates into a major feud between the two families.

Alberto is called away by his naval duties and is soon reported dead.

Mariana fears that her son will be killed in the feud.

To prevent this, she announces (falsely) to the Duke and his court that Cesario is not really Alberto’s son.

Early in their marriage, she maintains, Alberto had wanted an heir, but the couple did not conceive.

Mariana exploited her husband’s absences at sea to pass off a servant’s child as her own.

Thus he is no longer Alberto’s son and safe from Baptista’s enmity.

But the Duke sees the injustice done against Cesario and decrees that the now-widowed Mariana should marry the young man and endow him with three-quarters of Alberto’s estate.

The remaining share will serve as Clarissa’s dowry.

We meet a girl called Alice, wondering how to amuse herself in the summer heat.

Suddenly she sees a white rabbit running past and vanishing down a mysterious hole.

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

Cesario is amenable to this arrangement — but Mariana assures him that any marriage between them will never be consummated.

Cesario proposes a marriage between himself and Clarissa, though both women reject the idea out of hand.

And even Biancha turns against Cesario, when she comes to understand that he is not serious about marrying her.

Eventually matters are set right when Alberto returns to Florence.

Not dead, he was instead captured by the Turks, but rescued by Prospero, a captain in the service of Malta.

Prospero is an old friend of both Alberto and Baptista.

He is able to inform the world of the fate of Juliana, and the daughter that Alberto didn’t know Baptista had.

She is Biancha, the supposed daughter of the tavernkeeper.

This good news allows the compounding of all the previous difficulties.

The quarrel between Alberto and Baptista is resolved.

Cesario is restored to his rightful place as Alberto’s son.

Cesario and Biancha can marry, as can Mentivole and Clarissa.

Above: Firenze (Florence), Italia (Italy)

We see the great detective Sherlock Holmes sitting in his Baker Street lodgings.

Then there is a knock at the door.

A visitor enters to present him with his next case.

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

The play has a comic subplot centered on Biancha, her supposed parents the Host and Hostess of the tavern, and their quests.

The comedy features a mountebank (a charlatan) and his clownish assistant, and their victims.

An event, a summons, provides the call to action which will lead the hero out of their initial state into a series of adventures or experiences which will transform their lives.

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

The play’s storytelling is rough and rather inconsistent, most likely due to the multiple hands involved in its authorship.

The action the hero is drawn into will involve conflict and uncertainty, because without conflict and uncertainty there is no story.

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

In The Queen, Alphonso, the play’s protagonist, is a defeated rebel against Aragon.

He has been condemned to death and is about to be executed.

The Queen of Aragon (otherwise unnamed) intercedes at the last moment and learns that Alphonso’s rebellion is rooted in his pathological misogyny.

The prospect of being ruled by a woman was too much for him to bear.

The Queen is struck with love at first sight.

She is, in her way, just as irrational as Alphonso is in his.

The Queen pardons Alphonso and marries him.

Alphonso requests a seven-day separation, to enable him to set aside his feelings against women.

The Queen grants his request.

The week extends to a month and the new King still avoids his Queen.

The intercession of her counsellors, and even her own personal appeal, make no difference.

In a bitter confrontation, Alphonso tells the Queen:

I hate thy sex.

Of all thy sex, thee worst.

The story carries us towards some kind of resolution.

Every story which is complete, and not just a fragmentary string of episodes and impressions, must work up to a climax, where conflict and uncertainty are usually at their most extreme.

Every story leads its central character in one of two directions.

Either they end happily with a sense of liberation, fulfilment and completion.

Or they end unhappily in some form of discomfiture, frustration or death.

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

One man, however, sees a solution to the problem.

The psychologically sophisticated Muretto half-counsels, half-manipulates Alphonso into a more positive disposition toward the Queen.

Muretto praises the Queen’s beauty to Alphonso and simultaneously arouses his jealousy by suggesting that she is sexually active outside her marriage.

Muretto functions rather like a modern therapist to treat Alphonso’s psychological imbalance.

The psychological manipulation works, in the sense that Alphonso begins to value the Queen only after he thinks he has lost her to another man.

To say that stories either have happy or unhappy endings may seem such a commonplace that one almost hesitates to utter it, but it has to be said, because it is the most important single thing to be observed about stories.

Around that one fact, around what is necessary to bring a story to some sort of an ending, revolves the whole of their extraordinary significance in our lives.

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

Yet with two such passionate individuals, reconciliation cannot come easily.

Alphonso condemns the Queen to death.

She can be reprieved only if a champion comes forth to defend her honour by meeting the king in single combat.

The Queen, however, is determined to bow to her husband’s will no matter the price and demands that all her followers swear they will not step forward in her cause.

Aristotle first observed that a satisfactory story – a story which is a “whole” – must have “a beginning, a middle and an end“.

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

Above: Bust of Greek philosopher Aristotle (384 – 322 BC)

The play’s secondary plot deals with the love affair of the Queen’s General Velasco, the valiant soldier who defeated Alphonso, and the widow Salassa.

Velasco has the opposite problem from Alphonso:

He idealises his love for Salassa, terming her “the deity I adore“.

He allows her to dominate their relationship.

(Velasco’s friend and admirer Lodovico has a low opinion of Salassa, calling her a “frail commodity“, a “paraquetto“, a “wagtail“.)

Salassa indulges in her power over Velasco by asking him to give up all combat and conflict, or even wearing a sword and defending his reputation, for a period of two years.

When he agrees, Velasco finds that he quickly loses his self-respect and the regard of others.

He regains those qualities only when he steps forward as the Queen’s champion, ready to meet the King on the field of honour.

There are tragic stories, stories in which the hero’s fortunes usually begin by rising, but eventually “turn down” to disaster.

(The Greek word catastrophe means literally a “down stroke“, the downturn in the hero’s fortunes at the end of a tragedy.)

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

Before the duel can take place, however, the assembled courtiers protest the proceeding.

Muretto steps forward to explain his role in manipulating Alphonso’s mind.

Finally, Alphonso is convinced of the Queen’s innocence and repents his past harshness.

Their rocky relationship reaches a new tolerance and understanding.

A humbled Salassa also resolves to give up her vain and selfish ways to be a fit wife for Velasco.

There are comedies, stories in which things initially seem to become more and more coomplicated for the hero, until they are entangled in a complete knot, from which there seems to be no escape, but eventually comes the peripeteia, the reversal of fortune.

The knot is miraculously unravelled (from which we get the French word denouement, an “unknotting“.

The hero is liberated.

We and all the world rejoice.

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

The play’s comic relief is supplied by a group of minor characters – two quarrelling followers of Alphonso, the astrologer Pynto and a bluff captain named Bufo, plus Velasco’s servant Mopas and the matchmaker/bawd Madame Shaparoon.

The plot of a story leads its hero either to a catastrophe or to a denouement, to frustration or liberation, to death or a new lease on life.

(The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker)

In ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore, Giovanni, recently returned to Parma from university in Bologna, has developed an incestuous passion for his sister Annabella and the play opens with his discussing this ethical problem with Friar Bonaventura.

Bonaventura tries to convince Giovanni that his desires are evil despite Giovanni’s passionate reasoning and eventually persuades him to try to rid himself of his feelings through repentance.

Above: Parma, Italy

Nice philosophy may tolerate unlikely arguments, but Heaven admits no jest.

(‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore, John Ford)

Annabella, meanwhile, is being approached by a number of suitors including Bergetto, Grimaldi, and Soranzo.

She is not interested in any of them.

Giovanni finally tells her how he feels (obviously having failed in his attempts to repent) and finally wins her over.

Annabella’s tutoress Putana (“Whore“) encourages the relationship.

The siblings consummate their relationship.

I have spent many a silent night in sighs and groans, ran over all my thoughts, despised my fate, reasoned against the reasons of my love, done all that smoothed-cheek Virtue could advise, but found all bootless:

‘Tis my destiny that you must either love or I must die.

(‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore, John Ford)

Hippolita, a past lover of Soranzo, verbally attacks him, furious with him for letting her send her husband Richardetto on a dangerous journey she believed would result in his death so that they could be together, then declining his vows and abandoning her.

Soranzo leaves and his servant Vasques promises to help Hippolita get revenge on Soranzo and the pair agree to marry after they murder him.

Delay in vengeance gives a heavier blow.

(‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore, John Ford)

Richardetto is not dead but also in Parma in disguise with his niece Philotis.

Richardetto is also desperate for revenge against Soranzo and convinces Grimaldi that to win Annabella, he should stab Soranzo with a poisoned sword.

Bergetto and Philotis, now betrothed, are planning to marry secretly in the place Richardetto orders Grimaldi to wait.

Grimaldi mistakenly stabs and kills Bergetto instead, leaving Philotis, Poggio (Bergetto’s servant), and Donado (Bergetto’s uncle) distraught.

There is a place, in a black and hollow vault, where day is never seen.

There shines no sun, but flaming horror of consuming fires – a lightless sulphur, choked with smoky fogs of an infected darkness.

In this place dwell many thousand thousand sundry sorts of never-dying deaths.

(‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore, John Ford)

Annabella resigns herself to marrying Soranzo, knowing she has to marry someone other than her brother.

She subsequently falls ill and it is revealed that she is pregnant.

Friar Bonaventura then persuades her to marry Soranzo before her pregnancy becomes apparent.

Donado and Florio (father of Annabella and Giovanni) go to the Cardinal’s house, where Grimaldi has been in hiding, to beg for justice.

The Cardinal refuses due to Grimaldi’s high status and instead sends him back to Rome.

Florio tells Donado to wait for God to bring them justice.

“Why, I hold fate clasped in my fist and could command the course of Time’s eternal motion, hadst thou been one thought more steady than an ebbing sea.”

(‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore, John Ford)

Annabella and Soranzo are married soon after.

Their ceremony includes masque dancers, one of whom reveals herself to be Hippolita.

She claims to be willing to drink a toast with Soranzo and the two raise their glasses and drink, on which note she explains that her plan was to poison his wine.

Vasques comes forward and reveals that he was always loyal to his master and he poisoned Hippolita.

She dies spouting insults and damning prophecies to the newlyweds.

Seeing the effects of anger and revenge, Richardetto abandons his plans and sends Philotis off to a convent to save her soul.

There’s not a hair sticks on my head but, like a leaden plummet, it sinks me to the grave:

I must creep thither.

The journey is not long.

(The Broken Heart, John Ford)

When Soranzo discovers Annabella’s pregnancy, the two argue until Annabella realises that Soranzo truly did love her and finds herself consumed with guilt.

She is confined to her room by her husband, who plots with Vasques to avenge himself against his cheating wife and her unknown lover.

On Soranzo’s exit, Putana comes onto the stage and Vasques pretends to befriend her to gain the name of Annabella’s baby’s father.

Once Putana reveals that it is Giovanni, Vasques has bandits tie Putana up and put out her eyes as punishment for the terrible acts she has willingly overseen and encouraged.

In her room, Annabella writes a letter to her brother in her own blood, warning him that Soranzo knows and will soon seek revenge.

The Friar delivers the letter, but Giovanni is too arrogant to believe he can be harmed and ignores advice to decline the invitation to Soranzo’s birthday feast.

The Friar subsequently flees Parma to avoid further involvement in Giovanni’s downfall.

Love is dead.

Let lovers’ eyes locked in endless dreams, th’ extreme of all extremes, ope no more, for now Love dies.”

(The Broken Heart, John Ford)

On the day of the feast, Giovanni visits Annabella in her room and after talking with her, stabs her during a kiss.

He then enters the feast, at which all remaining characters are present, wielding a dagger on which his sister’s heart is skewered and tells everyone of the incestuous affair.

Florio dies immediately from shock.

Soranzo attacks Giovanni verbally and Giovanni stabs and kills him.

Vasques intervenes, wounding Giovanni before ordering the bandits to finish the job.

Following the massacre, the Cardinal orders Putana to be burnt at the stake, Vasques to be banished, and the Church to seize all the wealth and property belonging to the dead.

Richardetto finally reveals his true identity to Donado and the play ends with the cardinal saying of Annabella:

Who could not say,

‘Tis pity she’s a whore?“.

Fly hence, shadows, that do keep,
Watchful sorrows, charmed in sleep.

(The Lover’s Melancholy, John Ford)

The Lady’s Trial employs the multiple-plot structure that is typical of Ford and common in the dramas of the era.

The main plot concerns Auria, an aristocrat of Genoa, and his marriage to the beautiful and virtuous but lowly-born Spinella.

Auria’s marriage across class lines is controversial among other Genoese nobles, like his friend Aurelio.

When Auria announces that he is going off to the wars against the Turks to repair his fortunes – Spinella brought no dowry – Aurelio opposes the move on two counts:

Spinella will be exposed to temptations.

The role of soldier of fortune is unbecoming to a nobleman.

Auria replies that he trusts his wife and that he would rather stand on his own than depend on his friends.

The contrast is drawn between the two men:

Aurelio is rule-bound and conventional, while Auria is more independent in his judgments.

He is a noble gentleman; withal
Happy in his endeavours: the general voice
Sounds him for courtesy, behaviour, language,
And every fair demeanour, an example:
Titles of honour add not to his worth;
Who is himself an honour to his title.

(The Lady’s Trial, John Ford)

Aurelio is right in one respect:

Spinella is exposed to temptation in her husband’s absence.

The nobleman Adurni tries to seduce Spinella, though he is so convincingly repulsed that he reforms and abandons his lustful ways.

Spinella’s reputation is compromised, however, when Aurelio exposes their meeting.

Even when Adurni confesses his transgression and apologizes to the returned husband, the scandal comes to a head in a formal trial of Spinella (“the lady’s trial” of the title).

The trial allows Spinella to exonerate herself and prove to the world, and to aristocratic Genoese society, her honour and virtue.

Auria accepts Adurni’s repentance as sincere and chooses the path of reason over violent retribution.

Adurni in turn takes Spinella’s sister Castanna as his bride, as a seal of their reconciliation.

“Let them fear bondage who are slaves to fear;
The sweetest freedom is an honest heart.”

(The Lady’s Trial, John Ford)

The secondary plot involves the divorced couple Benatzi and Levidolche.

Levidolche has been seduced by Adurni.

Benatzi seeks to catch her in the act by wooing her in disguise — but Levidolche recognizes him and decides to reform.

But she tries to manipulate Benatzi into taking revenge on Adurni — an attempt that fails comically.

We can drink till all look blue.

(The Lady’s Trial, John Ford)

The third level, the comic subplot, deals with the Amoretta, a comical young lady with a lisp who has an obsession with horses.

She is pursued by two ridiculous suitors.

Firstly Guzman, a Spanish soldier with breath smelling of garlic and herring and Fulgoso a good looking but rather dim witted Dutchman who whistles constantly.

The two would-be suitors are encouraged by Futelli and Piero for the pairs own amusement.

Through various hilarious failed attempts by the two foreigners, the play is provided some much needed comic relief.

Amoretta eventually marries the vermin-like Futelli.

“A bachelor may thrive by observation, on a little.

A single life’s no burden, but to draw in yokes is chargeable and will require a double maintenance.

(The Fancies, Chaste and Noble, John Ford)

The play ends with four marriages.

In a pattern typical of the comic genre, everyone has learned his or her lesson.

In Auria, Ford’s portrayal of a husband who “responds rationally to the rumour of his wife’s infidelity” provides a bold departure from, and a stark contrast to, earlier figures in English Renaissance drama like Othello, as well as the precedents of Ford’s own earlier plays.

Sister, look ye, how, by a new creation of my tailor’s I’ve shook off old mortality.”

(The Fancies, Chaste and Noble, John Ford)

Thornton Niven Wilder (17 April 1897 – 1975) was an American playwright and novelist.

He won three Pulitzer Prizes for the novel The Bridge of San Luis Rey and for the plays Our Town and The Skin of Our Teeth, and a US National Book Award for the novel The Eighth Day.

Above: American writer Thornton Wilder

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.

(The Woman of Andros, Thornton Wilder)

Wilder began writing plays while at the Thacher School in Ojai, California, where he did not fit in and was teased by classmates as overly intellectual.

According to a classmate:

We left him alone, just left him alone.

And he would retire at the library, his hideaway, learning to distance himself from humiliation and indifference.”

Literature is the orchestration of platitudes.

(TIME magazine, 12 January 1953, Thornton Wilder)

After graduating, Wilder went to Italy and studied archaeology and Italian (1920 –1921) as part of an eight-month residency at the American Academy in Rome.

He then taught French at the Lawrenceville School in Lawrenceville, New Jersey, beginning in 1921.

His first novel, The Cabala, was published in 1926.

In 1927, The Bridge of San Luis Rey brought him commercial success and his first Pulitzer Prize (1928).

He resigned from the Lawrenceville School in 1928.

From 1930 to 1937 he taught at the University of Chicago, during which time he published his translation of André Obey’s own adaptation of the tale “Le Viol de Lucrece” (1931) under the title “Lucrece“. 

In Chicago, he became famous as a lecturer and was chronicled on the celebrity pages. 

Above: University of Chicago shield

In 1938 he won the Pulitzer Prize for Drama for his play Our Town.

He won the Prize again in 1943 for his play The Skin of Our Teeth.

Many plays — certainly mine — are like blank checks.

The actors and directors put their own signatures on them.

(The New York Mirror, 13 July 1956, Thornton Wilder)

Above: Thornton Wilder

He went on to be a visiting professor at Harvard University, where he served for a year as the Charles Eliot Norton professor.

Though he considered himself a teacher first and a writer second, he continued to write all his life, receiving the Peace Prize of the German Book Trade in 1957 and the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1963.

In 1968 he won the National Book Award for his novel The Eighth Day.

The most valuable thing I inherited was a temperament that does not revolt against Necessity and that is constantly renewed in Hope.

(Thornton Wilder)

Above: Frank Kraven as The Stage Manager in Our Town

The Bridge of San Luis Rey (1927) tells the story of several unrelated people who happen to be on a bridge in Peru when it collapses, killing them.

Philosophically, the book explores the question of why unfortunate events occur to people who seem “innocent” or “undeserving.

It won the Pulitzer Prize in 1928.

In 1998 it was selected by the editorial board of the American Modern Library as one of the 100 best novels of the 20th century.

The book was quoted by British Prime Minister Tony Blair during the memorial service for victims of the September 11 attacks in 2001.

“For my reading I have chosen the final words of The Bridge of San Luis Rey written by Thornton Wilder in 1927.

It is about a tragedy that took place in Peru, when a bridge collapsed over a gorge and five people died.

A witness to the deaths, wanting to make sense of them and explain the ways of God to his fellow human beings, examined the lives of the people who died, and these words were said by someone who knew the victims, and who had been through the many emotions, and the many stages, of bereavement and loss.

But soon we will die, and all memories of those five will have left Earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten.

But the love will have been enough.

All those impulses of love return to the love that made them.

Even memory is not necessary for love.

There is a land of the living and a land of the dead, and the bridge is love.

The only survival, the only meaning.

(The Guardian, Friday 21 September 2001, Tony Blair)

Above: Tony Blair

Since then its popularity has grown enormously. 

The book is the progenitor of the modern disaster epic in literature and film-making, where a single disaster intertwines the victims, whose lives are then explored by means of flashbacks to events before the disaster.

The first few pages of the first chapter explain the book’s basic premise:

The story centers on a fictional event that happened in Peru on the road between Lima and Cuzco, at noon on Friday 20 July 1714.

A rope bridge woven by the Inca a century earlier collapsed at that particular moment, while five people were crossing it, sending them falling from a great height to their deaths in the river below. 

The collapse was witnessed by Brother Juniper, a Franciscan friar who was on his way to cross the bridge himself.

A deeply pious man who seeks to provide some sort of empirical evidence that might prove to the world God’s Divine Providence, he sets out to interview everyone he can find who knew the five victims.

Over the course of six years, he compiles a huge book of all of the evidence he gathers to show that the beginning and end of a person is all part of God’s plan for that person.

Part One foretells the burning of the book that occurs at the end of the novel, but it also says that one copy of Brother Juniper’s book survives and is at the library of the University of San Marcos, where it now sits neglected.

Part Two focuses on one of the victims of the collapse:

Doña María, the Marquesa de Montemayor.

The daughter of a wealthy cloth merchant, the Marquesa was an ugly child who eventually entered into an arranged marriage and bore a daughter, Clara, whom she loved dearly.

Clara was indifferent to her mother, though, and became engaged to a Spanish man and moved across the ocean to Spain where she married.

Doña María visits her daughter in Spain, but when they cannot get along, she returns to Lima.

The only way that they can communicate comfortably is by letter.

Doña María pours her heart into her writing, which becomes so polished that her letters will be read in schools in the centuries after her lifetime.

Love is an energy which exists of itself.

It is its own value.

(TIME magazine, 3 February 1958, Thornton Wilder)

Doña María takes as her companion Pepita, a girl raised at the Convent of Santa María Rosa de las Rosas.

When she learns that her daughter is pregnant in Spain, Doña María decides to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of Santa María de Cluxambuqua to pray that the baby will be healthy and loved.

Pepita goes along as company and to supervise the staff.

When Doña María is out at the shrine, Pepita stays at the inn and writes a letter to her patron, the Abbess María del Pilar, complaining about her misery and loneliness.

Doña María sees the letter on the table when she gets back and reads it.

Later, she asks Pepita about the letter.

Pepita says she tore it up because the letter was not brave.

Doña María has new insight into the ways in which her own life and love for her daughter have lacked bravery.

She writes her “first letter” (actually Letter LVI) of courageous love to her daughter, but two days later, returning to Lima, she and Pepita are on the bridge of San Luis Rey when it collapses.

Love, though it expends itself in generosity and thoughtfulness, though it gives birth to visions and to great poetry, remains among the sharpest expressions of self-interest.

Not until it has passed through a long servitude, through its own self-hatred, through mockery, through great doubts, can it take its place among the loyalties.”

(Thornton Wilder)

Esteban and Manuel are twins who were left at the Convent of Santa María Rosa de las Rosas as infants.

The Abbess of the convent, Madre María del Pilar, developed a fondness for them as they grew up.

When they became older, they decided to be scribes.

They are so close that they have developed a secret language that only they understand.

Their closeness becomes strained when Manuel falls in love with Camila Perichole, a famous actress.

Style is but the faintly contemptible vessel in which the bitter liquid is recommended to the world.

(The Bridge of San Luis Rey, Thornton Wilder)

Perichole flirts with Manuel and swears him to secrecy when she retains him to write letters to her lover, the Viceroy.

Esteban has no idea of their relationship until she turns up at the twins’ room one night in a hurry and has Manuel write to a matador with whom she is having an affair.

Esteban encourages his brother to follow her, but instead Manuel swears that he will never see her again.

Later, Manuel cuts his knee on a piece of metal and it becomes infected.

The surgeon instructs Esteban to put cold compresses on the injury:

The compresses are so painful that Manuel curses Esteban, though he later remembers nothing of his curses.

Esteban offers to send for the Perichole, but Manuel refuses.

Soon after, Manuel dies.

Now he discovered that secret from which one never quite recovers, that even in the most perfect love one person loves less profoundly than the other.

(The Bridge of San Luis Rey, Thornton Wilder)

When the Abbess comes to prepare the body, she asks Esteban his name and he says he is Manuel.

Gossip about his ensuing strange behavior spreads all over town.

He goes to the theatre but runs away before the Perichole can talk to him.

The Abbess also tries to talk to him, but he runs away, so she sends for Captain Alvarado.

Many who have spent a lifetime in it can tell us less of love than the child that lost a dog yesterday.”

(Thornton Wilder)

Captain Alvarado, a well-known sailor and explorer, goes to see Esteban in Cuzco and hires him to sail the world with him, far from Peru.

Esteban agrees, then refuses, then acquiesces if he can get all his pay in advance to buy a present for the Abbess before he departs.

That night Esteban attempts suicide but is saved by Captain Alvarado.

The Captain offers to take him back to Lima to buy the present.

At the ravine spanned by the bridge of San Luis Rey, the Captain goes down to a boat that is ferrying some materials across the water.

Esteban goes to the bridge and is on it when it collapses.

I am not interested in the ephemeral — such subjects as the adulteries of dentists.

I am interested in those things that repeat and repeat and repeat in the lives of the millions.

(The New York Times, 6 November 1961, Thornton Wilder)

Uncle Pio acts as Camila Perichole’s valet, and, in addition, “her singing-master, her coiffeur, her masseur, her reader, her errand-boy, her banker.

Rumour added: her father.”

He was born the bastard son of a Madrid aristocrat and later travelled the world engaged in a wide variety of dubious, though legal, businesses, most related to being a go-between or agent of the powerful, including (briefly) conducting interrogations for the Inquisition.

His life “became too complicated” and he fled to Peru.

He came to realize that he had just three interests in the world:

  • independence
  • the constant presence of beautiful women
  • the masterpieces of Spanish literature, particularly those of the theatre

Like all the rich he could not bring himself to believe that the poor – Look at their houses! Look at their clothes – could really suffer.

Like all the cultivated he believed that only the widely read could be said to know that they were unhappy.

(The Bridge of San Luis Rey, Thornton Wilder)

He finds work as the confidential agent of the Viceroy of Peru.

One day, he discovers a 12-year-old café singer, Micaela Villegas, and takes her under his protection.

Over the course of years, as they travel from tavern to tavern throughout Latin America, she grows into a beautiful and talented young woman.

Uncle Pio instructs her in the etiquette of high society and goads her to greatness by expressing perpetual disappointment with her performances.

She develops into Camila Perichole, the most honoured actress in Lima.

99% of the people in the world are fools and the rest of us are in great danger of contagion.

(The Matchmaker, Thornton Wilder)

After many years of success, the Perichole becomes bored with the stage.

The elderly Viceroy, Don Andrés, takes her as his mistress.

She and Uncle Pio and the Archbishop of Peru and, eventually, Captain Alvarado meet frequently at midnight for dinner at the Viceroy’s mansion.

Through it all, Uncle Pio remains faithfully devoted to her, but as Camila ages and bears three children by the Viceroy she focuses on becoming a lady rather than an actress.

She avoids Uncle Pio.

When he talks to her she tells him to not use her stage name.

Money is like manure.

It is not worth a thing unless it is spread around encouraging young things to grow.

(The Matchmaker, Thornton Wilder)

When a smallpox epidemic sweeps through Lima, Camila is disfigured by it.

She takes her young son Don Jaime, who suffers from convulsions, to the country.

Uncle Pio sees her one night trying hopelessly to cover her pockmarked face with powder.

Ashamed, she refuses to ever see him again.

He begs her to allow him to take her son to Lima and teach the boy as he taught her.

Despairing at the turn her life has taken, she reluctantly agrees.

Uncle Pio and Jaime leave the next morning.

They are the 4th and 5th people on the bridge of San Luis Rey when it collapses.

Physicians are the cobblers, rather the botchers, of men’s bodies.

As the one patches our tattered clothes, so the other solders our diseased flesh.

(The Lover’s Melancholy, John Ford)

Brother Juniper labors for six years on his book about the bridge collapse, talking to everyone he can find who knew the victims, trying various mathematical formulas to measure spiritual traits, with no results beyond conventionally pious generalizations.

He compiles his huge book of interviews with complete faith in God’s goodness and justice, but a council pronounces his work heretical.

The book and Brother Juniper are publicly burned for their heresy.

Imagination draws on memory.

Memory and imagination combined can stage a servants’ ball or even write a book, if that’s what they want to do.”

(Theophilus North, Thornton Wilder)

The story then shifts back in time to the day of a funeral service for those who died in the bridge collapse.

The Archbishop, the Viceroy and Captain Alvarado are at the ceremony.

At the Convent of Santa María Rosa de las Rosas, the Abbess feels, having lost Pepita and the twin brothers, that her work to help the poor and infirm will die with her.

A year after the accident, Camila Perichole seeks out the Abbess to ask how she can go on, having lost her son and Uncle Pio.

Camila gains comfort and insight from the Abbess.

It is later revealed she becomes a helper at the Convent.

Later, Doña Clara arrives from Spain, also seeking out the Abbess to speak with her about her mother, the Marquesa de Montemayor.

She is greatly moved by the work of the Abbess in caring for the deaf, the insane and the dying.

The novel ends with the Abbess’ observation:

There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.

Wilder wrote Our Town, a popular play (and later film) set in fictional Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire.

It was inspired in part by Dante’s Purgatorio and in part by his friend Gertrude Stein’s novel The Making of Americans.

Above: Italian writer Dante Aligheri (1265 – 1321)

Above: American writer Gertrude Stein (1874 – 1946)

Wilder suffered from writer’s block while writing the final act. 

Our Town employs a choric narrator called the Stage Manager and a minimalist set to underscore the human experience.

Wilder himself played the Stage Manager on Broadway for two weeks and later in summer stock productions.

Following the daily lives of the Gibbs and Webb families, as well as the other inhabitants of Grover’s Corners, the play illustrates the importance of the universality of the simple, yet meaningful lives of all people in the world in order to demonstrate the value of appreciating life.

The play won the 1938 Pulitzer Prize.

Wherever you come near the human race there’s layers and layers of nonsense.”

(Our Town, Thornton Wilder)

The Stage Manager introduces the audience to the small town of Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire and the people living there as a morning begins in the year 1901.

Joe Crowell delivers the paper to Doc Gibbs, Howie Newsome delivers the milk, and the Webb and Gibbs households send their children (Emily and Wally Webb, George and Rebecca Gibbs) off to school on this beautifully simple morning.

Professor Willard speaks to the audience about the history of the town.

Editor Webb speaks to the audience about the town’s socioeconomic status, political and religious demographics, and the accessibility and proliferation, or lack thereof, of culture and art in Grover’s Corners.

The Stage Manager leads us through a series of pivotal moments throughout the afternoon and evening, revealing the characters’ relationships and challenges.

That’s what it was to be alive.

To move about in a cloud of ignorance.

To go up and down trampling on the feelings of those about you.

To spend and waste time as though you had a million years.

To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion or another. 

Now you know — that’s the happy existence you wanted to go back to.

Ignorance and blindness.

(Our Town, Thornton Wilder)

It is at this time when we are introduced to Simon Stimson, an organist and choir director at the Congregational Church.

We learn from Mrs. Louella Soames that Simon Stimson is an alcoholic when she, Mrs. Gibbs, and Mrs. Webb stop on the corner after choir practice and “gossip like a bunch of old hens“, according to Doc Gibbs, discussing Simon’s alcoholism.

It seems to be a well known fact amongst everyone in town that Simon Stimson has a problem with alcohol.

All the characters speak to his issue as if they are aware of it and his having “seen a peck of trouble” a phrase repeated by more than one character throughout the show.

While the majority of townsfolk choose to “look the other way“, including the town policeman, Constable Warren, it is Mrs. Gibbs who takes Simon’s struggles with addiction to heart, and has a conversation with her husband, Doc Gibbs, about Simon’s drinking.

Nurse one vice in your bosom.

Give it the attention it deserves and let your virtues spring up modestly around it.

Then you’ll have the miser who is no liar and the drunkard who is the benefactor of the whole city.

(The Matchmaker, Thornton Wilder)

Underneath a glowing full moon, Act I ends with siblings George and Rebecca, and Emily gazing out of their respective bedroom windows, enjoying the smell of heliotrope in the “wonderful (or terrible) moonlight” with the self-discovery of Emily and George liking each other, and the realization that they are both straining to grow up in their own way.

The future author is one who discovers that language, the exploration and manipulation of the resources of language, will serve him in winning through to his way.

(Thornton Wilder interview, Writers at Work)

The audience is dismissed to the first intermission by the Stage Manager who quips:

That’s the end of Act I, folks.

You can go and smoke, now.

Those that smoke.”

I think myself as a fabulist, not a critic. 

I realize that every writer is necessarily a critic — that is, each sentence is a skeleton accompanied by enormous activity of rejection and each selection is governed by general principles concerning truth, force, beauty, and so on. 

But, as I have just suggested, I believe that the practice of writing consists in more and more relegating all that schematic operation to the subconscious.

The critic that is in every fabulist is like the iceberg — nine-tenths of him is underwater.

(Thornton Wilder interview, Writers at Work)

Three years have passed.

George and Emily prepare to wed.

The day is filled with stress.

Howie Newsome is delivering milk in the pouring rain while Si Crowell, younger brother of Joe, laments how George’s baseball talents will be squandered.

George pays an awkward visit to his soon-to-be in-laws.

Here, the Stage Manager interrupts the scene and takes the audience back a year, to the end of Emily and George’s junior year.

Emily confronts George about his pride.

Over an ice cream soda, they discuss the future and confess their love for each other.

George decides not to go to college, as he had planned, but to work and eventually take over his uncle’s farm.

In the present, George and Emily say that they are not ready to marry — George to his mother, Emily to her father — but they both calm down and happily go through with the wedding.

A man looks pretty small at a wedding, George.

All those good women standing shoulder to shoulder, making sure that the knot’s tied in a mighty public way.

(Our Town, Thornton Wilder)

Nine years have passed.

The Stage Manager, in a lengthy monologue, discusses eternity, focusing attention on the cemetery outside of town and the people who have died since the wedding, including Mrs. Gibbs (pneumonia, while travelling), Wally Webb (burst appendix, while camping), Mrs. Soames and Simon Stimson (suicide by hanging).

Town undertaker Joe Stoddard is introduced, as is a young man named Sam Craig who has returned to Grover’s Corners for his cousin’s funeral.

That cousin is Emily, who died giving birth to her and George’s second child.

Once the funeral ends, Emily emerges to join the dead.

Mrs. Gibbs urges her to forget her life, warning her that being able to see but not interact with her family, all the while knowing what will happen in the future, will cause her too much pain.

Ignoring the warnings of Simon, Mrs. Soames and Mrs. Gibbs, Emily returns to Earth to relive one day, her 12th birthday.

She joyfully watches her parents and some of the people of her childhood for the first time in years, but her joy quickly turns to pain as she realizes how little people appreciate the simple joys of life.

The memory proves too painful for her and she realizes that every moment of life should be treasured.

When she asks the Stage Manager if anyone truly understands the value of life while they live it, he responds:

No. The saints and poets, maybe – they do some.

Emily returns to her grave next to Mrs. Gibbs and watches impassively as George kneels weeping over her.

The Stage Manager concludes the play and wishes the audience a good night.

I can’t. 

I can’t go on.

It goes so fast.

We don’t have time to look at one another.

I didn’t realize. 

So all that was going on and we never noticed.

Take me back — up the hill — to my grave.

But first:

Wait!

One more look.

Good-bye, Good-bye, world.

Good-bye Grover’s Corners – Mama and Papa.

Good-bye to clocks ticking and Mama’s sunflowers.

And food and coffee.

And new ironed dresses and hot bath and sleeping and waking up. 

Oh, Earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you.

Do human beings ever realize life while they live it?

Every, every minute? 

I’m ready to go back.

I should have listened to you.

That’s all human beings are!

Just blind people.

(Our Town, Thornton Wilder)

His play The Skin of Our Teeth opened in New York on 18 November 1942, featuring Fredric March and Tallulah Bankhead.

Again, the themes are familiar:

  • the timeless human condition
  • history as progressive, cyclical, or entropic
  • literature, philosophy, and religion as the touchstones of civilization

Three acts dramatize the travails of the Antrobus family, allegorizing the alternate history of mankind.

It was claimed by Joseph Campbell and Henry Morton Robinson, authors of A Skeleton Key to Finnegans Wake, that much of the play was the result of unacknowledged borrowing from James Joyce’s last work.

The comic spirit is given to us in order that we may analyze, weigh and clarify things in us which nettle us, or which we are outgrowing, or trying to reshape.”

(Thornton Wilder interview, Writers at Work)

Act One is an amalgam of early 20th century New Jersey and the dawn of the Ice Age.

The father is inventing things such as the lever, the wheel, the alphabet and multiplication tables.

The family and the entire northeastern US face extinction by a wall of ice moving southward from Canada.

The story is introduced by a narrator and further expanded by the family maid, Sabina.

There are unsettling parallels between the members of the Antrobus family and various characters from the Bible.

In addition, time is compressed and scrambled to such an extent that the refugees who arrive at the Antrobus house seeking food and fire include the Old Testament prophet Moses, the ancient Greek poet Homer, and women who are identified as Muses.

I hate this play and every word in it.

(The Skin of Our Teeth, Thornton Wilder)

Act II takes place on the Boardwalk at Atlantic City, New Jersey, where the Antrobuses are present for George’s swearing-in as president of the Ancient and Honorable Order of Mammals, Subdivision Humans.

Sabina is present, also, in the guise of a scheming beauty queen, who tries to steal George’s affection from his wife and family.

The conventioneers are rowdy and party furiously, but there is an undercurrent of foreboding as a fortune teller warns of an impending storm.

The weather soon transforms from summery sunshine to hurricane to deluge.

Gladys and George each attempt their individual rebellions and are brought back into line by the family.

The act ends with the family members reconciled and, paralleling the Biblical story of Noah’s Ark, directing pairs of animals to safety on a large boat where they survive the storm and the end of the world.

My advice to you is not to inquire why or whither, but just enjoy your ice cream while it is on your plate — that’s my philosophy.

(The Skin of Our Teeth, Thornton Wilder)

The final act takes place in the ruins of the Antrobuses’ former home.

A devastating war has occurred.

Maggie and Gladys have survived by hiding in a cellar.

When they come out of the cellar we see that Gladys has a baby.

Sabina joins them, “dressed as a Napoleonic camp-follower“.

George has been away at the front lines leading an army.

Henry also fought, on the opposite side, and returns as a general.

The family members discuss the ability of the human race to rebuild and continue after continually destroying itself.

The question is raised:

Is there any accomplishment or attribute of the human race of enough value that its civilization should be rebuilt?

The stage manager interrupts the play-within-the-play to explain that several members of their company can’t perform their parts, possibly due to food poisoning (as the actress playing Sabina saw blue mold on the lemon meringue pie at dinner).

The stage manager drafts a janitor, a dresser and other non-actors to fill their parts, which involve quoting philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle to mark the passing of time within the play.

The alternate history action ends where it began, with Sabina dusting the living room and worrying about George’s arrival from the office.

Her final act is to address the audience and turn over the responsibility of continuing the action, or life, to them.

I have never forgotten for long at a time that living is struggle.

I know that every good and excellent thing in the world stands moment by moment on the razor-edge of danger and must be fought for — whether it is a field, or a home, or a country.

(The Skin of Our Teeth, Thornton Wilder)

In his novel The Ides of March (1948), Wilder reconstructed the characters and events leading to, and culminating in, the assassination of Julius Caesar.

Above: Roman general / statesman Julius Caesar (100 – 44 BC)

He had met Jean-Paul Sartre on a US lecture tour after the war.

He was under the influence of existentialism, although rejecting its atheist implications.

Above: French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre (1905 – 1980)

Many great writers have been extraordinarily awkward in daily exchange, but the greatest give the impression that their style was nursed by the closest attention to colloquial speech.”

(Thornton Wilder interview, Writers at Work)

In 1962 and 1963, Wilder lived for 20 months in the small town of Douglas, Arizona, apart from family and friends.

There he started his longest novel, The Eighth Day, which went on to win the National Book Award.

According to Harold Augenbraum in 2009, it “attacked the big questions head on, embedded in the story of small-town America“.

“It is only in appearance that time is a river.

It is rather a vast landscape and it is the eye of the beholder that moves.”

(The Eighth Day, Thornton Wilder)

During a weekend gathering of the Ashley and Lansing families, Breckenridge Lansing is shot while the men are practicing shooting.

Townsfolk suspect that Eustacia Lansing, Breckenridge’s wife, and John Ashley were having an affair.

Ashley is tried, convicted, and sentenced to execution.

Miraculously, days before the scheduled execution, he is rescued by mysterious masked men.

He then escapes to Chile, where he assumes the identity of a Canadian named James Tolland and finds work in the copper mining industry.

“Those who are silent, self-effacing and attentive become the recipient of confidences.”

(The Eighth Day, Thornton Wilder)

While Ashley escapes to Chile, his family — left destitute without his income — turns to running a boarding house to make ends meet.

His son, Roger, assumes a fake name and moves to Chicago.

After working a series of odd jobs, Roger makes a name for himself as a writer for a newspaper.

Ashley’s daughter, Lily, also assumes a fake name and becomes a famous singer in Chicago, later moving to New York.

Hope, like faith, is nothing if it is not courageous.

It is nothing if it is not ridiculous.”

(The Eighth Day, Thornton Wilder)

At the end of the book, it is revealed that a group of Native Americans, one of whom was friends with Roger, is responsible for helping Ashley escape his execution.

The group did this because, after a flood wiped out their local church, Ashley loaned them money to rebuild it.

It is also revealed that Ashley did not kill Lansing.

Lansing’s son George did, because Lansing was becoming violent towards his wife, George’s mother.

George feared for his mother’s safety, and consequently killed his father and then ran away to San Francisco, and later Russia, to work as an actor.

A sense of humour judges one’s actions and the actions of others from a wider reference and a longer view and finds them incongrous.

It dampens enthusiasm.

It mocks hope.

It pardons shortcomings.

It consoles failure.

It recommends moderation.”

(The Eighth Day, Thornton Wilder)

Though there is a murder mystery in the novel, the main focus of the work is the history of the Ashley and Lansing families.

Wilder muses frequently on the nature of written history throughout the book.

Towards the end, he writes:

There is only one history.

It began with the creation of man and will come to an end when the last human consciousness is extinguished.

All other beginnings and endings are arbitrary conventions — makeshifts parading as self-sufficient entireties.

The cumbrous shears of the historian cut out a few figures and a brief passage of time from that enormous tapestry.

Above and below the laceration, to the right and left of it, the severed threads protest against the injustice, against the imposture.

Above: Thornton Wilder

The book concludes with a number of flash-forwards describing the rest of the lives of the characters.

Ashley’s wife, Beata, moves to Los Angeles and starts a boarding house there.

Roger marries one of Lansing’s daughters.

Ashley’s daughter Sophia suffers from dementia and moves into a sanitarium.

Ashley’s daughter Constance becomes a political activist and moves to Japan.

We do not choose the day of our birth nor may we choose the day of our death, yet choice is the sovereign faculty of the mind.”

(The Eighth Day, Thornton Wilder)

His last novel, Theophilus North, was published in 1973.

It was made into the film Mr. North in 1988.

In 1920s Newport, Rhode Island, Theophilus North is an engaging, multi-talented middle class Yale University graduate who spends the summer catering to the wealthy families of the city.

He becomes the confidant of James McHenry Bosworth, and a tutor and tennis coach to the families’ children.

He also befriends many from the city’s servant class including Henry Simmons, Amelia Cranston and Sally Boffin.

Man is not an end but a beginning.

We are at the beginning of the second week.

We are the children of the eighth day.”

(The Eighth Day, Thornton Wilder)

Complications arise when some residents begin to ascribe healing powers to the static electricity shocks that Mr. North happens to generate frequently.

Despite never claiming any healing or medical abilities, he is accused of quackery and with the help of those he had befriended must defend himself.

In the end, Mr. North accepts a position of leadership at an educational and philosophical academy founded by Mr. Bosworth and begins a romance with Bosworth’s granddaughter Persis.

When God loves a creature he wants the creature to know the highest happiness and the deepest misery.

He wants him to know all that being alive can bring.

That is His best gift.

There is no happiness save in understanding the whole.”

(The Eighth Day, Thornton Wilder)

Donald Richie (17 April 1924 – 2013) was an American-born author who wrote about the Japanese people, the culture of Japan and, especially, Japanese cinema.

Richie was a prolific author.

Above: Donald Richie

Among his most noted works on Japan are The Inland Sea, a travel classic, and Public People, Private People, a look at some of Japan’s most significant and most mundane people.

The Inland Sea is nearly a land-locked body of water bounded by three of Japan’s four major islands.

It has been called “the Aegean of the East“, bounded as it is by the Honshu mainland on one side and the various lands of the Japanese archipelago on the other.

The people who live with the Seto Naikai, a name meaning “the sea within the straits”, remain isolated from each other and from the mainland.

The travels are real.

The chronology is real.

The people are real.

The places are all real.

They are there in the Inland Sea, within easy reach of the enterprising traveller.

The history and folklore are also real.

One’s thoughts about Japan tend to be contradictory.

And this is fitting in a land where mutual contradictions are entertained with no seeming inconvenience.

Consistency is no great virtue.

Indeed, the quite consistent is the quite dead.

We must all remember that for the Westerner, Japan is a great mirror.

In it we can see the land and the people clearly – but we can also see ourselves.

I hear that they are building a bridge

To the island of Tsu

Alas…

To what now

Shall I compare myself?”

(Old Japanese poem)

He compiled two collections of essays on Japan: 

  • A Lateral View 
  • Partial Views

A collection of his writings has been published to commemorate 50 years of writing about Japan: 

  • The Donald Richie Reader 
  • The Japan Journals: 1947–2004 consists of extended excerpts from his diaries

Cynthia Ozick (born 17 April 1928) is an American short story writer, novelist, and essayist.

Ozick’s fiction and essays are often about Jewish American life, but she also writes about politics, history, and literary criticism.

In addition, she has written and translated poetry.

Above: Cynthia Ozick

She thought:

How hard it is to change one’s life.

And again she thought:

How terrifyingly simple to change the lives of others.

(Foreign Bodies, Cynthia Ozick)

Henry James occupies a central place in her fiction and nonfiction.

The critic Adam Kirsch wrote that her “career-long agon with Henry James reaches a kind of culmination in Foreign Bodies, her polemical rewriting of ‘The Ambassadors“.

Above: American author Henry James (1843 – 1916)

Sometimes starting is so difficult, because it is all chaos.

It is the difference between writing an essay, which if it is about Henry James, at least you know that much, but with fiction you don’t.

It could be a scene in your mind or it could be some kind of tendril that you can barely define.

So I have to force it.

And then after – this is real compulsion, real self-flagellation – it kind of takes off.

But there is a lot of agony before.

And sometimes during.

And sometimes all through.

But just before the end and revelations start coming, that’s the joy.

But mostly that’s Hell.”

(The Guardian, 4 July 2011, Cythnia Ozick)

Above: Cynthia Ozick

The Holocaust and its aftermath is also a dominant theme.

Above: “Selection” of Hungarian Jews on the ramp at Auschwitz II-Birkenau in German-occupied Poland, around May 1944. Jews were sent either to work or to the gas chamber. 

For instance in “Who Owns Anne Frank?” she writes that the diary’s true meaning has been distorted and eviscerated “by blurb and stage, by shrewdness and naiveté, by cowardice and spirituality, by forgiveness and indifference“. 

Above: German Jewess diarist Anne Frank (1929 – 1945)

I don’t think one writes for immortality.

I think beginning writers always think they will have fame.

But if fame – which is power – is what you want, then you will get it, probably.

But it is not something necessary to want or need.

(NPR, 17 July 2016, Cynthia Ozick)

Above: Logo of National Public Radio

Much of her work explores the disparaged self, the reconstruction of identity after immigration, trauma and movement from one class to another.

Above: Cynthia Ozick

I think the word is intractable.

I blame the lack of live and let live.

And which side is ıt coming from more than the other side?

I think it is coming from people who call other people infidels.

That’s how it strikes me.”

(The Guardian, 4 July 2011, Cynthia Ozick)

Ozick says that writing is not a choice but “a kind of hallucinatory madness.

You will do it no matter what.

You can’t not do it.

She sees the “freedom in the delectable sense of making things up” as coexisting with the “torment” of writing.

Above: Cynthia Ozick

I cannot not write.

I mean, what else am I going to do with my life?

That’s another way of putting it.

I simply must.

Writers cannot help themselves.

In a way they are sort of like the Queen of England.

Every writer is doomed to their profession.

What else is the Queen going to do with her life?

She was born a Queen.

She’s stuck.

And writers are stuck, too.

(NPR, 17 July 2016, Cythnia Ozick)

Above: Cynthia Oznick

The Pagan Rabbi and Other Stories (1971) is the second book and first collection of stories published by American author Cynthia Ozick. 

I always knew that this was what I wanted to do.

I think this is true of most writers — especially anybody who has read ‘Little Women’, which is every writer.

Not so much the male writers, let’s admit it, but every writer who grows up has wanted to be Jo.

(NPR, 17 July 2016, Cynthia Ozick)

Above: Cythnia Ozick

The Pagan Rabbi is about a rabbi who had just committed suicide by hanging himself in a public park.

He is remembered by his widow for having recently discovered a passion for nature and his widow felt that he left his beliefs of Judaism for Paganism.

Envy is about an American Yiddish poet who is bitterly jealous of his more-successful contemporary.

The main character also has a personal vendetta against televangelists who are attempting to convert Jews to Christianity.

The Suitcase is about a retired Imperial German fighter pilot, whose son is a well-recognized artist.

One of the artist’s friends finds that her purse has been stolen, and they try to figure out who stole it.

The woman who lost her purse accuses the father of the artist, because he was in the Imperial German army.

The Butterfly and the Traffic Light is basically an argument between a college girl and her professor about how traffic lights are the icons of American cities.

The Shawl follows Rosa, her baby Magda, and her niece Stella on their march to a Nazi concentration camp in the middle of winter.

They are described as weak and starving during the march.

Stella’s knees are described as “tumors on sticks“.

Rosa is said to be a “walking cradle” because she constantly carries Magda close to her chest wrapped in her shawl.

Rosa contemplates handing Magda off to one of the villagers watching their march, but decides that the guards would most likely just shoot them both.

Rosa says the shawl is “magic” when Magda sucks on it because it sustained Magda for three days and three nights without food.

Stella observes that Magda looks Aryan, but Rosa sees the observation as some kind of threat to Magda.

At the camp, Rosa continues to hide Magda, but is in constant fear that someone will discover and kill her.

If you’re alone too much, you think too much.”, Persky said.

Without a life, a person lives where they can.

If all they got is thoughts, that’s where they live.”, Rosa answered

(The Shawl, Cynthia Ozick)

One day, Stella takes Magda’s shawl away to warm herself.

Without her shawl, Magda, who hadn’t made a sound since the march, begins screaming for her “Ma“.

Rosa hears the screaming, but does not run to Magda because the guards will kill them both.

Instead, she runs to get the shawl and begins waving it in the hope that Magda will see it and calm down.

She is too late and watches as the Nazi guards pick Magda up and throw her into the electric fence, killing her.

Rosa stuffs the shawl into her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

This is very nice, cozy. You got a nice cozy place, Lublin.

Cramped,” Rosa said.

I work from a different theory.

For everything, there’s a bad way of describing, also a good way.

You pick the good way, you go along better.

I don’t like to give myself lies.

Life is short.

We all got to lie.”, Rosa said.

(The Shawl, Cynthia Ozick)

Ozick was inspired to write The Shawl by a line in the book The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William L. Shirer.

The book mentioned a real event, a baby being thrown into an electric fence.

Ozick was struck by the brutality of the death camp and felt inspired to write about that event.

Because she fears the past she distrusts the future — it, too, will turn into the past.

(The Shawl, Cynthia Ozick)

Nick Hornby (born 17 April 1957) is an English writer and lyricist.

He is best known for his memoir Fever Pitch (1992) and novels High Fidelity and About a Boy, all of which were adapted into feature films.

Hornby’s work frequently touches upon music, sport, and the aimless and obsessive natures of his protagonists.

His books have sold more than 5 million copies worldwide as of 2018. 

In a 2004 poll for the BBC, Hornby was named the 29th most influential person in British culture.

He has received two Academy Awards for Best Adapted Screenplay nominations for An Education (2009), and Brooklyn (2015).

Prior to his career as a novelist, Hornby worked for a time as a secondary-school English teacher.

Above: Nick Hornby

Fever Pitch, published in 1992, is an autobiographical story detailing his fanatical support for Arsenal Football Club. 

I fell in love with football as I was later to fall in love with women: suddenly, inexplicably, uncritically, giving no thought to the pain or disruption it would bring with it.

(Fever Pitch, Nick Hornby)

It consists of several chapters in chronological order, from the time the author first became a football fan as a child until his early 30s.

Each chapter is about a football match that he remembers watching, most but not all at Arsenal Stadium, Highbury, and how it related to the events that were going on with his life.

By the early 70s I had become an Englishman — that is to say, I hated England just as much as half my compatriots seemed to do.

Above: Flag of England

As well as recounting Arsenal’s highs and lows, Hornby talks about other football clubs that play in London, and his interest in the contrasting surroundings of Cambridge United and Cambridge City, whose matches he attends while at university.

As I get older, the tyranny that football exerts over my life, and therefore over the lives of the people around me, is less reasonable and less attractive.

(Fever Pitch, Nick Hornby)

As a result, Hornby received the William Hill Sports Book of the Year Award.

In 1997, the memoir was adapted for film in the UK, and in 2005 an American remake was released, following Jimmy Fallon’s character’s obsession with the Boston Red Sox, a baseball team.

With the book’s success, Hornby began to publish articles in the Sunday Times, Time Out and the Times Literary Supplement, in addition to his music reviews for the New Yorker.

High Fidelity — his third book and first novel — was published in 1995.

Rob Fleming is a 35-year-old man who owns a record shop in London called Championship Vinyl.

His lawyer girlfriend, Laura, has just left him and now he is going through a crisis.

At his record shop, Rob and his employees, Dick and Barry, spend their free moments discussing mix-tape aesthetics and constructing desert-island “top-five” lists of anything that demonstrates their knowledge of music, movies, and pop culture.

Rob uses this exercise to create his own list: “The top five most memorable split-ups.”

This list includes the following ex-girlfriends:

1) Alison Ashworth

2) Penny Hardwick

3) Jackie Allen

4) Charlie Nicholson

5) Sarah Kendrew

Where’s the superficial?

I was, and therefore am, dim, gloomy, a drag, unfashionable, unfanciable, and awkward.

This doesn’t seem like superficial to me.

These aren’t flesh wounds.

These are life-threatening thrusts into the internal organs.

(High Fidelity, Nick Hornby)

Rob, recalling these breakups, sets about getting in touch with the former girlfriends.

Eventually, Rob’s re-examination of his failed relationships, a one-time stand with an American musician named Marie LaSalle, and the death of Laura’s father bring the two back together.

Their relationship is cemented by the launch of a new purposefulness to Rob’s life in the revival of his disc jockey career.

I’ve been thinking with my guts since I was fourteen years old, and, frankly, I think my guts have shit for brains.

(High Fidelity, Nick Hornby)

Also, realizing that his fear of commitment (a result of his fear of death of those around him) and his tendency to act on emotion are responsible for his continuing desires to pursue new women, Rob makes a token commitment to Laura.

Then I lost it.

Kinda lost it all, you know.

Faith, dignity, about fifteen pounds.

(High Fidelity, Nick Hornby)

The novel, about a neurotic record collector and his failed relationships, was adapted into a 2000 American film starring John Cusack, a Broadway musical in 2006, and a television show High Fidelity starring Zoë Kravitz in 2020.

His second novel, About a Boy, published in 1998, is about two boys — Marcus, an awkward yet endearing adolescent from a single-parent family, and the free-floating, mid-30s Will Freeman, who overcomes his own immaturity and self-centredness through his growing relationship with Marcus.

Set in 1993 London, About a Boy features two main protagonists:

  • Will Freeman, a 36-year-old bachelor
  • Marcus Brewer, a 12-year-old incongruous schoolboy described as “introverted by his suicidal mother, Fiona, despite his tendencies to bond and interact with people.

Will’s father wrote a successful Christmas song, the royalties of which have afforded Will the ability to remain voluntarily redundant throughout his life – he spends his plentiful free time immersing himself in 1990s culture, music, and pursuing sexual relations with women.

There had been times when he knew, somewhere in him, that he would get used to it, whatever it was, because he had learnt that some hard things became softer after a very little while.

(About a Boy, Nick Hornby)

After a pleasant relationship with a single mother of two, Angie, Will comes up with the idea of attending a single parents group as a new way to pick up women.

For this purpose, he invents a two-year-old son called Ned.

Will then makes a number of acquaintances through his membership of the single parents group, two of which are Fiona and her son Marcus.

Although their relationship is initially somewhat strained, they finally succeed in striking up a true friendship despite Will being largely uninterested during the early-middle stages of the novel.

Will, a socially aware and “trendy” person, aids Marcus to fit into 1990s youth culture by encouraging him not to get his hair cut by his mother, buying him Adidas trainers, and introducing him to contemporary music, such as Nirvana.

Marcus and Will’s friendship strengthens as the story progresses, even after Marcus and Fiona discover Will’s lie about having a child.

Single mothers — bright, attractive, available women, thousands of them all over London — they were the best invention Will had ever heard of.

(About a Boy, Nick Hornby)

Marcus is befriended by Ellie McCrae, a tough, moody 15-year-old girl, who is constantly in trouble at school because she insists on wearing a Kurt Cobain jumper.

He also spends some time with his dad Clive, who visits Marcus and Fiona for Christmas together with his new girlfriend Lindsey and her mother.

Clive has a minor accident during some D.I.Y. work and breaks his collarbone.

This prompts Clive into having “a big think” about the meaning of his life.

He summons Marcus to Cambridge to see him.

Marcus decides to bring Ellie along with him for support.

However, they are arrested on the way as Ellie smashes a shop window displaying a cardboard cut-out of Kurt Cobain – accusing the shopkeeper of “trying to make money out of him” after his suicide.

Each day was a bad day, but he survived by kidding himself that each day was somehow unconnected to the day before.

(About a Boy, Nick Hornby)

Meanwhile, to Will’s despair, he falls in love with a woman called Rachel.

Rachel is a single mother with a son named Ali (Alistair), who is the same age as Marcus.

The two originally fight, but quickly become friends.

Will’s emotional faculties are liberated and he begins to “shed his old skin” of emotional indifference.

Simultaneously Marcus is becoming more typical of his age.

He begins to enjoy his life more.

These feelings were exactly what he had been so afraid of, and this was why he had been so sure that falling in love was rubbish, and, surprise surprise, it was rubbish, and … and it was too late.

(About a Boy, Nick Hornby)

The penultimate scene takes place in a police station in Royston (a small suburban town), where nearly every significant character in the novel is present, their common link being Marcus.

The novel ends during a three-way dialogue between Marcus, Will and Fiona, where Will, to see if Marcus has truly changed, proposes the idea that he play a Joni Mitchell song on Fiona’s piano, which she is enthusiastic about.

However, Marcus responds saying he “hates” Joni Mitchell, whereby Hornby concludes the novel with the narration saying:

Will knew Marcus would be OK“.

Hugh Grant and Nicholas Hoult starred in the 2002 film version.

In 1999, Hornby received the E. M. Forster Award of the American Academy of Arts and Letters.

Hornby’s next novel, How to Be Good, was published in 2001.

The female protagonist in the novel explores contemporary morals, marriage and parenthood.

What if a sense of humour is like hair — something a lot of man lose as they get older?

(How to Be Good, Nick Hornby)

It centers on characters Katie Carr, a doctor, and her husband, David Grant.

The story begins when David stops being “the Angriest Man In Holloway” and begins to be “good” with the help of his spiritual healer, DJ Good News (who also shows up briefly in Hornby’s A Long Way Down).

The pair go about this by nominally convincing people to give their spare bedrooms to the homeless, but as their next scheme comes around, “reversal” (being good to people one has not been good to in the past), this proves to be fruitless and thus David gives up his strivings and his plans for a book on how to be good, appropriately named “How to be Good“.

The protagonist, Katie, briefly encounters a minor character named Dick whose description and attitude towards music are reminiscent of the character of the same name from Hornby’s first novel, High Fidelity.

It was longlisted for the Man Booker Prize in 2001.

He won the W.H. Smith Award for Fiction in 2002.

And after tea, we play Junior Scrabble. We are the ideal nuclear family. We eat together, we play improving board games instead of watching television, we smile alot. I fear that at any moment I may kill somebody.”

(How to Be Good, Nick Hornby)

Part of the money he earned with his next book, Speaking with the Angel in 2002, was donated to TreeHouse, a charity for autistic children:

Hornby’s own son is autistic.

He was editor of the book, which contained 12 short stories written by his friends.

He also contributed to the collection with the story “NippleJesus“.

Self-pity is an ignoble emotion, but we all feel it, and the orthodox critical line that it represents some kind of artistic flaw is dubious, a form of emotional correctness.

(Songbook, Nick Hornby)

In 2003, Hornby wrote a collection of essays on selected popular songs and the emotional resonance they carry, called 31 Songs (known in the US as Songbook).

Indeed, there is a moment on the first CD — the electrifying opening to “I Got Loaded,” which sounds like an R&B standard but isn’t — when you might find yourself asking whether anyone who has ever been smitten by pop music can fail to have his heart stopped by the chords, the swing, and, once again, Steve Berlin’s wonderfully greasy sax.

(Songbook, Nick Hornby)

A Long Way Down is a 2005 novel written by British author Nick Hornby.

It is a dark comedy, playing off the themes of suicide, angst, depression and promiscuity.

The story is written in the first-person narrative from the points of view of the four main characters, Martin, Maureen, Jess and JJ.

These four strangers happen to meet on the roof of a high building called Toppers House in London on New Year’s Eve, each with the intent of committing suicide.

Their plans for death in solitude are ruined when they meet.

The novel recounts their misadventures as they decide to come down from the roof alive – however temporarily that may be.

Disgraced TV presenter Martin Sharp, lonely single mother Maureen (51 years old), unsuccessful musician JJ and rude teenager Jess (18 years old) meet at Toppers House in London on New Year’s Eve.

They all want to commit suicide by jumping from the roof.

Their plans for death in solitude, however, are ruined when they meet.

After telling their individual stories to the others, they decide to hold off on jumping and to help each other.

Thus a group of four unfortunate and very individual people forms.

Jess’s condition not to jump is that they help her to find her ex-boyfriend Chas.

So they take a taxi and drive to the party they suppose Chas to be at.

After finding and talking to Chas they decide to go to Martin’s place where they find Penny, who has obviously been crying.

She accuses Martin of cheating on her because he had left the party they had both attended that evening without any explanation.

“I’m sorry, but there’s no disturbed mental balance here, my friend.

I’d say he got it just right.

Bad thing upon bad thing upon bad thing.

Surely that’s fair enough?

Surely the coroner’s report should read:

“He took his own life after sober and careful contemplation of the fucking shambles it had become.”

(A Long Way Down, Nick Hornby)

The next morning Jess’s dad learns that the newspapers are publishing a story about Jess and Martin.

Jess tells him that she slept with Martin, to avoid him finding out the truth of her attempted suicide.

He takes her to task because the whole thing is very awkward for him.

He is the Junior Secretary of Education and has a reputation to lose.

He goes out to get an early edition of the paper and sees the story about her ‘suicide pact‘ with Martin, so Jess’s “whole sex confession bit had been a complete and utter fucking waste of time“.

I’m sorry, but there’s no disturbed mental balance here, my friend.

I’d say he got it just right.

Bad thing upon bad thing upon bad thing.

Surely that’s fair enough?

Surely the coroner’s report should read:

“He took his own life after sober and careful contemplation of the fucking shambles it had become.

(A Long Way Down, Nick Hornby)

Jess’s father asks Martin to clear up the accusations.

Martin denies that he slept with Jess.

After the conversation, her father asks Martin to protect Jess and gives him money.

Afterwards, a reporter calls JJ wanting to know why they decided not to jump, but JJ refuses to discuss it.

But I’d felt as if I’d pissed my life away in the same way that you can piss money away.

I’d had a life, full of kids and wives and jobs and all the usual stuff, and I had somehow managed to mislay it.

No, you see, that’s not right.

I knew where my life was, just as you know where the money goes when you piss it away.

I hadn’t mislaid it at all.

I had spent it.

(A Long Way Down, Nick Hornby)

Later Jess calls Maureen.

They decide to organise a meeting at Maureen’s place.

At the meeting, Jess suggests that they try to profit from the suicidal-report in the newspaper.

Her idea is to confess to the press that they saw an angel who saved them from jumping.

Martin, Maureen and JJ don’t like the idea and they try to convince Jess out of talking to the press.

The next morning they find out that Jess told a reporter, Linda, that they saw an angel that looked like Matt Damon.

Jess also promised Linda an interview with Martin, Maureen and JJ.

Although they are upset with Jess’ behaviour, they decide to do the interview.

Linda uses the interview to attack Martin in the press.

Thus Martin is fired from his cable TV “Feet Up TV!”, but he receives a second chance by promising to his boss that the other three will be guests in his show.

The show is a disaster and Martin loses his job.

At another TV show Jess admits that the angel story was not true.

And another way of explaining it is that shit happens, and there’s no space too small, too dark and airless and fucking hopeless, for people to crawl into.

(A Long Way Down, Nick Hornby)

Later, JJ decides that the four of them have to go on holiday for Maureen’s benefit.

Martin, Jess and JJ help Maureen to find a place for Matty, her son.

One week later they are on a plane to Tenerife.

On the second day, Jess sees a girl who looks very similar to her lost sister Jen.

Jess bothers the girl and they have a fight.

Out of frustration Jess gets drunk and the police have to take her back to the hotel.

JJ meets a girl that saw his old band and they spend the night together.

Martin decides to leave the hotel after a fight with Jess.

During his absence from the others, he thinks about his life and decides that he has made no mistakes.

He blames other people for how his life has turned out.

In the taxi to the airport they talk about their holiday and plan another meeting for Valentine’s Day.

They meet at 8 o’clock on the roof of Toppers House on Valentine’s Day.

And another way of explaining it is that shit happens, and there’s no space too small, too dark and airless and fucking hopeless, for people to crawl into.

(A Long Way Down, Nick Hornby)

While they have a conversation, they see a young man who is planning to jump from the roof.

They try to stop him from committing suicide but he jumps.

They decide to go home and to meet the following afternoon at Starbucks.

I couldn’t get the mood back; it was as if one of the kids had woken up just as Cindy and I were starting to make love. I hadn’t changed my mind, and I still knew that I’d have to do it sometime. It’s just that I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do it in the next five minutes.”

(A Long Way Down, Nick Hornby)

Martin tells them about a newspaper article he read according to which people who want to commit suicide need 90 days to overcome their predicament.

So they decide to hold their decision until 31 March.

Maureen and Jess decide to visit Martin’s ex-wife Cindy to bring her back to him.

Cindy Sharp lives with her kids in Torley Heath and has a new partner Paul, whom Maureen and Jess later find out is blind.

Cindy explains to them that Martin made many mistakes and that he didn’t take care of the children.

After that, Jess organises a meeting in the basement of Starbucks.

She invites relatives of the four.

All in all, 17 people appear, but the meeting is a disaster.

Jess and her parents are screaming at each other, because her mother claims that she had stolen a pair of earrings from Jen’s untouched room.

While they are fighting Jess runs out of the Starbucks.

JJ and a former member of his band are leaving the basement to have a fight and Martin has an argument with one of Maureen’s nurses because he claims that he is flirting with Penny.

Maureen is the only one of the four who is still present.

She talks to Jess’ parents and speculates that Jen may have come back to take the earrings.

The nurses Sean and Stephen help Maureen to bring Matty home and on the way Sean asks her if she is interested in joining their quiz team.

At the quiz, an old man from the team offers Maureen a job in a newsagent’s.

When Jess comes back from her trip to London Bridge, her mother apologizes for accusing her.

Jess accepts the apology, seeing the hope Maureen’s suggestion has given her mother.

Maureen, JJ and Martin have new jobs now.

Martin is a teacher and wants to start a new life.

JJ is a busker and is happy to make music again.

Maureen has started work at the newsagent’s.

The 90 days have passed and they meet in a pub near Toppers House.

They decide to go on the roof again.

While watching the London Eye from the roof, they realise that their lives aren’t that bad.

They decide to delay their final decision on killing themselves for another six months.

I wanted to make my life short, and I was at a party in Toppers’ Hose, and the coincidence was too much.

It was like a message from God.

OK, it was disappointing that all God had to say to me was, like, jump off a roof, but I didn’t blame Him.

What else was He supposed to tell me?

(A Long Way Down, Nick Hornby)

Hornby’s book Slam was published on 16 October 2007.

It is his first novel for young adults and was recognised as a 2008 ALA Best Books for Young Adults.

The protagonist of Slam is a 16-year-old skateboarder named Sam, whose life changes drastically when his girlfriend gets pregnant.

The novel’s protagonist is a troubled 16-year-old skateboarder, Sam, who lives in London.

His mother, Annie, gave birth to him when she was just 16.

They therefore have an unconventional relationship.

He has a poster of Tony Hawk in his room that serves as his friend and confidant.

Sam’s two best friends are Rabbit and Rubbish, two skateboarders.

Sam’s father, Dave, is somewhat estranged from the family, visiting them only occasionally.

After being introduced to Alicia at a party thrown by Annie’s co-worker, Andrea, Sam and Alicia start dating.

He believes he is in love with her and visits her numerous times, almost daily, in which they have sex several times.

However, one time Sam and Alicia try having sex not wearing protection.

Sam knows that due to him having sex with Alicia without a condom, she might be pregnant.

He’s just not ready to be a father.

After a while, Sam gets bored of his relationship and decides to break up.

A while later, Alicia calls him to meet so they can talk. Sam, realizing what news she has, has a prophetic dream of waking up next to Alicia in the future.

She is ugly and heavy, and their baby, Roof, is loud and obnoxious.

He attends the local college occasionally throughout the week, pursuing a career in art and design.

Moreover, Annie is pregnant.

Sam awakens the next morning.

He is back to his normal time and presumes that he was sent in the future by the mystical powers of his Tony Hawk poster.

In fear of the obvious news that Alicia will give him, he runs away to Hastings and throws his mobile phone in the sea.

Thinking he can make a permanent residence there, Sam goes to several attractions, only to be told there is no work.

While in a seedy bed and breakfast, Sam meets a rude old man, Mr Brady, that hires him as a helper with various day-to-day activities (helping him up and down the stairs, and retrieving his remote control).

In the middle of the night, Mr Brady barges into his room demanding he helps him find the remote that has fallen behind his bed.

Sam grudgingly retrieves it, only to decide that he no longer wants to stay in the town.

Above: Hastings, England

He returns home to Annie who has called the police.

After spending some time with Annie, Sam and Alicia meet up and she reveals that she is in fact pregnant.

Refusing to get an abortion, Alicia and Sam work up the nerve to tell Alicia’s elitist parents, Andrea and Robert.

Originally upset, Andrea and Robert try to convince Alicia to have an abortion.

When Alicia refuses, Andrea and Robert lash out and blame Sam for ruining Alicia’s life.

Sam, Alicia, Andrea and Robert march over to Sam’s apartment, only to find Annie with her new boyfriend Mark.

When told of the pregnancy, Annie breaks down and cries, furious that Sam would ruin his life.

That night, Sam has another prophetic dream in which he takes Roof (the name, he finds, being a contraction of Rufus) to a doctor’s appointment.

Again, Sam has no idea how to take care of Roof and no idea what is going on.

Sam upsets his son Rufus, and he again, realizes he is not a suitable father.

Fortunately, he meets with a young mother – whom he does not know, but who seems to know him – and gets her to show him how to change Roof’s diapers, though she says:

But you are very good at doing it.”

When waking up he realizes that, like it or not, he is going to have a life of taking care of his son.

Gradually, he gets used to the idea.

As soon as Mark moves into their house, Annie becomes pregnant.

Sam moves into Alicia’s house only to find that he really isn’t welcome there.

He begins to take part-time college classes.

He encounters one of Alicia’s previous boyfriends who insinuates that Sam’s son Rufus is actually his.

He confronts Alicia when he believes that she conveniently made it look like it was his child – which she angrily disproves, but the scene adds to spoiling their relationship.

He moves back into his mother’s apartment, resulting in him researching the Internet for facts about teenage pregnancies.

He discovers that four out of five male teenage parents lose contact with their children.

He goes to Alicia’s and begins to row with Alicia, resulting in her thinking he is seeing another girl.

Eventually Alicia’s parents clear the matter up.

When Alicia’s time comes, Sam is very confused, but eventually does manage in a credible way the role of being at her side.

He then finds out the origin of the baby’s name – when recovering from birth-giving Alicia was listening to Rufus Wainwright.

It was Sam himself who changed it to “Roof“.

Soon afterwards, Sam’s mother gives birth to a daughter, Emily – who is strictly Roof’s aunt, though being a month younger than him.

Sam gets involved in taking care of Emily, too.

Soon after this Sam and Alicia take Rufus out for the day with Alicia and Sam having sex later.

Alicia’s mum discovers them and gets particularly angry.

Sam and Alicia finally confirm to each other they were from the beginning wrong for each other.

Then Sam has a third prophetic dream, presumably a few years in the future.

He wakes up with a beautiful girl he doesn’t know.

It is revealed she is his current girlfriend, Alex, as Alicia and he broke up.

The two go to meet Alicia and her new boyfriend, Carl, in a restaurant.

It is made clear that Alicia is the primary caretaker of the baby, but that she and Sam still have a friendly relationship.

Hornby’s following novel, titled Juliet, Naked, was published in September 2009.

Addressing similar themes as his earlier novel High Fidelity, the book is about a reclusive 1980s rock star who is forced out of isolation, after the release of demo recordings of the songs on his most famous album brings him into contact with some of his most passionate fans.

Duncan, an obsessive music fan, receives a CD of Juliet, Naked, an album of solo acoustic demos of the songs on the album Juliet by his favourite artist, Tucker Crowe.

Duncan’s girlfriend, Annie, opens it first and listens to it on her own.

Duncan is angry, especially when she expresses her dislike for it.

He writes an enthusiastic review for the fan website he runs.

Annie writes a passionate article criticising it and receives an email response from Tucker Crowe himself. Further email correspondence ensues, much of which consumes Annie’s thoughts.

Tucker Crowe is in Pennsylvania preparing for a visit from his daughter Lizzie, whom he has never met.

He has five children from four relationships.

His youngest son Jackson and Jackson’s mother, Cat, are the only ones he lives with.

Lizzie reveals that she is visiting because she is pregnant.

Duncan meets a new colleague called Gina, whom he sleeps with.

He tells Annie of his affair and she insists he move out.

The next day Annie talks to her judgmental therapist Malcolm.

Duncan regrets leaving Annie but she refuses to take him back.

Cat breaks up with Tucker, but Tucker remains to look after Jackson.

Annie places a photo of Tucker and Jackson on her fridge and invites Duncan round to make him see it, gleeful that he doesn’t know the significance of it, and tells him she is in a relationship with him.

She ponders the years she has wasted with Duncan and ends up going to the pub with her friend Ros.

She meets Gav and Barnesy, two Northern Soul dancers.

Barnesy comes back to her house and tells her he loves her, but leaves after she says she won’t sleep with him.

Annie discusses the incident the next day with Malcolm.

Tucker learns that Lizzie has lost the baby.

He and Jackson fly to London to see Lizzie.

On arrival at the hospital in London, Tucker has a heart attack and is admitted.

Lizzie invites all his children and their mothers to visit for a family reunion.

A mini-narrative describes the events which caused Tucker to end his career after hearing that he had a daughter, Grace, from the relationship before/during Juliet.

Annie visits him in the hospital.

He suggests staying at her house to avoid the family reunion.

The next day Annie visits again.

Annie discovers he had not yet met with Grace.

Tucker tells her about Grace and Juliet.

Annie insists he call his family.

They discuss his work.

Tucker sees it as inauthentic rubbish, while Annie thinks it is deep and meaningful music while clarifying that while the music is good, it doesn’t mean that Tucker as a person is good.

She also admits that she was in a relationship with Duncan, whom Tucker knows of from the website.

Annie encourages Tucker to meet Duncan, but he refuses.

The next day, they bump into Duncan.

Tucker introduces himself, but Duncan doesn’t believe him.

After considering it, Duncan comes over.

Tucker shows Duncan his passport as proof.

They have tea together.

Tucker clarifies some of Duncan’s beliefs about him, while Duncan expresses his love of his music.

Grace calls Tucker.

She says she understands how he and she can’t be close because it would mean giving up Juliet.

An exhibition Annie has been working on opens at the Gooleness Museum, where she works as a curator.

She suggests that Tucker could open it, but the councillor in charge says he’s never heard of him and invites Gav and Barnsey to do it instead.

At the party, Annie admits to Tucker that she likes him romantically.

Afterwards they have sex.

Annie says she has used a contraceptive, but she hadn’t.

Tucker and Jackson return to America.

Annie tells Malcolm about it all and tells him that she would like to sell her house and move right away to America to join Tucker and Jackson.

Malcolm’s paternalistic comment make her realise that she needs to leave England.

In the epilogue, Duncan and other fans review on the fan website a new release from Tucker, which they think is terrible.

One of them writes ‘Happiness Is Poison‘.

Only one new member says she and her husband love the new album, while they find Juliet too gloomy for their liking.

In 2010, Hornby co-founded the Ministry of Stories, a non-profit organisation in East London dedicated to helping children and young adults develop writing skills and to helping teachers inspire their students to write.

 

This blog has its own missions.

I have been advised by my wife (Ute) and my social media mentor (Emir) that I should consider reducing the size of my blogposts, that we live in an ADD (attention disorder deficit) society that is both unwilling and unable to read for any extended length of time.

But the length of my posts, including this one, is to fight against this feeling.

This post’s goal is simple.

I want you to read.

Whether or not you intend to be a writer or simply long for good writing to read.

These days it is impossible to get away from discussions of whether the book will survive the digital revolution.

Blogs, tweets and newspaper articles on the subject appear daily, many of them repetitive, most of them admitting ignorance of the future.

In The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Victor Hugo put these famous words into the mouth of Archdeacon Claude Frollo:

The book will kill the building.

When you compare architecture to the idea, which needs only a sheet of paper, some ink and a pen, is it surprising that the human intellect should have deserted architecture for the printing press?”

The great cathedrals – those “Bibles in stone” – did not vanish, but the avalanche of manuscripts and then printed text that appeared at the end of the Middle Ages did render cathedrals less important. As culture changed, architecture lost its emblematic role.

So it is with the book.

Above: Notre Dame de Paris

There is no need to suppose that the electronic book will replace the printed version.

Has film killed painting?

Television cinema?

However, there is no doubt that the book is the throes of a technological revolution that is changing our relationship to it profoundly.

A book represents a sort of unsurpassable perfection in the realm of the imagination.

What is a book?

What will change if we read onscreen rather than by turning the pages of a physical object?

Old-fashioned habits, perhaps.

A certain sense of the sacred that has surrounded the book in a civilization that has made it our Holy of Holies.

A peculiar intimacy between the author and the reader, which the concept of hypertextuality is bound to damage.

A sense of existing in a self-contained world that the book and, along with it, certain ways of reading used to represent.

What we call culture is in fact a lengthy process of selection and filtering.

Contemporary civilization, armed with every conceivable kind of technology, is still attempting to conserve culture safely, without much lasting success.

However determined we are to learn from the past, our libraries, museums and film archives will only ever contain the works that time has not destroyed.

Culture is made up of what remains after everything else has been forgotten.

The Internet has returned us to the alphabet.

If we thought we had become a purely visual civilization, the computer returns us to Gutenberg’s galaxy.

From now on, everyone has to read.

In order to read, you need a medium.

This medium cannot simply be a computer screen.

Spend two hours reading a novel on your computer and your eyes turn into tennis balls.

The book is like the spoon, the scissors, the hammer, the wheel.

Once invented, it cannot be improved.

There is no doubt that a lawyer could take his 25,000 case documents home more easily if they were loaded onto an e-book.

In many areas, the electronic book will turn out to be remarkably convenient, but I remain unconvinced – even with fast-rate reading technology – that it would be particularly advisable to read War and Peace on an e-book.

Hermann Hesse had some interesting things to say about the “re-legitimization” of the book that he thought would result from technical developments:

The more the need for entertainment and mainstream education can be met by new inventions, the more the book will recover its dignity and authority.

We have not yet quite reached the point where young competitors have taken over functions from the book that it cannot afford to lose.

Above: German writer / artist Hermann Hesse (1877 – 1962)

Cinema, radio and even television have taken nothing from the book – nothing that it couldn’t afford to lose.

At a certain point of time, man invented the written word.

Writing is an extension of the hand and therefore it is almost biological.

It is the communication tool most closely linked to the body.

Once invented, it could never be given up.

We have never needed to read and write as much as we do today.

If you cannot read and write, then you cannot use a computer.

Why do we read?

Generally, to profit from it, to grow somewhere in mind or spirit.

Good books, fiction or nonfiction, deserve reading.

Ask questions while you read – questions that you yourself must try to answer in the course of reading.

There are four main questions you must ask about any book:

  1. WHAT IS THE BOOK ABOUT AS A WHOLE?

Try to discover the leading theme of the book and how the author develops this theme in an orderly way.

2. WHAT IS BEING SAID IN DETAIL AND HOW?

Try to discover the main ideas, assertions and arguments that constitute the author’s particular message.

3. IS THE BOOK TRUE, IN WHOLE OR IN PART?

You have to know what is being said before you can decide whether it is true or not. When you understand a book, however, you are obligated, if you are reading seriously, to make up your own mind.

4. WHAT OF IT?

If the book has given you information, you must ask about its significance.

Why does the author think it is important to know these things?

Is it important to you to know them?

And if the book has not only informed you, but also enlightened you, it is necessary to seek further enlightment by asking what else follows, what is further implied or suggested.

The four questions summarize the whole obligation of a reader.

Knowing what the four questions are is not enough. You must remember to ask them as you read.

Merely asking questions is not enough.

You have to try to answer them.

Grab a pen.

Full ownership of a book only comes when you have made it part of yourself.

The best way to make yourself a part of it is by writing in it.

Why is marking a book indispensible to reading it?

First, it keeps you awake.

Second, reading, if it is active, is thinking.

Thinking expresses itself in words.

The person who says he knows what he thinks but cannot express it usually does not know what he is thinking.

Why do we write?

To know what we are thinking.

Third, writing your reactions down helps you to remember the thoughts of the author.

Reading a book should be a conversation between you and the author.

Understanding is a two-way operation.

The learner has to question himself and question the teacher.

He even has to be willing to argue with the teacher, once he understands what the teacher is saying.

Marking a book is literally an expression of your differences or your agreements with the author.

It is the highest respect you can pay him.

Reading with pen in hand allows intimate communication with the writer.

We all begin as close readers.

Word by word is how we learn to hear and then read.

The more we read, the faster we can perform that magic trick of seeing how the letters have been combined into words that have meaning.

The more we read, the more we comprehend, the more likely we are to discover new ways to read, each one tailored to the reason why we are reading a particular book.

Reading a book can make you want to write one.

A work of art can start you thinking about some aesthetic or philosophical problem.

It can suggest some new method, some fresh approach to fiction.

More often the connection has to do with whatever mysterious promptings make you want to write.

The better the book, the more you imagine.

Reading a masterpiece can inspire us by showing us how a writer does something brilliantly.

Books are teachers, authorities to advise us, the models that inspire us with energy and courage to learn.

I will try to show you some writers that deserve a reading.

A movie may move us, but it demands little more than our attention.

A book demands we feel and think about what the book is trying to tell us, to use both our intelligence and our imagination.

God willing, I too will produce literature worthy of your time and attention, health and time permitting.

Put your phone down.

Turn the TV off.

Grab a book and a pen.

Begin the adventure of reading now.

Sources

  • Wikipedia
  • Wikiquote
  • Google Photos
  • How to Read a Book, Mortimer J. Adler and Charles Van Doren
  • Plot and Structure, James Scott Bell
  • The Seven Basic Plots, Christopher Booker
  • Daily Rituals, Mason Currey
  • This is NOT the end of the book, Umberto Eco and Jean-Claude Carrière
  • Reading Like a Writer, Francine Prose
  • The Assassin’s Cloak, edited by Irene and Alan Taylor

Voices carry

Eskişehir, Türkiye

Tuesday 16 April 2024

Above: A spectrogram (0-5000 Hz) of the sentence “It’s all Greek to me.” spoken by a female voice

World Voice Day (WVD) is a worldwide annual event that takes place on 16 April devoted to the celebration of the phenomenon of voice. 

The aim is to demonstrate the enormous importance of the voice in the daily lives of all people.

Voice is a critical aspect of effective and healthy communication.

World Voice Day brings global awareness to the need for preventing voice problems, rehabilitating the deviant or sick voice, training the artistic voice, and researching the function and application of voice.

A goal of World Voice Day is to encourage all those who use their voice for business or pleasure to learn to take care of their voice, and know how to seek help and training, and to support research on the voice.

The World Voice Day was established with the main goals of increasing public awareness of the importance of the voice and alertness to voice problems.

My first experience with poetry was sugary-sweet and dripping in rhyme.

Dr. Seuss’s melodic stories captured my youthful attention, and I loved listening to how the words bounced off the page to form music of their own.

How do you read, enjoy, analyze, and remember the pieces you most love?

Do you read 10 poems in rapid succession?

One at a time?

Do you have to sit in a velvet housecoat, surrounded by mahogany bookshelves and a crackling fire, to be considered ‘someone who reads poetry’?

How do you even start?

There is no proper way to start.

Poetry is a vast ocean.

In fact, it’s multiple vast oceans.

And each ocean has thousands of beaches leading into it.

Nobody will know everything about all the poetry.

So if you’re interested, start where you are.

Poetry is a personal experience—for both the writer and the reader.

The world is full of lyrical collections and melodical prose, and the poetry canon is growing more vibrant each passing day.

Where does one even begin?

Poetry anthologies are an excellent place to start because they offer a range of voices within time periods, places, or topics.

To continuously feed yourself new poetry, you can find local literary magazines, subscribe to Poetry Magazine, or sign up for daily poetry emails.

Once you find a favorite poet, follow the trail of their influences.

How To Read A Poem

  1. Examine the title and the shape of the poem.
  2. Read the poem as you normally read anything.
  3. Re-read for meaning.
  4. Re-read for sound (out loud, if you can).
  5. Add context to paint a full picture.

Examine the way it takes up space on the page.

Read the title of the poem.

How does it make you feel?

How does the title fit the shape of the poem?

If the title is sad, let the shape of the poem inform the nuance of the emotion.

If it’s short and sparse, maybe it is coming from a place of desolation or desperation.

Long chaotic forms might mean it is coming from a place of confusion or anger.

Now, remove your expectations and begin reading.

Reading poetry doesn’t require a highfalutin’ approach.

You can read as you’d read anything else.

On the first pass through, absorb whatever it is that arises upon first impression. Notice where in the poem you react — maybe your stomach churns at a particular phrase, or you hold your breath at a certain line.

Explore the feelings that come up as you read.

Listen to yourself, and wonder what the poem is drawing out of you.

What is it that the poem knows about you that you don’t yet know about yourself?

Maybe it provides a bit of comfort for a part of your life that is comfortless.

Or maybe it provides challenge where you need it.

Above: The oldest love poem. Sumerian terracotta tablet from Nippur, Iraq. Ur III (Neo-Sumerian) period, 2037-2029 BCE. Ancient Orient Museum, Istanbul.

If the poem captivates you or rouses your emotions, you can uncover even more information on a second read through.

If you didn’t feel a connection to the piece, it is okay to skip over re-reading the poem.

You might come back years later to a particular poem, only to find that it connects to your heart in ways it didn’t before.

The second read-through is where you look up definitions and pronunciations of words you don’t know and examine any footnotes.

If there’s historical context or the poem is referencing a specific event you are not familiar with, look that up, too.

Having this knowledge adds weight to the poem and makes each reading feel like a reverence.

Look for little clues you may have missed — word choices that bolster the metaphor, repetitions that indicate a deeper theme, or unusual line breaks that alter the meaning of a phrase.

Consider the speaker of the poem.

Is it the poet themselves?

Is it an omniscient being or a single narrow perspective?

Who is the audience of this poem?

This will further illuminate its meaning (and the intention).

Look for where the poem offers a moment of surprise.

Sometimes a poem has a ‘turn’, a place where it pivots on itself.

This might be expected or it might be shocking.

Above: The Old English epic poem Beowulf, British Museum, London

Try reading the poem out loud or search for readings of the poem online.

This is where the music of a poem emerges, and you can feel the shape of each word and line as you move through it.

Poetry has music in it.

You can hear the music:

In the sounds of the words, perhaps the vowel sounds, or the rhythm, or rhyme, or the spaces in between words.

Listen to the internal music of the poem.

Sound is no accident in poetry, so consider how word choice, rhythm, and cadence make the poem feel.

Above: Statue of runic singer Petri Shemeikka at Kolmikulmanpuisto Park in Sortavala, Karelia

Return to the beginning.

How does the title play with the rest of the poem?

Does the shape of the poem have anything to do with its meaning?

Dig into the author’s history.

Look at the publication date and consider the world around the poem when it was first released.

Consider where the poem lives:

Was it released as part of the author’s poetry book or was it published in a literary magazine?

If you’re reading it as part of a collection, why do you think this particular poem was selected?

Who selected it?

What is the hunger of the poem?

Why did this poem need to be written?

What is its intelligence?

What is it yearning for?

Treating the poem with this kind of curiosity, you will find it draws on parts of your own story.

There’s always more to learn from a poem you love; just when you think you’ve gleaned everything from its meaning, it can strike you with a new insight.

Bookmark or note the poems that inspire you, and revisit them when you’re feeling lonely, homesick, or untethered.

Which poems are those, you ask?

You’ll know which ones speak directly to your heart when you read them.

Above: Divine Comedy: Dante and Beatrice see God as a point of light.

Why did my parents send me to the schools

That I with knowledge might enrich my mind?

Since the desire to know first made men fools,

And did corrupt the root of all mankind.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Above: John Davies

The desire to know causes me to seek out what is special about this day.

I learn that today was the birthday of English poet John Davies (16 April 1569 – 1626), whose poem opens this post.

Above: John Davies

For when God’s hand had written in the hearts

Of the first parents all the rules of good,

So that their skill infused did pass all arts

That ever were, before or since the Flood,

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Above: The Creation of Adam (1511), Michelangelo, Sistine Chapel, Vatican City

Learning of English statesman / poet Charles Montagu (16 April 1661 – 1715), a Wikipedia link leads to a poetry portal wherein I learn that the making of a poem involves rhythm and sound.

Above: Charles Montagu

Poetry (a term derived from the Greek word poiesis, “making“), also called verse, is a form of literature that uses aesthetic and often rhythmic qualities of language − such as phonoaesthetics, sound symbolism and metre − to evoke meanings in addition to, or in place of, a prosaic ostensible meaning.

poem is a literary composition, written by a poet, using this principle.

Poetry is a kind of spontaneous overflowing of the personality, expressed in written words but needing the physical act of sound to reproduce feeling.

The poet reaches down deep into himself to produce his poems.

A poem’s point of origin is a mysterious well of creation within the mind, spurred by the soul.

Though anyone could theoretically make poetry at any time in a kind of solitary sensitivity session, the trick mastered by only a few is to seize the poetic impulse and arrange words in an orderly and disciplined way.

Words are weapons that are blunt unless the poem praises or rouses to action through rhyme and rhythm.

A good poem can be worked at, read and re-read, and thought about over and over for the rest of your life.

You will never stop finding new things in it, new pleasures and delights and also new ideas about yourself and the world.

Above: The philosopher Confucius was influential in the developed approach to poetry and ancient music theory.

Read a poem without stopping.

Remember that any good poem has a unity.

We cannot discover that unity, the experience of the poem, until it is read in its entirety.

Read the poem out loud.

The very voice of speaking the words allow you to understand a poem’s power perfectly.

And when their reason’s eye was sharp and clear,

And, as an eagle can behold the sun,

Could have approached th’eternal light as near

As the intellectual angels could have done,

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

I think of Canadian poet Octave Crémazie (16 April 1827 – 1879), the “father of French Canadian poetry“.

After finishing his studies at the Seminary of Québec, Crémazie went into business with his brother Joseph, a bookseller.

Their shop in Québec City, the J. et O. Crémazie bookstore, established in 1833, was instrumental in the North American dissemination of works by many Romantic writers.

It was also a meeting place for the members of what would become known as Quebec’s literary movement of 1860.

How many writers have dreamed of having their own bookshop?

How many writers have dreamed of being inside their own literary society?

While still in his early 20s, Crémazie helped found the Institut canadien, an organization devoted to the promotion of French Canadian culture. 

He would later serve as the organization’s president.

Above: Flag of the Canadian province of Québec

Crémazie’s first published poems appeared in L’Ami de la religion et de la patrie (edited by his brother Jacques) and other Québec City newspapers. 

Recognition for his poetry grew throughout the 1850s.

As French Canadian literature scholar Odette Condemine writes:

His nostalgic evocation of the happiness that preceded the Conquest and the miseries that followed roused his compatriots’ fervour.

“Le vieux soldat canadien” (1855) and “Le Drapeau de Carillon” (1858) were enthusiastically received and won Crémazie his title as “national bard”.

Then he compared, seeing this shore,
Where glory often crowned his courage,
The happiness of yesteryear to the misfortunes of today:
And all the memories that filled his life.
Pressed in turn into his tender soul,
Numerous as the waves which flowed before him
.”

(“Le vieux soldat canadien“, Octave Crémazie)

The longing for a glorious, vanished past and the sense of estrangement from France in Crémazie’s work has prompted the critic Gilles Marcotte to describe it as “a poetry of exile“.

As in the sweet memory of holy Zion,
Israel in exile had broken its lyre,
And, from the foreign master suffering oppression,
Threw to heaven the cry of impotent delirium,
All our proud peasants with their joyful voices
No longer awakened the the echo that slept on our banks;
Regretting and mourning the beautiful days of yesteryear,
Their songs found only plaintive notes.

(“Le drapeau de Carillon“, Octave Crémazie)

Above: Flag of Nouveau France

There are moments when I feel like I am in exile as a Canadian working as a teacher in Türkiye while his German wife works in Switzerland.

Above: Flag of Canada

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down
Yeah, we wept, when we remembered Zion
By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down
Yeah, we wept, when we remembered Zion

There the wicked
Carried us away in captivity
Required from us a song
Now how shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?

Let the words of our mouth and the meditation of our heart
Be acceptable in Thy sight here tonight
Let the words of our mouth and the meditation of our hearts
Be acceptable in Thy sight here tonight

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down
Yeah, we wept, when we remembered Zion
By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down
Yeah, we wept, when we remembered Zion

(“By the rivers of Babylon“, Boney M)

Despite the popularity of his bookstore, Octave Crémazie’s extravagant taste for foreign commodities led to large debts and trouble with creditors.

Above: Images of Québec City

I view the stock market as I view all institutions of gambling.

If you can’t afford to lose, you can’t afford to play.

By 1862, his financial situation had become so dire that he fled to France in secret, leaving the bookstore bankrupt. 

He lived at different times in Paris, Bordeaux and Le Havre under the name of Jules Fontaine, poor and isolated despite having secured a modest job and the support of a few French friends.

Crémazie’s poetic production stopped when he left Québec. 

The documents that survive from his later years include his Journal du siège de Paris, a diary detailing the hardship that Parisians and Crémazie himself endured during the siege of the capital in 1870 and 1871.

Above: St. Cloud, Paris, 1871

Many of his letters to close friends and family members also survive, including his correspondence with the priest Raymond Casgrain, to whom Crémazie often expressed his ideas about literature.

Above: Abbot Raymond Casgrain (1831 – 1904)

Octave Crémazie died in Le Havre on 16 January 1879.

Above: Panorama of Le Havre

A statue depicting a French Canadian soldier stands in Montréal’s Saint Louis Square (Rue de Malines and Saint-Denis) with Crémazie’s name across the top and the years 1827–1879 (his years of birth and death).

Underneath the soldier are the words: 

Pour mon drapeau je viens ici mourir 

(“For my flag I come here to die“).

Above: Monument to Crémazie located at St-Louis Square in Montréal

But would Nouveau France die for its people?

Above: Coat of arms of Nouveau France

There is also a Montreal Métro station named for him on the Orange Line, located on the boulevard likewise named in his honour.

 

Even then to them the spirit of lies suggests

That they were blind, because they saw not ill,

And breathes into their incorrupted breasts

A curious wish, which did corrupt their will.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

I think of French writer Anatole France (16 April 1844 – 1924).

A French poet, journalist, and novelist with several best-sellers. Ironic and skeptical, he was considered in his day the ideal French man of letters. 

He was a member of the Académie Française.

He won the 1921 Nobel Prize in Literature “in recognition of his brilliant literary achievements, characterized as they are by a nobility of style, a profound human sympathy, grace, and a true Gallic temperament“.

Above: Anatole France

France began his literary career as a poet and a journalist.

In 1869, Le Parnasse contemporain published one of his poems, “La Part de Madeleine“.

In 1875, he sat on the committee in charge of the third Parnasse contemporain compilation.

As a journalist, from 1867, he wrote many articles and notices.

He became known with the novel Le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard (1881). 

Its protagonist, skeptical old scholar Sylvester Bonnard, embodied France’s own personality.

The novel was praised for its elegant prose and won him a prize from the Académie Française.

In La Rotisserie de la Reine Pedauque (1893) France ridiculed belief in the occult.

(Story idea:

Montréal, modern day, a plongeur (dishwasher) at a St. Hubert chicken restaurant is drawn to a woman who is an ardent believer in astrology.)

In Les Opinions de Jérôme Coignard (1893), France captured the atmosphere of the fin de siècle.

He was elected to the Académie Française in 1896.

France took a part in the Dreyfus Affair.

Above: French Army Captain Alfred Dreyfus (1859 – 1935)

He signed Emile Zola’s manifesto supporting Alfred Dreyfus, a Jewish army officer who had been falsely convicted of espionage. 

Above: French writer Emile Zola (1840 – 1902)

France wrote about the Affair in his 1901 novel Monsieur Bergeret.

France’s later works include L’Île des Pingouins (1908) which satirizes human nature by depicting the transformation of penguins into humans – after the birds have been baptized by mistake by the almost-blind Abbot Mael.

It is a satirical history of France, starting in Medieval times, going on to the author’s own time with special attention to the Dreyfus affair and concluding with a dystopian future. 

(Story idea:

Kafka’s Metamorphosis meets The Planet of the Apes – people’s personalities emerge as the animals their behaviour most emulates.)

Les dieux ont soif (1912) is a novel, set in Paris during the French Revolution, about a true-believing follower of Maximilien Robespierre and his contribution to the bloody events of the Reign of Terror of 1793 – 1794.

It is a wake-up call against political and ideological fanaticism and explores various other philosophical approaches to the events of the time. 

La Revolte des Anges (1914) is often considered France’s most profound and ironic novel.

Loosely based on the Christian understanding of the War in Heaven, it tells the story of Arcade, the guardian angel of Maurice d’Esparvieu.

Bored because Bishop d’Esparvieu is sinless, Arcade begins reading the Bishop’s books on theology and becomes an atheist.

He moves to Paris, meets a woman, falls in love and loses his virginity causing his wings to fall off, joins the revolutionary movement of fallen angels, and meets the Devil, who realizes that if he overthrew God, he would become just like God.

Arcade realizes that replacing God with another is meaningless unless “in ourselves and in ourselves alone we attack and destroy laldabaoth“.

Laldabaoth“, according to France, is God’s secret name and means “the child who wanders“.

He was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1921.

On 31 May 1922, France’s entire works were put on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum (“List of Prohibited Books“) of the Catholic Church.

He regarded this as a “distinction“.

Above: Coat of arms of the Holy See

France had socialist sympathies and was an outspoken supporter of the 1917 Russian Revolution.

However he also vocally defended the institution of monarchy as more inclined to peace than bourgeois democracy, saying in relation to efforts to end the First World War that:

A king of France, yes a king, would have had pity on our poor, exhausted, bloodlet nation.

However democracy is without a heart and without entrails.

When serving the powers of money, it is pitiless and inhuman.” 

In 1920, he gave his support to the newly founded French Communist Party. 

In his book Lys Rouge, France famously wrote:

The law, in its majestic equality, forbids rich and poor alike to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal loaves of bread.”

I don’t entirely subscribe to Anatole’s POV.

The evil isn’t democracy but rather excessive capitalism.

The solution isn’t Communism but rather it is social democracy.

He died on 13 October 1924.

He is buried in the Neuilly sur Seine Old Communal Cemetery near Paris.

Above: Neuilly-sur-Seine Cemetery, Hauts-de-Seine, France

For that same ill they straight desired to know;

Which ill, being nought but a defect of good,

And all God’s works the devil could not show

While man their lord in his perfection stood.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Above: The Garden of Eden with the Fall of Man by Jan Brueghel the Elder and Pieter Paul Rubens (1615) depicting both domestic and exotic wild animals such as tigers, parrots, and ostriches co-existing in the Garden

I think of Irish writer John Millington Synge (16 April 1871 – 1909).

Synge was born in Newtown Villas Raathfarnham, County Dublin, the youngest of eight children of upper-middle-class Protestant parents.

Synge’s father died from smallpox in 1872 at the age of 49.

He was buried on his son’s first birthday.

Above: John Millington Synge

His mother moved the family to the house next door to her own mother’s house in Rathgar, County Dublin.

Although often ill, Synge had a happy childhood there.

He developed an interest in bird-watching along the banks of the River Dodder and during family holidays at the seaside resort of Greystones, County Wicklow, and the family estate at Glanmore.

Above: Greystones harbour, Ireland

 

In 1893 he published his first known work, a poem, Kottabos: A College Miscellany.

Above: John Millington Synge

After graduating from Dublin’s Trinity College, Synge moved to Germany to study music.

He stayed in Koblenz during 1893 and moved to Würzburg in January 1894. 

Owing partly to his shyness about performing in public, and partly to his doubt about his ability, he decided to abandon music and pursue his literary interests.

Above: Flag of modern Germany

He returned to Ireland in June 1894, and moved to Paris in January 1895 to study literature and languages at the Sorbonne.

Above: Coat of arms of the University of Paris

He met Cherrie Matheson during summer breaks with his family in Dublin.

He proposed to her in 1895 and again the next year, but she turned him down on both occasions because of their differing views on religion.

This rejection affected Synge greatly and reinforced his determination to spend as much time as possible outside Ireland.

Above: Flag of Ireland

In 1896, he visited Italy to study the language before returning to Paris.

He planned on making a career in writing about French authors for the English press. 

Above: Flag of France

In that same year he met W. B. Yeats, who encouraged him to live for a while in the Aran Islands and then return to Dublin and devote himself to creative work.

Above: Irısh writer William Butler Yeats (1865 – 1939)

Above: The Aran Islands

In 1899 he joined with Yeats, Isabella Augusta (Lady Gregory) and George William Russell to form the Irish National Theatre Society, which later established the Abbey Theatre. 

Above: Lady Gregory (1852 – 1932)

Above: Irısh writer George William Russell (1867 – 1935)

He wrote some pieces of literary criticism for Gonne’s Irlande Libre and other journals, as well as unpublished poems and prose in a decadent fin de siècle style.

In 1897, Synge suffered his first attack of Hodgkin’s, after which an enlarged gland was removed from his neck. 

He visited Lady Gregory’s home, at Coole Park near Gort, County Galway, where he met Yeats again and Edward Martyn.

Above: Irısh playwright Edward Martyn (1859 – 1923)

He spent the following five summers there, collecting stories and folklore, perfecting his Irish, but living in Paris for most of the rest of each year. 

He also visited Brittany regularly. 

Above: Flag of Brittany

During this period he wrote his first play, When the Moon Has Set which he sent to Lady Gregory for the Irish Literary Theatre in 1900, but she rejected it.

The play was not published until it appeared in his Collected Works.

Synge’s first account of life on the Aran Islands was published in the New Ireland Review in 1898 and his book, The Aran Islands, completed in 1901 and published in 1907.

Synge considered the book “my first serious piece of work“. 

Lady Gregory read the manuscript and advised Synge to remove any direct naming of places and to add more folk stories, but he declined to do either because he wanted to create something more realistic.

The book conveys Synge’s belief that beneath the Catholicism of the islanders, it was possible to detect a substratum of the pagan beliefs of their ancestors.

His experiences in the Arans formed the basis for the plays about Irish rural life that Synge went on to write.

Synge left Paris for London in 1903.

He had written two one-act plays, Riders to the Sea and The Shadow of the Glen, the previous year.

These met with Lady Gregory’s approval.

The Shadow of the Glen was performed at the Molesworth Hall in October 1903.

Riders to the Sea was staged at the same venue in February the following year. 

The Shadow of the Glen formed part of the bill for the opening run of the Abbey Theatre from 27 December 1904 to 3 January 1905. 

Both plays were based on stories that Synge had collected in the Arans.

He also relied on Hiberno-English, the English dialect of Ireland, to reinforce its usefulness as a literary language, partly because he believed that the Irish language could not survive.

The Shadow of the Glen is based on a story about an unfaithful wife, and was criticised by the Irish nationalist leader Arthur Griffith as “a slur on Irish womanhood“.

Years later Synge wrote:

When I was writing ‘The Shadow of the Glen’ some years ago I got more aid than any learning could have given me from a chink in the floor of the old Wicklow house where I was staying, that let me hear what was being said by the servant girls in the kitchen.” 

Griffith’s criticism encouraged more attacks alleging that Synge described Irish women in an unfair manner. 

Riders to the Sea was also attacked by nationalists, this time including Patrick Pearse, who decried it because of the author’s attitude to God and religion.

Pearse, Griffith and other conservative-minded Catholics claimed Synge had done a disservice to Irish nationalism by not idealising his characters, but later critics have stated he idealised the Irish peasantry too much. 

A third one-act play, The Tinker’s Wedding, was drafted around this time, but Synge initially made no attempt to have it performed, largely because of a scene in which a priest is tied up in a sack, which, as he wrote to the publisher Elkin Mathews in 1905, would probably upset “a good many of our Dublin friends“.

Synge’s next play, The Well of the Saints, was staged at the Abbey in 1905, again to nationalist disapproval, and then in 1906 at the Deutsche Theater in Berlin. 

The setting is specified as “some lonely mountainous district in the east of Ireland one or more centuries ago“.

Martin and Mary Doul are two blind beggars who have been led by the lies of the townsfolk to believe that they are beautiful when in fact they are old and ugly.

A saint cures them of their blindness with water from a holy well and at first sight they are disgusted by each other.

Martin goes to work for Timmy the smith and tries to seduce Timmy’s betrothed, Molly, but she viciously rejects him and Timmy sends him away.

Martin and Mary both lose their sight again.

When the saint returns to wed Timmy and Molly, Martin refuses his offer to cure their blindness again.

The saint takes offence and the townsfolk banish the couple, who head south in search of kinder neighbours.

The critic Joseph Holloway asserted that the play combined “lyric and dirt“.

Synge’s widely regarded masterpiece, The Playboy of the Western World, was first performed on 26 January 1907, at the Abbey Theatre.

A comedy about apparent patricide (the act of killing your father), it attracted a hostile reaction from sections of the Irish public.

The Freeman’s Journal described it as “an unmitigated, protracted libel upon Irish peasant men, and worse still upon Irish girlhood“. 

Arthur Griffith, who believed that the Abbey Theatre was insufficiently politically committed, described the play as “a vile and inhuman story told in the foulest language we have ever listened to from a public platform“, and perceived a slight on the virtue of Irish womanhood in the line “… a drift of chosen females, standing in their shifts …” 

At the time, a shift (undergarment worn next to the skin beneath a dress) was known as a symbol representing Kitty O’Shea and her adulterous relationship with Charles Stuart Parnell.

It tells the story of Christy Mahon, a young man running away from his farm, claiming he killed his father.

On the west coast of County Mayo Christy Mahon stumbles into Flaherty’s tavern.

There he claims that he is on the run because he killed his own father by driving a loy (spade) into his head.

Flaherty praises Christy for his boldness.

Flaherty’s daughter (the barmaid), Pegeen, falls in love with Christy, to the dismay of her betrothed, Shawn Keogh.

Because of the novelty of Christy’s exploits and the skill with which he tells his own story, he becomes something of a town hero.

Many other women also become attracted to him, including the Widow Quin, who tries unsuccessfully to seduce Christy at Shawn’s behest.

Christy also impresses the village women by his victory in a donkey race, using the slowest beast.

Eventually Christy’s father, Mahon, who was only wounded, tracks him to the tavern.

When the townsfolk realize that Christy’s father is alive, everyone, including Pegeen, shuns him as a liar and a coward.

To regain Pegeen’s love and the respect of the town, Christy attacks his father a second time.

This time it seems that Old Mahon really is dead, but instead of praising Christy, the townspeople, led by Pegeen, bind and prepare to hang him to avoid being implicated as accessories to his crime.

Christy’s life is saved when his father, beaten and bloodied, crawls back onto the scene, having improbably survived his son’s second attack.

As Christy and his father leave to wander the world, having reconciled, Shawn suggests that he and Pegeen get married soon, but she spurns him.

Pegeen laments betraying and losing Christy:

I’ve lost the only playboy of the western world.”

A section of the audience at the opening rioted, causing the third act to be acted out in dumbshow (mime).

The disturbances continued for a week, interrupting the following performances.

(Story idea:

A possible modification to my novel, The Donkey Trail, wherein the protagonist is accused of being a “playboy” for desiring to be separated from his wife.)

Although the writing of The Tinker’s Wedding began at the same time as Riders to the Sea and The Shadow of the Glen, it took Synge five years to complete and was not finished in 1907. 

Riders was performed in the Racquet Court theatre in Galway on 4 – 8 January 1907, but not performed again until 1909, and only then in London.

The first critic to respond to the play was Daniel Corkery, who said:

One is sorry Synge ever wrote so poor a thing, and one fails to understand why it ever should have been staged anywhere.”

Above: John Millington Synge

Synge died from Hodgkin lymphoma at the Elpis Nursing Home in Dublin on 24 March 1909, aged 37. 

He was buried in Mount Jerome Cemetery, Harold’s Cross, Dublin. 

Above: The entrance to Mount Jerome Cemetery, Dublin

John Masefield, who knew Synge, wrote that he “gave one from the first the impression of a strange personality“. 

Masefield said that Synge’s view of life originated in his poor health.

In particular, Masefield said:

His relish of the savagery made me feel that he was a dying man clutching at life, and clutching most wildly at violent life, as the sick man does.”

Above: English poet John Masefield (1878 – 1967)

Yeats described Synge as timid and shy, who “never spoke an unkind word” yet his art could “fill the streets with rioters“. 

Richard Ellmann, the biographer of Yeats and James Joyce, stated that Synge “built a fantastic drama out of Irish life“.

Above: American literary critic / biographer Richard Ellmann (1918 – 1987)

Yeats described Synge in the poem “In Memory of Major Robert Gregory“:

“…And that enquiring man John Synge comes next,

That dying chose the living world for text

And never could have rested in the tomb

But that, long travelling, he had come

Towards nightfall upon certain set apartIn a most desolate stony place,

Towards nightfall upon a race

Passionate and simple like his heart.

Above: W. B. Yeats

Synge was a political radical, immersed in the socialist literature of William Morris, and in his own words “wanted to change things root and branch“.

Above: English writer William Morris (1834 – 1896)

So that themselves were first to do the ill,

Ere they thereof the knowledge could attain;

Like him that knew not poison’s power to kill,

Until, by tasting it, himself was slain.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

I think of English comic actor, filmmaker and composer Charlie Chaplin (16 April 1899 – 1977) who rose to fame in the era of silent film.

He became a worldwide icon through his screen persona, the Tramp, and is considered one of the film industry’s most important figures.

His career spanned more than 75 years, from childhood in the Victorian era until a year before his death in 1977, and encompassed both adulation and controversy.

Above: Charlie Chaplin

Chaplin’s childhood in London was one of poverty and hardship.

His father was absent and his mother struggled financially — he was sent to a workhouse twice before age 9.

When he was 14, his mother was committed to a mental asylum.

Chaplin began performing at an early age, touring music halls and later working as a stage actor and comedian.

At 19, he was signed to the Fred Karno company, which took him to the United States.

Above: English comedian Frederick John Westcott (aka Fred Karno) (1865 – 1941)

He was scouted for the film industry and began appearing in 1914 for Keystone Studios.

He soon developed the Tramp persona and attracted a large fanbase.

He directed his own films and continued to hone his craft.

By 1918, he was one of the world’s best-known figures.

Above: Chaplin as the Tramp

In 1919, Chaplin co-founded the distribution company United Artists, which gave him complete control over his films.

His first feature-length film was The Kid (1921), followed by A Woman of Paris (1923), The Gold Rush (1925) and The Circus (1928).

He initially refused to move to sound films in the 1930s, instead producing City Lights (1931) and Modern Times (1936) without dialogue.

His first sound film was The Great Dictator (1940), which satirised Adolf Hitler.

The 1940s were marked with controversy for Chaplin, and his popularity declined rapidly.

He was accused of Communist sympathies.

Some members of the press and public were scandalised by his involvement in a paternity suit and marriages to much younger women.

An FBI investigation was opened.

Chaplin was forced to leave the US and settle in Switzerland.

He abandoned the Tramp in his later films, which include Monsieur Verdoux (1947), Limelight (1952), A King in New York (1957) and A Countess from Hong Kong (1967).

Chaplin wrote, directed, produced, edited, starred in and composed the music for most of his films.

He was a perfectionist and his financial independence enabled him to spend years on the development and production of a picture.

His films are characterised by slapstick combined with pathos, typified in the Tramp’s struggles against adversity.

Many contain social and political themes, as well as autobiographical elements.

He received an Honorary Academy Award for “the incalculable effect he has had in making motion pictures the art form of this century” in 1972, as part of a renewed appreciation for his work.

He continues to be held in high regard, with The Gold RushCity LightsModern Times, and The Great Dictator often ranked on lists of the greatest films.

I have watched and rewatched Chaplin’s Tramp films and thoroughly admired his closing speech in The Great Dictator.

I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be an emperor.

That’s not my business.

I don’t want to rule or conquer anyone. 

I should like to help everyone, if possible — Jew, gentile, black man, white.

We all want to help one another. 

Human beings are like that.

We want to live by each other’s happiness — not by each other’s misery.

We don’t want to hate and despise one another.

In this world, there is room for everyone.

And the good Earth is rich and can provide for everyone.

The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way. 

Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed.

We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in.

Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. 

Our knowledge has made us cynical.

Our cleverness, hard and unkind.

We think too much and feel too little. 

More than machinery, we need humanity.

More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness.

Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.

The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. 

The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood, for the unity of us all. 

Even now, my voice is reaching millions throughout the world — millions of despairing men, women and little children — victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. 

To those who can hear me, I say — do not despair.

The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed — the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress.

The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people and so long as men die, liberty will never perish.

Soldiers!

Don’t give yourselves to brutes — men who despise you, enslave you, who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel, who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder! 

Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men — machine men with machine minds and machine hearts!

You are not machines!

You are not cattle!

You are men!

You have the love of humanity in your hearts.

You don’t hate!

Only the unloved hate — the unloved and the unnatural!

Soldiers!

Don’t fight for slavery!

Fight for liberty!

In the 17th chapter of St. Luke, it is written:

“The Kingdom of God is within man” — not one man, nor a group of men, but in all men!

In you! 

You, the people, have the power — the power to create machines.

The power to create happiness! 

You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure.

Then, in the name of democracy, let us use that power!

Let us all unite!

Let us fight for a new world — a decent world, that will give men a chance to work, that will give youth the future, and old age a security.

By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power.

But they lie!

They do not fulfill their promise — they never will.

Dictators free themselves, but they enslave the people!

Now, let us fight to fulfill that promise! 

Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance.

Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men’s happiness.

Soldiers!

In the name of democracy, let us all unite!

(The Great Dictator, Charlie Chaplin)

I have visited the Charlie Chaplin Museum and gravesite in Vevey, Switzerland.

I love Robert Downey Jr.’s portrayal of the great actor in Chaplin.

Even so by tasting of that fruit forbid,

Where they sought knowledge, they did error find;

Ill they desired to know, and ill they did,

And to give passion eyes, made reason blind.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

I think of the American writer of children’s stories Gertrude Chandler Warner (16 April 1890 – 1979).

She was most famous for writing the original book of The Boxcar Children and for the next 18 books in the series.

Above: Gertrude Chandler Warner

When she was 5, Warner dreamed of being an author.

Later, she accomplished that dream and started writing The Boxcar Children.

She began writing in ten-cent blank books as soon as she was able to hold a pencil.

While growing up, Warner loved to read.

Her favorite book was Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

However, because of her frequent illnesses, Warner never finished high school.

After leaving, she studied with a tutor and finished her secondary education.

In 1918, while she was teaching Sunday School, Warner was called to teach first grade, mainly because male teachers were being called to serve in WW1.

Warner continued teaching as a grade school teacher in Putnam from 1918 to 1950.

Warner was a lover of nature.

While growing up, she had butterfly and moth collections, pressed wildflowers, learned of all the birds in her backyard and other places, and kept a garden to see what butterflies were doing.

She used these interests in teaching her grade school students, and also used nature themes in her books.

For instance, in The Boxcar Children: Surprise Island, the Alden children make a nature museum from the flowers, shells and seaweed they have collected and the shapes of birds they have observed.

One of her students recalled the wildflower and stone-gathering contests that Warner sponsored when she was a teacher.

As well as her books in the The Boxcar Children series, Warner wrote many other books for children, including The World in a Barn (1927), Windows into Alaska (1928), The World on a Farm (1931) and Peter Piper, Missionary Parakeet (1967).

With her sister, Frances Lester Warner, she cowrote “Life’s Minor Collisions“, a series of essays about humorous conflicts of temperament among friends and families.

Warner never married.

She lived in her parents’ home for almost 40 years, then moved to her grandmother’s house.

In 1962, she moved to a brown-shingled house and lived there with her companion, a retired nurse.

In her later life, before she died at age 89, Warner became a volunteer for the American Red Cross, a Cancer Society and other charitable organizations to help kids and adults in need from suffering.

She is buried in Grove Street Cemetery, in Putnam.

Warner once said that she did much of her writing while convalescing from illnesses or accidents, and that she conceived the idea of The Boxcar Children while sick at home.

Of this, she said:

I had to stay at home from school because of an attack of bronchitis.

Having written a series of eight books to order for a religious organization, I decided to write a book just to suit myself.

What would I like to do?

Well, I would like to live in a freight car, or a caboose.

I would hang my wash out on the little back piazza and cook my stew on the little rusty stove found in the caboose.

Warner once acknowledged that The Boxcar Children was criticized for depicting children with little parental supervision.

Her critics thought that this would encourage child rebellion.

Her response was, however, that the children liked it for that very reason. 

In her books, Warner “liked to stress the Aldens’ independence and resourcefulness and their solid New England devotion to using up and making do“.

On 3 July 2004, the Gertrude Chandler Warner Boxcar Children Museum opened in Putnam, Connecticut.

It is located across the street from Warner’s childhood home and is housed in an authentic 1920s New Haven R.R. boxcar.

The museum is dedicated to Warner’s life and work, and includes original signed books, photos and artifacts from her life and career as a teacher in Putman.

Included is the desk at which a 9-year-old Warner wrote her first story titled Golliwog at the Zoo.

There is also a re-creation of the living space created by the Aldens – the Boxcar Children themselves.

For then their minds did first in passion see

Those wretched shapes of misery and woe,

Of nakedness, of shame, of poverty,

Which then their own experience made them know.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Above: Adam and Eve (1628), Peter Paul Rubens

I think of Québec novelist Germaine Guèvremont (16 April 1893 – 1968), best known for her novel Le Survenant (The Outlander).

Above: Germaine Guèvremont

Sainte-Anne-de-Sorel is a village located near Sorel.

A strnager asks for a meal and a place to spend the night.

In the days that follow, without ever revealing his name or his origins, he helps carry out farm work and proves to be a good worker.

Old Didace, the father of the family, offers him a home in exchange for his work.

His son Amable-Didace and his daughter-in-law Alphonsine take a dim view of the intrusion of this “outlander” into the family, especially since he eclipses them with his strength and his hard work.

Winter is coming.

Having travelled widely and being an outstanding storyteller, the “grand god of the road” has such a strong attraction on the inhabitants of the hamlet that everyone rushes to the Beauchemin house to hear him.

They are sedentary people, anchored in their traditions, who know very little about the vast world.

Angélina, a neighbor who has rejected all the suitors in the neighborhood, falls in love with him and the Outlander seems to respond to her love.

Winter passes and the Outlander seems to want to stay in the village.

The friendship of the father, who would like to have a son like him, and the frank love of the neighbor make him forget the pettiness to which he is subjected in this closed and resolutely traditional environment.

We admire his strength and his skill at work, but we criticize his fighting temperament and his penchant for alcohol.

Summer is coming again.

The hero finds himself at a crossroads:

To stay or to go?

If he stays, it’s the house, the security, the economy in everything and everywhere, the small land of 27 acres, nine perches, and the constant worry of big money.

If he, on the other hand, goes, it is freedom, the race in the mountains with its mystery of decline.

And suddenly:

A cowbell in the wind.

The bark of a dog.

A twist of smoke.

About ten houses.

Strange faces.

From the new country.

The road.

The wide world.

Realizing that he will never really be part of the “mean little world” that is the village, he gives in to the call of the road that has tormented him since the spring.

At the beginning of autumn, a year after his arrival, he leaves as he came, without even a goodbye for Angélina or Father Didace who had become his allies.

The Outlander changed the lives of the main characters of the story:

Father Didace, a widower, falls in love with Acayenne, also a widow, and despite his advanced age, decides at the end of the story to marry and to start a new family.

His son Amable and her daughter-in-law Alphonsine, who have been trying to start a family for a long time, expect their first child.

Angélina, by falling in love with the Outlander, frees herself from her shell.

But then grew reason dark, that she no more

Could the fair forms of good and truth discern;

Bats they became, that eagles were before,

And this they got by their desire to learn.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

I think of Turkish writer Mehmet Behçet Gönül (aka Behçet Necatigil) (16 April 1916 – 1979).

He is one of the leading poets of modern Turkish poetry.  

He did not join any literary movement.

He was an independent poet and intellectual.  

Apart from poetry, he produced works in many fields of literature, from theater to mythology, from lexicography to novel translations and radio plays.

He contributed greatly to the adoption of radiophonic play as a branch of literature in Turkey with his plays, translations and adaptations.  

The artist, who is known as the “Poet of Houses“, is also known for his identity as a teacher as well as his literary work.

Above: Mehmet Behçet Gönül (aka Behçet Necatigil)

People have built houses for centuries. 

They built wooden houses and masonry houses,

Large and small,

Different from each other. 

People were born and died,

People came and went, 

The inside of the houses changed from time to time. 

The outside of the houses were windows and walls. 

Black-hearted people lived in the houses glorified by the looters who were shot. 

Those poor people lived in houses destroyed by daily fears. 

Most of the houses became old and could not be repaired. 

Most of the houses could not be depicted properly. 

Some seemed satisfied with life. 

Some kept up with the times. 

Inside the houses there is sadness room by room, 

Outside the houses there are windows and walls. 

Happiness bubbled like soap in the houses: 

It came from outside, like a pomegranate, 

It increased and did not decrease. 

Disasters swept through the houses like storms: 

Like storms older than fate, 

They never ceased. 

Peace and order in most of the houses have become a memory of the past. 

Don’t seek to please,

To respect,

To remember. 

Children are rebels against the family, 

An avalanche breaks out because of sadness. 

Many murders were committed in houses, 

People didn’t even feel it. 

Family secrets within four walls

So many children,

So many men,

So many women 

Fed with tears

In whose houses are the little ones instead of the big man? 

Crowded families whose children rushed to work. 

Fateless offspring of school ages, 

Sweat flowing from tiny palms in the evenings, 

It replaced salt in the food of homes. 

The fate of people obviously depends on the houses: 

Rich houses looked down on the poor from a very high level, 

Houses at their level gave and took girls

Some of them missed the higher life, 

They struggled to climb higher 

They did not leave the houses 

The smoke of the stoves was just rising 

“Woman’s greatest power is in man’s work” 

The men ran away,

The women escaped

(“Evler“, Behçet Necatigil)

He was born in a mansion in Atikalipaşa in the Fatih district of Istanbul.

The mansion where Necatigil was born burned down in the Great Fatih Fire in 1918.

His mother’s illness, who was suffering from severe stomach fever, was aggravated by the effect of this trauma. 

Mehmet Behçet, who was only two years old, lost his mother that year.

Above: Hagia Sophia, Fatih, İstanbul

For a while, he lived in his grandmother Emine Münire Hanım’s house in Karagümrük district.

His father, Mehmet Necati Efendi, who married Saime Hanım, the daughter of a palace officer, and had two daughters in this marriage, lived in Beşiktaş district.

Due to his grandmother’s illness, Necatigil moved to his father in 1923 and received primary education at Cevriusta School in Beşiktaş.

The family moved to Kastamonu after his father got a job as an inspector at the Singer Sewing Machines company. 

Necatigil completed his primary education at Kastamonu Male Teacher Training School.

He started his secondary education at Kastamonu’s Abdurrahmanpaşa Lisesi.

He began to be interested in literature in Kastamonu in 1927.

He published the magazine Küçük Muharrir in his own handwriting, so his first readers were his friends and relatives.

The person who motivated him was his Turkish teacher, the poet Zeki Ömer Defne.

He used the name Küçük Muharrir (Little Writer) in the newspaper Akşam in which his poems, short stories and anecdotes were published between 1931 and 1932.

However, he had to interrupt his education due to “adenitis tuberculosis” due to malnutrition and neglect.

Above: Kastamonu

The family moved to Istanbul.

After his treatment, Necatigil started again in the second grade of secondary school at Kabataş Lisesi.

His first poem Gece ve Yas (Night and Mourning) was published in the magazine Varlık when he was a high school student.

In the following years, his poems and translations were published in the famous magazines Varlık, Türk Dili, Yeditepe, Oluş, Gençlik, Yeni Dergi, Yeni Edebiyat, Yelken, Ataç, Yenilikler and Yeni İnsan.

His articles were published in the newspaper Cumhuriyet.

Above: Kabataş Lisesi, Beşiktaş, İstanbul

After graduating from high school, he received higher education at the Turkish Language and Literature Department of the Higher Teacher Training School. 

He completed his higher education in 1940 and started teaching.

His first place of duty as a literature teacher was Kars Alpaslan Lisesi.

Above: Images of Kars

After having difficulty adapting to the climatic conditions and falling ill, he was appointed to Zonguldak Mehmet Çelikel Lisesi in 1941.

Here he collaborated with Turkish poets Muzaffer Tayyip Uslu and Rüştü Onur.

His poems were published together with these poets in Öcak, one of the newspapers of Zonguldak, in Kara Elmas and Değirmen magazines, published in Istanbul. 

Above: Zonguldak

When adenitis tuberculosis appeared again because of the polluted and damp weather in Zonguldak, he was appointed to İstanbul Pertevniyal Lisesi as a literature teacher in March 1943 at his request.

The poet left Istanbul two months later due to his military service.

He did his military service in Ankara and İstanbul as a reserve officer between 1943 and 1945.

He was appointed to Kabataş Lisesi when he returned.

He spent the longest period of his teaching career at this school.  

He became the teacher of writers and poets, such as Demir Özlü and Hilmi Yavuz, at Kabataş. 

He was instrumental in the publication of the magazine Donum at this school. 

His first poetry book, Kapalı Çarşı (“Grand Bazaar“), was published in 1945.

He carried out teaching and poetry simultaneously throughout his life.

The poet published Çevre (“Environment“) (1951), Evler (“Houses“) (1953) and Eski Toprak (“Ancient Land“) (1956) between 1945 and 1955.

The poems in these books were poems that directly expressed his observations and experiences and associations. 

He changed his poetics in 1955. 

He wrote books with little story element and full of evocative poems. 

He started writing radio plays in 1963.

He became one of the hardest workers in Turkey and collected his works in this field in four volumes. 

He also translated the books of many German and Norwegian writers and poets, such as Rainer Maria Rilke, Miguel De Unamuno, Knut Hamsun, August Strindberg, Thomas Mann and Stefan Zweig into Turkish.

In addition to his poems, radio plays and translations, he wrote Edebiyatımızda İsimler Sözlüğü (“Dictionary of Names in Our Literature“) (1960), Edebiyatımızda Eserler Sözlüğü (“Dictionary of Works in Our Literature“) (1979) and 100 Soruda Mitologya (“Mythology in 100 Questions”) (1969).

Necatigil, who was appointed to Çapa Education Institute in 1960, retired from this school in 1972.

He spent his retirement days at home, concentrating on literature and working.

Above: Behçet Necatigil’s typewriter and the Turkish Language Association Poetry Award

In 1979, he died at Cerrahpaşa Hospital where he was diagnosed with lung cancer.

He is buried in Zincirlikuyu Graveyard.

Above: Behçet Necatigil Statue, Beşiktaş, İstanbul

The name of Camgöz Sokak (street), where the poet lived between 1955 and 1964 and was the subject of one of his poems, was changed to “Behçet Necatigil Sokak” in 1987. 

A tram stop in Eskişehir Tepebaşı region bears the poet’s name.

Above: Behçet Necatigil tram stop, Tepebaşı, Eskişehir

Necatigil’s intern teaching days in Zonguldak were portrayed in the 2013 movie Kelebeğin Rüyası, about the poets Rüştü Onur and Muzaffer Tayyip Uslu.

Kelebeğin Rüyası (Butterfly’s Dream) is a 2013 drama film written and directed by Yılmaz Erdoğan.

The film tells the life story of young poets Rüştü Onur and Muzaffer Tayyip Uslu who live in Zonguldak during WW2.

Yılmaz Erdoğan plays Behçet Necatigil, who was a literature teacher at the poets’ Mehmet Çelikel High School at that time.

The movie begins in Zonguldak in 1941.

While two young poets, Rüştü Onur and Muzaffer Tayyip Uslu continue their civil servant lives in this newly modernizing mining city, they also live intertwined with art, literature and, most of all, poetry.

While the young Republic, which had just gotten back on its feet, was trying to modernize, WW2 was also taking place in Europe.

These two consumptive young poets, who live in a society where the appreciation of poetry and art has not yet matured, are trying to make every segment of society love poetry.

Rüştü and Muzaffer’s belief in poetry increases even more when the Mayor’s daughter, Suzan Özsöy, comes back to Zonguldak.

Muzaffer falls in love with Suzan.

Suzan, who is still a high school student, becomes close friends with two young people, despite her family’s wishes.

But tuberculosis, the plague of the 1940s, increasingly threatens the health of both young people.

Rüştü and Muzaffer try to establish their own future.

But we, their wretched offspring, what do we?

Do not we still taste of the fruit forbid,

Whiles with fond fruitless curiosity

In books profane we seek for knowledge hid?

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Above: Dr. Fausto, Jean Paul Laurens

I think of English writer / teacher Kingsley Amis (16 April 1922 – 1995).

He wrote more than 20 novels, six volumes of poetry, a memoir, short stories, radio and television scripts, and works of social and literary criticism.

Amis is widely known as a comic novelist of life in mid- to late-20th-century Britain, but his literary work covered many genres – poetry, essays, criticism, short stories, food and drink, anthologies, and several novels in genres such as science fiction and mystery.

Above: Kingsley Amis

Should you revisit us
Stay a little longer
And get to know the place…
On local life we trust
The resident witness
Not the royal tourist.

(“New Approach Needed“, A Look Around the Estate, Kingsley Amis)

Amis’s first novel, Lucky Jim (1954), satirises the highbrow academic set of an unnamed university through the eyes of a struggling young lecturer of history.

That Uncertain Feeling (1955) features a young provincial librarian (perhaps with an eye to Larkin working as a librarian in Hull) and his temptation to adultery.

I Like It Here (1958) takes a contemptuous view of “abroad“, after Amis’s own travels on the Continent with a young family. 

Take a Girl Like You (1960) steps away from the immediately autobiographical, but remains grounded in the concerns of sex and love in ordinary modern life, tracing a young schoolmaster’s courtship and ultimate seduction of the heroine. 

I told myself that I could soon start to relish the state of being alone, only to find as usual that I was stuck with myself.

Two’s company, which is bad enough in all conscience, but one’s a crowd.

(The Green Man, Kingsley Amis)

In The Anti-Death League, Amis showed frustration with a God who could lace the world with cruelty and injustice, and championed the preservation of ordinary human happiness – in family, in friendships, in physical pleasure – against the demands of any cosmological scheme.

Amis’s religious views appear in a response reported in his Memoirs.

To the Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko’s question:

You atheist?

Amis replied:

It’s more that I hate Him.”

Above: Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko (1933 – 2017)

I Want It Now (1968) and Girl, 20 (1971) both depict the “swinging” atmosphere of late-1960s London, in which Amis certainly participated, though neither book is strictly autobiographical. 

Girl, 20, for instance, is set in the world of classical (and pop) music, in which Amis had no part.

The book’s noticeable command of music terminology and opinion shows Amis’s amateur devotion to music and almost journalistic capacity to explore a subject that interested him.

The real trouble with liars was that there could never be any guarantee against their occasionally telling the truth.

It’s human to choose any sort of path into the future rather than face the long road back to what you’ve left behind.

(Girl, 20, Kingsley Amis)

Throughout the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s, Amis regularly produced essays and criticism, principally for periodical publication. 

Amis’s opinions on books and people tended to appear, and often were, conservative, and yet, as the title essay of the collection shows, he was not merely reverent of “the classics” and of traditional morals, but more disposed to exercise his own rather independent judgement in all things.

Above: Kingsley Amis

Amis became associated with Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels, which he admired, in the late 1960s, when he began composing critical works connected with Bond, either under a pseudonym or uncredited.

In 1965, he wrote the popular James Bond Dossier under his own name.

The same year, he wrote The Book of Bond (or Every Man His Own 007), a tongue-in-cheek how-to manual about being a sophisticated spy, under the pseudonym “Lt Col. William (‘Bill’) Tanner“, Tanner being M’s chief of staff in many of Fleming’s novels.

In 1968 Amis wrote Colonel Sun, which was published under the pseudonym “Robert Markham“.

Amis’s literary style and tone changed significantly after 1970, with the possible exception of The Old Devils, a Booker Prize winner.

Several critics found him old-fashioned and misogynistic.

His Stanley and the Women, an exploration of social sanity, could be said to instance these traits.

Others said that his output lacked his earlier work’s humanity, wit and compassion.

The Amis Anthology (1988), a personal selection of his favourite poems, grew out of his work for a London newspaper, in which he selected a poem a day and gave it a brief introduction.

Amis was shortlisted for the Booker Prize three times:

  • Ending Up (1974)
  • Jake’s Thing (1978) 
  • The Old Devils (1986)

What is this knowledge but the sky-stolen fire

For which the thief still chained in ice doth sit,

And which the poor rude satyr did admire,

And needs would kiss, but burnt his lips with it.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

I think of German writer Sarah Kirsch (1935 – 2013).

Sarah Kirsch is considered one of the most important German poets. 

Her poetry is open in form, mostly without rhyme and in free meter.

Nevertheless, rhythm in the sense of the tempo of breathing plays a major role, as do line breaks and line jumps, which create a flow or breathlessness. 

Kirsch often combines technical or old-fashioned expressions with a casual tone.

Characteristic of her metaphors are images that have their starting point in everyday life, nature or landscapes, but are alienated or take a surprising turn.

Kirsch often contrasts precise observation of nature with the emotional life of the lyrical self or political reflection.

While early poems were predominately concerned with war and National Socialism, later landscape poems and reflections on the world crisis of civilization dominate.

Above: Sarah Kirsch

 

What is it but the cloud of empty rain,

Which when Jove’s guest embraced, he monsters got?

Or the false pails which oft being filled with pain,

Received the water, but retained it not?

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Shortly, what is it but the fiery coach

Which the youth sought, and sought his death withal?

Or the boy’s wings, which when he did approach

The sun’s hot beams, did melt and let him fall?

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Above: The Fall of Icarus (1637), Jacob Peter Gowy

And yet, alas, when all our lamps are burned,

Our bodies waste, and our spirits spent,

When we have all the learned volumes turned,

Which yield men’s wits both help and ornament,

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

What can we know, or what can we discern,

When error chokes the windows of the mind,

The diverse forms of things, how can we learn,

That have been ever from our birthday blind?

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

When reason’s lamp, which like the sun in sky,

Throughout man’s little world her beams did spread,

Is now become a sparkle which doth lie

Under the ashes, half extinct and dead;

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

How can we hope that through the eye and ear

This dying sparkle, in this cloudy place,

Can recollect these beams of knowledge clear,

Which were infused in the first minds by grace?

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

So might the heir whose father hath in play

Wasted a thousand pound of ancient rent,

By painful earning of a groat a day

Hope to restore the patrimony spent.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

The wits that dived most deep and soared most high,

Seeking man’s powers, have found his weakness such;

Skill comes so slow and life so fast doth fly,

We learn so little and forget so much.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

For this the wisest of all mortal men

Said, He knew nought but that he nought did know;

And the great mocking master mocked not then,

When he said, Truth was buried deep below.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

For how may we to others’ things attain,

When none of us his own soul understands?

For which the devil mocks our curious brain,

When, Know thyself, his oracle commands.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

For why should we the busy soul believe,

When boldly she concludes of that and this;

When of herself she can no judgment give,

Nor how, nor whence, nor where, nor what she is?

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

All things without, which round about we see,

We seek to know, and how therewith to do;

But that whereby we reason, live, and be,

Within ourselves we strangers are thereto.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

We seek to know the moving of each sphere,

And the strange cause of th’ebbs and floods of Nile;

But of that clock within our breasts we bear,

The subtle motions we forget the while.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

We that acquaint ourselves with every zone,

And pass both tropics and behold the poles,

When we come home, are to ourselves unknown,

And unacquainted still with our own souls.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

We study speech, but others we persuade;

We leech-craft learn, but others cure with it;

We interpret laws, which other men have made,

But read not those which in our hearts are writ.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Above: The Tower of Babel (1563), Peter Bruegel the Elder

Is it because the mind is like the eye,

Through which it gathers knowledge by degrees–

Whose rays reflect not, but spread outwardly–

Not seeing itself when other things it sees?

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

No, doubtless, for the mind can backward cast

Upon herself her understanding light;

But she is so corrupt and so defaced,

As her own image doth herself affright.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Above: Nosce Te Ipsum (Allegory of Vanity) (1650), Jacob Neefs and Jacob Jordaens

As in the fable of the lady fair,

Which for her lust was turned into a cow:

When thirsty to a stream she did repair,

And saw herself transformed, she wist not how,

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

At first she startles, then she stands amazed,

At last with terror she from thence doth fly,

And loathes the wat’ry glass wherein she gazed,

And shuns it still, though she for thirst do die.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Even so man’s soul, which did God’s image bear,

And was at first fair, good, and spotless pure,

Since with her sins her beauties blotted were,

Doth of all sights her own sight least endure.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

For even at first reflection she espies

Such strange chimeras and such monsters there,

Such toys, such antics, and such vanities,

As she retires and shrinks for shame and fear.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Above: Alice entering the looking-glass

And as the man loves least at home to be,

That hath a sluttish house haunted with sprites,

So she, impatient her own faults to see,

Turns from herself and in strange things delights.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

For this, few know themselves; for merchants broke

View their estate with discontent and pain,

And seas are troubled when they do revoke

Their flowing waves into themselves again.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

And while the face of outward things we find

Pleasing and fair, agreeable and sweet,

These things transport and carry out the mind,

That with herself herself can never meet.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Yet if affliction once her wars begin,

And threat the feebler sense with sword and fire,

The mind contracts herself and shrinketh in,

And to herself she gladly doth retire,

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

As spiders touched seek their webs’ inmost part,

As bees in storms unto their hives return,

As blood in danger gathers to the heart,

As men seek towns when foes the country burn.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

If aught can teach us aught, affliction’s looks,

Making us look into ourselves so near,

Teach us to know ourselves beyond all books,

Or all the learned schools that ever were.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

This mistress lately plucked me by the ear,

And many a golden lesson hath me taught;

Hath made my senses quick and reason clear,

Reformed my will and rectified my thought.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

So do the winds and thunders cleanse the air;

So working lees settle and purge the wine;

So lopped and prunëd trees do flourish fair;

So doth the fire the drossy gold refine.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Neither Minerva nor the learned muse,

Nor rules of art, nor precepts of the wise,

Could in my brain those beams of skill infuse,

As but the glance of this dame’s angry eyes.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

Above: Hall of the Augustals (Herculaneum) – Minerva, the goddess of wisdom

She within lists my ranging mind hath brought,

That now beyond myself I list not go;

Myself am center of my circling thought,

Only myself I study, learn, and know.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

I know my body’s of so frail a kind

As force without, fevers within, can kill;

I know the heavenly nature of my mind,

But ’tis corrupted both in wit and will;

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

I know my soul hath power to know all things,

Yet is she blind and ignorant of all;

I know I am one of nature’s little kings,

Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

I know my life’s a pain and but a span,

I know my sense is mocked with everything;

And to conclude, I know myself a man,

Which is a proud and yet a wretched thing.

(“Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies)

There are those who suggest that we conform, that we become like everyone else.

Then why were we made as individuals?

Why do we read?

To know that we are not alone in the world.

Why do we write?

To know what we are thinking.

To discover who you are, read poetry.

To discover the magic of your voice, read poetry aloud.

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute.

We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.

And the human race is filled with passion.

And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life.

But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

To quote from Whitman:

“O me! O life!

Of the questions of these recurring

Of the endless trains of the faithless

Of cities fill’d with the foolish

What good amid these

O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.” 

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

What will your verse be?

When you read, don’t just consider what the author thinks, consider what YOU think.

No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.

Boys, you must strive to find your own voice.

Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all.

Thoreau said:

“Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

Don’t be resigned to that.

Break out!

Break out!

Now is the time!

Sources

  • Wikipedia
  • Google Photos
  • Nosce Teipsum / Know Thyself“, John Davies
  • Le vieux soldat canadien“, Octave Crémazie
  • Le drapeau de Carillon“, Octave Crémazie
  • The Great Dictator, Charlie Chaplin
  • Evler“, Behçet Necatigil
  • How to Read Poetry“, Emily McGowan, thegoodtrade.com, 1 April 2020
  • How to Read a Book, Mortimer J. Adler and Charles Van Doren
  • Dead Poets Society, Tom Schulman
  • By the Rivers of Babylon“, Boney M

Rites of passage

Eskişehir, Türkiye

Thursday 4 April 2024

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

From the table drawer he took out a penholder, a bottle of ink, and a thick, quarto-sized blank book with a red back and a marbled cover.

It was a peculiarly beautiful book.

Its smooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of a kind that had not been manufactured for at least forty years past.

The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary.

Winston fitted a nib into the penholder and sucked it to get the grease off.

The pen was an archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures, and he had procured one, furtively and with some difficulty, simply because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper deserved to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched with an ink-pencil.

Actually he was not used to writing by hand.

He dipped the pen into the ink and then faltered for just a second.

A tremor had gone through his bowels.

To mark the paper was the decisive act.

In small clumsy letters he wrote:

“April 4th, 1984.

(George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-four)

This morning I polished up an old box I found upstairs.

It is of walnut with black and yellow inlay and a brass crest on the lid.

It makes a beautiful box for relics – so in went all the letters, pressed flowers, Niersteiner corks, handkerchiefs, Tilia platyphyllos, etc.

It will still hold a few more letters, though it is quite nicely filled.

I wonder what will happen to it.

If I were to die tomorrow I should either have it sent back to him or buried with me (probably the latter) – but as it seems not very likely that I shall, I daresay it may be in my possession for years and years, until one day it becomes junk again and the box returns to the place where I found it – perhaps with the relics still in it.

Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.

Above: Cemetery in China

What a great pleasure and delight there is in being really sentimental.

I thought about this as I picked flowers in the garden this morning – violets – a great patch of them smelling lovely, sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes, primroses plain and coloured, scyllas and wild celandines, so very much spring flowers.

People who are not sentimental, who never keep relics, brood on anniversaries, kiss photographs “good night” and “good morning”, must miss a good deal.

Of course it is all rather self-conscious and cultivated, but it comes do easily that at least a little of it must spring from the heart.

I could write a lovely metaphysical poem about the relics of love in a box.

Perhaps I will – for his 70th birthday (in March 1989).

(3 April 1940, Barbara Pym)

Swift swallows and spring days were shuttling by;

Of ninety radiant ones three score had fled.

Young grass spread all its green to heaven’s rim

Some blossoms marked pear branches with white dots.

Now came the Feast of Light in the third month

With graveyard rites and junkets on the green.

As merry pilgrims flocked from near and far,

The sisters and their brother went for a stroll.

The Tale of Kiều, Nguyen Du

Above: The first page of the Tale of Kiều

The Qingming Festival or Ching Ming Festival, also known as Tomb-Sweeping Day in English (sometimes also called Chinese Memorial DayAncestors’ Day, the Clear Brightness Festival, or the Pure Brightness Festival), is a traditional Chinese festival observed by ethnic Chinese in mainland China, Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan, Malaysia, Singapore, Cambodia, Indonesia, Philippines, Thailand and Vietnam. 

A celebration of spring, it falls on the first day of the fifth solar term (also called Qingming) of the traditional Chinese lunisolar calendar.

This makes it the 15th day after the Spring Equinox, either on 4, 5 or 6 April in a given year.

During Qingming, Chinese families visit the tombs of their ancestors to clean the gravesites and make ritual offerings to their ancestors. 

Offerings would typically include traditional food dishes and the burning of joss sticks and joss paper.

Above: Joss sticks / incense

Above: Stacks of joss paper for sale at a store

The holiday recognizes the traditional reverence of one’s ancestors in Chinese culture.

Above: The Classic of Filial Piety

The origins of the Qingming Festival go back more than 2,500 years, although the observance has changed significantly.

It became a public holiday in mainland China in 2008, where it is associated with the consumption of gingtuan, green dumplings made of glutinous rice and Chinese mugwort or barley grass.

Above: Qingtuan, traditional Chinese food of the Qingming festival

Above: Chapssal (glutinous rice)

Above: Barley field

In Taiwan, the public holiday was in the past observed on 5 April to honor the death of Chiang Kai-shek on that day in 1975, but with Chiang’s popularity waning, this convention is not being observed.

Above: Chinese politician / revolutionary / military leader Chiang Kai-shek (1887 – 1975)

A confection called caozaiguo or shuchuguo, made with Jersey cudweed, is consumed there.

Above: Tsukakkue or caozai guo, steamed glutinous flour dumpling with herbal wrapper

A similar holiday is observed in the Ryukyu Islands, called Shīmī in the local language.

The festival originated from the Cold Food or Hanshi Festival which is said to commemorate Jie Zitui, a nobleman of the state of Jin (modern Shanxi) during the Spring and Autumn Period.

Above: Song dynasty painting attributed to Li Tang, showing the return of Chong’er from exile to the state of Jin. He became Duke Wen and reigned from 636 to 628 BC.

Above: Temple on Mt Mian near Jiexiu, Shanxi, China

Amid the Li Ji Unrest (657 – 651 BC), he followed his master Prince Chong’er in 655 BC to exile among the Di tribes and around China.

Supposedly, he once even cut flesh from his own thigh to provide his lord with soup.

In 636 BC, Duke Mu of Qin invaded Jin and enthroned Chong’er as its duke, where he was generous in rewarding those who had helped him in his time of need.

Owing either to his own high-mindedness or to the duke’s neglect, however, Jie was long passed over. 

He finally retired to the forest around Mount Mian with his elderly mother. 

The duke went to the forest in 636 BC but could not find them.

He then ordered his men to set fire to the forest in order to force Jie out. 

When Jie and his mother were killed instead, the duke ordered that thenceforth no one should light a fire on the date of Jie’s death. 

The people of Shanxi subsequently revered Jie as an immortal and avoided lighting fires for as long as a month in the depths of winter, a practice so injurious to children and the elderly that the area’s rulers unsuccessfully attempted to ban it for centuries.

A compromise finally developed where it was restricted to 3 days around the Qingming solar term in mid-spring.

Above: Mt Mian near Jiexiu, Shanxi, China

The present importance of the holiday is credited to Emperor Xuanzong of Tang.

Above: Portrait of Tang Xuanzong Li Longji (685 – 762)

Wealthy citizens in China were reportedly holding too many extravagant and ostentatiously expensive ceremonies in honour of their ancestors.

Above: Tong’s ancestral hall, Lantern Festival offering

In AD 732, Xuanzong sought to curb this practice by declaring that such respects could be formally paid only once a year, on Qingming.

Qingming Festival is when Chinese people traditionally visit ancestral tombs to sweep them.

This tradition has been legislated by the Emperors who built majestic imperial tombstones for every dynasty.

For thousands of years, the Chinese imperials, nobility, peasantry and merchants alike have gathered together to remember the lives of the departed, to visit their tombstones to perform Confucian filial piety by tombsweeping, to visit burial grounds, graveyards or in modern urban cities, the city columbaria, to perform groundskeeping and maintenance and to commit to pray for their ancestors in the uniquely Chinese concept of the afterlife and to offer remembrances of their ancestors to living blood relatives, their kith and kin.

In some places, people believe that sweeping the tomb is only allowed during this festival, as they believe the dead will get disturbed if the sweeping is done on other days.

Above: An Chinese-Indonesian family prays for their deceased members at Sanggar Agung Temple, Surabaya

The young and old alike kneel down to offer prayers before tombstones of the ancestors, offer the burning of joss in both the forms of incense sticks (joss-sticks) and silver-leafed paper (joss paper), sweep the tombs and offer food in memory of the ancestors. 

Depending on the religion of the observers, some pray to a higher deity to honour their ancestors, while others may pray directly to the ancestral spirits.

People who live far away and can’t travel to their ancestors’ tombs may make a sacrifice from a distance.

Above: Qingming Festival, Chonghe Dong Cemetery, Kolkata, India

These rites have a long tradition in Asia, especially among the imperialty who legislated these rituals into a national religion.

They have been preserved especially by the peasantry and are most popular with farmers today, who believe that continued observances will ensure fruitful harvests ahead by appeasing the spirits in the other world.

Religious symbols of ritual purity, such as pomegranate and willow branches, are popular at this time.

Above: Pomegranate

Some people wear willow twigs on their heads on Qingming or stick willow branches on their homes.

There are similarities to palm leaves used on Palm Sundays in Christianity.

Both are religious rituals.

Furthermore, the belief is that the willow branches will help ward off misfortune.

Above: Golden weeping willow

After gathering on Qingming to perform Confucian clan and family duties at the tombstones, graveyards or columbaria, participants spend the rest of the day in clan or family outings, before they start the spring plowing.

Historically, people would often sing and dance.

Qingming was a time when young couples traditionally started courting. 

Another popular thing to do is to fly kites in the shapes of animals or characters from folk tales or Chinese opera. 

Above: Shao opera performance of The Limestone Rhyme, a historical play set in the Ming dynasty, in Shanghai

Another common practice is to carry flowers instead of burning paper, incense or firecrackers.

Traditionally, a family will burn spirit money (joss paper) and paper replicas of material goods such as cars, homes, phones and paper servants.

This action usually happens during the Qingming festival. 

Above: Imitation paper money (issued by “The Bank of Heaven and Earth“) and yuanbao burnt at ancestors’ graves around the time of the Ghost Festival. (Jiangsu Province)

In Chinese culture, it is believed that people still need all of those things in the afterlife.

Then family members take turns to kowtow three to nine times (depending on the family adherence to traditional values) before the tomb of the ancestors.

The kowtowing ritual in front of the grave is performed in the order of patriarchal seniority within the family.

After the ancestor worship at the grave site, the whole family or the whole clan feast on the food and drink they have brought for the worship.

Above: Three people ‘kowtowing‘ to an altar, one woman crying, others smoking opium in paying their last respects to a Chinese merchant’s wife

Another ritual related to the festival is the cockfight, as well as being available within that historic and cultural context at Kaifeng Millennium City Park (Qingming Riverside Landscape Garden).

Above: Cock fight

Above: Dragon Pavilion, Kaifeng, Henan Province, China

The holiday is often marked by people paying respects to those who are considered national or legendary heroes or those exemplary Chinese figures who died in events considered politically sensitive.

The April 5th Movement and the Tiananmen Incident were major events in Chinese history which occurred on Qingming.

After Premier Zhou Enlai died in 1976, thousands honored him during the festival to pay their respects.

Above: Chinese Premier Zhou Enlai (1898 – 1976)

Above: Tiananmen Incident – Crowds of mourners gathering in Tiananmen Square on 5 April 1976

Some also pay respects to politically sensitive people such as Zhao Ziyang.

Above: Chinese Premier Zhao Ziyang (1919 – 2005)

In Taiwan, the Qingming Festival was not a public holiday until 1972.

Above: Flag of Taiwan

Three years later, upon the death of Chiang Kai-shek on 5 April 1975, the Kuomintang government declared that the anniversary of Chiang’s death be observed alongside the festival.

The practice was abolished in 2007.

Above: Emblem of the Kuomintang, the Chinese Nationalist Party

Despite the festival having no official status, the overseas Chinese communities in Southeast Asian nations, such as those in Singapore and Malaysia, take this festival seriously and observe its traditions faithfully.

Above: Flag of Singapore

Some Qingming rituals and ancestral veneration decorum observed by the overseas Chinese in Malaysia and Singapore can be dated back to Ming and Qing dynasties, as the overseas communities were not affected by the Cultural Revolution in Mainland China.

Above: Colored papers placed on a grave during Qingming Festival, Bukit Brown Cemetery, Singapore

Qingming in Malaysia is an elaborate family function or a clan feast (usually organized by the respective clan association) to commemorate and honour recently deceased relatives at their grave sites and distant ancestors from China at home altars, clan temples or makeshift altars in Buddhist or Taoist temples.

Above: Flag of Malaysia

For the overseas Chinese community, the Qingming festival is very much a solemn family event and, at the same time, a family obligation.

They see this festival as a time of reflection for honouring and giving thanks to their forefathers.

Overseas Chinese normally visit the graves of their recently deceased relatives on the weekend nearest to the actual date.

According to the ancient custom, grave site veneration is only permissible ten days before and after the Qingming Festival.

If the visit is not on the actual date, normally veneration before Qingming is encouraged.

Above: Flag of China

The Qingming Festival in Malaysia and Singapore normally starts early in the morning by paying respect to distant ancestors from China at home altars.

This is followed by visiting the graves of close relatives in the country.

Some follow the concept of filial piety to the extent of visiting the graves of their ancestors in mainland China.

Above: (in dark green) China and (in light green) Taiwan

During the Tang dynasty, Emperor Xuanzong of Tang promoted large-scale tug of war games, using ropes of up to 167 metres (548 ft) with shorter ropes attached and more than 500 people on each end of the rope.

Each side also had its own team of drummers to encourage the participants. 

In honour of these customs, families often go hiking or kiting, play Chinese soccer or tug-of-war and plant trees, including willow trees.

The Qingming festival is also a part of spiritual and religious practices in China, and is associated with Buddhism.

For example, Buddhism teaches that those who die with guilt are unable to eat in the afterlife, except on the day of the Qingming festival.

Above: The Dharma Wheel, a symbol of Buddhism

The Qingming festival holiday has a significance in the Chinese tea culture since this specific day divides the fresh green teas by their picking dates.

Green teas made from leaves picked before this date are given the prestigious ‘pre-Qingming tea’ designation which commands a much higher price tag.

These teas are prized for their aroma, taste, and tenderness.

The Qingming festival was originally considered the day with the best spring weather, when many people would go out and travel.

The Old Book of Tang describes this custom and mentions of it may be found in ancient poetry.

Above: Along the River During the Qingming Festival, detail of the original version showing wooden bridge

China and those springing from Chinese culture are not unique for commemorating or communing with the dead.

All Saints’ Day (1 November) and All Souls’ Day (2 November) are two Christian observances commemorating the dead.

Above: All-Saints

Above: The Day of the Dead (1859), William-Adolphe Bouguereau

The Day of the Dead (1 November) is a a Mexican celebration similar to the Qingming Festival.

Above: Traditional Day of the Dead altar in Milpa Alta, Mexico City, Mexico

The veneration of the dead, including one’s ancestors, is based on love and respect for the deceased.

In some cultures, it is related to beliefs that the dead have a continued existence and may possess the ability to influence the fortune of the living.

Some groups venerate their direct, familial ancestors.

Certain religious groups, in particular the Eastern Orthodox Church, the Catholic Church and the Anglican Church venerate saints as intercessors with God.

The latter also believes in prayer for departed souls in Purgatory.

Other religious groups, however, consider veneration of the dead to be idolatry and a sin.

In European, Asian, Oceanian, African and Afro-diasporic cultures (which includes but should be distinguished from multiple cultures and Indigenous populations in the Americas who were never influenced by the African Diaspora), the goal of ancestor veneration is to ensure the ancestors’ continued well-being and positive disposition towards the living, and sometimes to ask for special favours or assistance.

The social or non-religious function of ancestor veneration is to cultivate kinship values, such as filial piety, family loyalty, and continuity of the family lineage.

Ancestor veneration occurs in societies with every degree of social, political, and technological complexity, and it remains an important component of various religious practices in modern times.

Ancestor reverence is not the same as the worship of a deity or deities.

In some Afro-diasporic cultures, ancestors are seen as being able to intercede on behalf of the living, often as messengers between humans and God.

As spirits who were once human themselves, they are seen as being better able to understand human needs than would a divine being.

In other cultures, the purpose of ancestor veneration is not to ask for favors but to do one’s filial duty.

Some cultures believe that their ancestors actually need to be provided for by their descendants, and their practices include offerings of food and other provisions.

Others do not believe that the ancestors are even aware of what their descendants do for them, but that the expression of filial piety is what is important.

Most cultures who practice ancestor veneration do not call it “ancestor worship“.

In English, the word worship usually but not always refers to the reverent love and devotion accorded a deity (god) or God. 

However, in other cultures, this act of worship does not confer any belief that the departed ancestors have become some kind of deity.

Rather, the act is a way to express filial duty, devotion and respect and look after ancestors in their afterlives as well as seek their guidance for their living descendants.

In this regard, many cultures and religions have similar practices.

Some may visit the graves of their parents or other ancestors, leave flowers and pray to them in order to honor and remember them, while also asking their ancestors to continue to look after them.

However, this would not be considered as worshipping them since the term worship may not always convey such meaning in the exclusive and narrow context of certain Western European Christian traditions.

Above: A scenic cemetery in rural Spain

My own view of remembering the dead may be specific to me only.

I was raised by foster parents who, for all their virtues, made no doubt that their desire to care for me revolved on the funding that the province provided for my maintenance.

They have long since passed away and are buried in the shadow of Mount Maple in Ogdensburg Cemetery, St. Philippe d’Argenteuil, Québec, Canada.

I have visited their grave perhaps twice since their demise from cancer.

I search for filial feelings but they lie buried beneath the surface.

I sought out my biological family in a journey that took me to the residences of my father and siblings scattered across Canada and to the birthplace and final resting place of my mother in the States.

My mother is buried in a pauper’s field in a Fort Lauderdale cemetery next to a factory painted with the slogan “Baby Love“.

No irony lost there.

It is said that blood is thicker than water, but what isn’t said is that time spent together is what creates that bond within a family.

I was separated from my biological family as a toddler and reunited for a brief time after two decades had passed.

Lost time cannot build bridges.

Filial feelings cannot be manufactured.

I envy people who have had the good fortune to have had a family worthy of reverence.

But, in spite of the imperfections of my past, I do have reverence for the past.

But the past is only relevant to me in the manner in which it makes me feel in the present.

Standing upon the graves of those who once lived should provoke within me a sense of who they were and what they meant to me and others.

Above: Kerepesi Cemetery, Budapest, Hungary

Rarely do researchers or writers “let their hair down“, revealing that they started where each of us must start:

With mere infatuation for a subject.

The messy beginnings of all serious inquiries are hidden from our view in that “foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart” where, as W.B. Yeats asserted, “all the ladders start“, so we tend to get a misleading picture of how intellectual and creative projects got started.

Finding those subjects that connect with something within you can be done by starting a journal, reconnoitering new realms of knowledge, entering a field and developing your first projects.

Before you immerse yourself in the “literature of the field” you can and should let your own imagination play and come up with some theories of your own.

This sounds presumptious to most people.

We were all taught to believe that you need to learn what other people have found and thought before knowing enough to offer your own ideas.

Of course, it makes sense to take full advantage of your predecessors.

Your own ideas should eventually take into account what is already known, but imaginative conjectures at an early stage can be exicting, harmless and occasionally rewarding.

By adding this stage to the usual scientific research procedure, you join the creative vanguard in your discipline rather than merely collect data or absorb the conclusions of other scholars.

By bringing in spontaneous thinking prior to the detailed research, the stage is set for its continuation and fruition in fresh and sound conclusions at the end of the project.

Formulate your own best spontaneous solution at that point.

Then, review and compare your solution with those advocated by others and assemble whatever additional facts now appear pertinent.

Finally, synthesize your own ideas with those of others.

Those others are both those with whom you have formed a network and with those from whom have learned from their example – our predecessors.

In most fields of endeavour, it is unlikely that you would be able to get one-to-one tuition from the people at the top.

If you wanted to be a top tennis pro, for example, even if you could afford it, how could you persuade someone like Andy Murray to give you a series of private lessons?

He is a busy man!

Above: British professional tennis player Andy Murray

The same is also true of many areas of the arts, but in the field of creative writing your perfect mentors are always available.

Your favourite writers are there, they are free, and they are present for as long as you need them.

There is absolutely nothing to stop you spending weeks locked up alone with Tolstoy (or with Philip Roth, Sharon Olds, Sylvia Plath, Jackie Collins or Woody Allen).

Above: Russian writer / activist Leo Tolstoy (1828 – 1910)

Find inspiration in the work of others.

Whoever your inspiration is, they are waiting for you.

Dead or alive, mad or bad, the greatest writers are available as your guides.

You don’t have to rely on YouTube or on grainy footage of long-lost champions in order to study technique.

You can bring their work home with you and focus on it in microscopic detail and in your own time.

Above: American writer Philip Roth (1933 – 2018)

Read other writers.

Make a short list of all the writers whose works you have found most inspiring.

Reacquaint yourself with your heroes.

Try asking around among your friends, family and work colleagues for examples of writing that they have found particularly impressive.

Reading, more than anything else, is what will help you improve as a writer.

Reading good work carefully is the fastest way to see visible developments in your own writing life.

Above: American poet Sharon Olds

It helps to have an open mind and a willingness to experiment in your reading tastes.

Try not to be too dismissive of work you see championed in the press or online.

On the other hand, reading something and then thinking, “I could do better than that.”, is a perfectly legitimate response.

It can be inspiring to find a writer who has legions of admirers but who in your opinion is not actually such hot stuff.

That’s fine, but I would keep that opinion to yourself for a little while!

Above: Sylvia Plath (1932 – 1963)

What inspired great works that are still read decades or even centuries after they were written?

What did master writers do when they were stuck for an idea?

What methods gave some of them a never-ending flow of stories?

Above: English romance novelist / actress Jackie Collins (1937 – 2015)

It starts with someone else’s words.

Many noted authors have said they were deeply moved by what they read as youngsters. In some cases it was one partıcular book that made them want to be writers and to which they still return for inspiration years later.

Even once a writer is established, a classic author may serve as their mentor.

Above: American filmmaker / writer / actor / comedian / musician Woody Allen



When I am stuck with a sentence that isn’t fully born, it isn’t there yet, I sometimes think:

“How would Dickens go at this sentence?

Above: English writer Charles Dickens (1812 – 1870)

How would Bellow or Nabokov go at this sentence?”

Above: Canadian-American writer Saul Bellow (1915 – 2005)

What you hope to emerge with is how you would go at that sentence, but you get a little shove in the back by thinking about writers you admire.

(Martin Amis)

Above: English writer Martin Amis (1949 – 2023)

You don’t have to limit yourself to the greats.

Read, read, read.

Read everything – trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it.

Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master.

Read!

You will absorb it.

(William Faulkner)

Above: American writer William Faulkner (1897 – 1962)

Make an appointment with yourself to read a book that is noted as a classic.

Revisit some of your favourites.

This time read it not only for enjoyment but to analyze what made the book so powerful for you.

What can you learn from that author’s methods that might help you make your own writing more vivid and influential?

For starters, consider:

  • What is the story about, in a sentence or two?
  • What is at stake for the protagonist?
  • What does the story reveal about the characters, and how?
  • How does the opening capture your interest?
  • How do the action and the central conflict escalate?
  • What are the story’s surprises?
  • What emotions does it evoke in you? How does it do that?

The more active the reading the better.

One reader is better than another in proportion as he is capable of a greater range of activity in reading and exerts more effort.

He is better if he demands more of himself and of the text before him.

The art of reading is the skill of catching every sort of communication as well as possible.

The relation of writer and reader is successful only to the extent that they cooperate.

Successful communication occurs in any case where what the writer wanted to have received finds its way into the reader’s possession.

The writer’s skill and the reader’s skill converge upon a common end.

A piece of writing is a complex object.

The amount the reader catches will usually depend on the amount of activity he puts into the process as well as upon the skill with which he executes the different mental acts involved.

Your success in reading is determined by the extent to which you received everything the writer intended to communicate.

Either you understand perfectly the author has to say or you do not.

The goal a reader seeks – be it entertainment, information or understanding – determines the way he reads.

The effectiveness with which he reads is determined by the amount of effort and skill he puts into his reading.

The more effort the better.

There are four levels of reading:

  1. Elementary reading

    We recognize the individual words on the page.

    What does the sentence say?

    We seek to identify the actual words.

    Only after recognizing them individually can we begin to try to understand them, to struggle with perceiving what they mean.

    2. Inspectional Reading

    The aim is to get the most out of a book within a given time.

    Inspectional reading is the art of skimming systematically.

    Your aim is to examine the surface of the book, to learn everything that the surface alone can teach you.

    That is often a good deal.

    What is the book about?

    What is the structure of the book?

    What are its parts?

    What kind of book is it?

    Most people are unaware of the value of inspectional reading.

    They start a book on page 1 and plow steadily through it, without even reading the table of contents.

    They are thus faced with the task of achieving a superficial kowledge of the book at the same time that they are trying to understand it.

    That compounds the difficulty.

    3. Analytical reading

    This is thorough reading, complete reading, good reading – the best reading you can do.

    Analytical reading is the best and most complete reading that is possible given unlimited time.

    The analytical reader must ask many and organized questions of what he is reading.

    Analytical reading is always intensely active.

    The reader grasps a book and works at it until the book becomes his own.

    Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested.” (Francis Bacon)

    Above: English philosopher / statesman Francis Bacon (1561 – 1626)

    Analytical reading is preeminently for the sake of understanding.

    4. Syntopical reading

    It is the most complex and systematic type of reading of all:

    Comparative reading.

    When reading syntopically, the reader reads many books, not just one, and places them in relation to one another and to a subject about which they all revolve.

    With the help of the books read, the syntopical reader is able to construct an analysis of the subject that may not be in any of the books.

    Therefore syntopical reading is the most active and effortful kind of reading, not an easy art, but the most rewarding of all reading activities.

    We know how tongue-tied people become when asked to say what they liked about a novel.

    That they enjoyed it is perfectly clear to them, but they cannot give much of an account of their enjoyment or tell what the book contained that caused them pleasure.

    A critical reading of anything depends upon the fullness of one’s apprehension.

    Those who cannot say what they like about a novel probably have not read below its most obvious surfaces.

    However, there is more to the paradox than that.

    Imaginative literature primarily pleases rather than teaches.

    It is much easier to be pleased than taught, but much harder to know WHY one is pleased.

    Beauty is harder to analyze than truth.

    Expository books try to convey knowledge – knowledge about experiences that the reader has had or could have.

    Imaginative books try to communicate an experience itself – one that the reader can have or share ONLY by reading – and if they succeed, they give the reader something to be enjoyed.

    Because of their diverse intentions, the two sorts of work appeal differently to the intellect and the imagination.

    We experience things through the exercise of our senses and imagination.

    To know anything we must use our powers of judgment and reasoning, which are intellectual.

    Fiction appeals primarily to the imagination.

    Don’t try to resist the effect that a work of imaginative literature has on you.

    When reading a story we must let it act on us.

    We must allow it to move us.

    We must let it do whatever work it wants to do on us.

    We must make ourselves open to it.

    The imaginative writer tries to maximize the latent ambiguities of words, in order thereby to gain all the richness and force that is inherent in their multiple meanings.

    He uses metaphors as the units of his construction just as the logical writer uses words sharpened to a single meaning.

    Imaginative writing must be read as having several distinct though related meanings.

    Imaginative writing relies as much upon what is implied as upon what is said.

    Don’t look for terms, propositions and arguments in imaginative literature.

    We learn from experience – the experience that we have in the course of our daily lives.

    So, too, we can learn from the vicariously, or artistically created, experiences that fiction produces in our imagination.

    Imaginative books teach by creating experiences from which we can learn.

    Don’t criticize fiction by the standards of truth and consistently apply to communication of knowledge.

    The “truth” of a good story is its versimilitude, its intrinsic probability or plausibility.

    It must be a likely story, but it need not describe the facts of life or society in a manner that is verifiable by experiment or research.

    The standard of correctness is not the same in poetry as in politics.

    (Aristotle)

    Above: Bust of Aristotle (384 – 322 BC)

    You must classify a work of imaginative literature according to its kind.

    A lyric tells its story primarily in terms of a single emotional experience.

    Novels and plays have much more complicated plots, involving many characters, their actions and their reactions upon one another as well as the emotions they suffer in the process.

    A play differs from a novel by reason of the fact that it narrates entirely by means of actions and speeches.

    The playwright can never speak in his own person, as the novelist can, and frequently does, in the course of a novel.

    All of these differences in manner of writing call for differences in the reader’s receptivity.

    Recognize the kind of fiction you are reading.

    You must grasp the unity of the whole work.

    Whether you have done this or not can be tested by whether you are able to express that unity in a sentence or two.

    The unit of a story is always in the plot.

    You have not grasped the whole story until you can summarize its plot in a brief narrative.

    Plot is the soul of a story.

    It is its life.

    To read a story well you must have your finger on the pulse of the narrative.

    Be sensitive to its very beat.

    You must not only reduce the whole to its simplest unity, but you must also discover how that whole is constructed out of all its parts.

    The parts are the various steps that the author takes to develop his plot – the details of characterization and incident.

    Don’t criticize imaginative writing until you fully appreciate what the author has tried to make you experience.

    The good reader of a story does not question the world that the author creates:

    The world that is re-created in himself.

    We must grant the artist his subject, his idea, his donné.

    Our criticism is applied only to what he makes of it.

    (Henry James, The Art of Fiction)

    Above: American – British author Henry James (1843 – 1916)

    We must remember the obvious fact that we do not agree or disagree with fiction.

    We either like it or we do not.

    The beauty of any work of art is related to the pleasure it gives us when we know it well.

    Before you express your likes and dislikes, you must first be sure that you have made an honest effort to appreciate the work.

    By appreciation, we mean having the experience that the author tried to produce for you by working on your emotions and imagination.

    You cannot appreciate a novel by reading it passively.

    To achieve appreciation, as to achieve understanding, you must read actively.

    First, read quickly and with total immersion.

    Then practice…

    What It Means to Read Like a Writer

    1. Ask meaningful questions.

    2. Articulate your opinions — and use evidence.

    3. Annotate or keep a reading log.

    4. Create something inspired by what you read.

    5. Target specific writing skills you want to improve.

    6. Examine the larger context.

    7. Reread.

    Above: Quotidian writer Diane Callahan

    Part of a reader’s job is to find out why certain writers endure.

    Writers learn to write by writing and by reading books.

    Writers learn by reading the work of their predecessors.

    And who could have asked for better teachers?

    Generous, uncritical, blessed with wisdom and genius, as endlessly forgiving as only the dead can be?

    Though writers have learned from the masters in a formal methodical way, the truth is that this sort of education more often involves a kind of osmosis.

    In the ongoıng process of becoming a writer, I read and reread the authors I most love.

    I read for pleasure, first.

    Then I reread more analytically, conscious of style, of diction, of how sentences were formed and information conveyed, how the writer structured his plot, creating characters, employing detail and dialogue.

    Writing, like reading, is done one word at a time, putting every word on trial for its life.

    Reading reveals wells of beauty and pleasure.

    Writers learn to write by practice, hard work, by repeated trial and error, success and failure, and from the books we admire.

    Until you immerse yourself in a book, until you seek out what the writer is trying to say to you, then and only then can what they have written form the writer, the person, you will become.

    Venerate the accomplishments of those who came before you.

    Sweep the tombs of the past for the treasure of the tomes that form your present experience.

    Above: Cemetery in Kavala, Greece

    Sources

    • Wikipedia
    • Nineteen Eighty-four, George Orwell
    • The Assassin’s Cloak: An Anthology of the World’s Greatest Diarists, edited by Irene and Alan Taylor
    • The Independent Scholar’s Handbook, Ronald Gross
    • Get Started in Creative Writing, Stephen May
    • Your Creative Writing Masterclass, Jurgen Wolff
    • How to Read a Book, Mortimer J. Adler and Charles Van Doren
    • Reading Like a Writer, Francine Prose
    • Plot and Structure, James Scott Bell

    A man of letters

    Eskişehir, Türkiye

    Wednesday 3 April 2024

    What some people find in religion a writer may find in his craft, a kind of breaking through to glory.

    (John Steinbeck)

    Above: American writer John Steinbeck (1902 – 1968)

    How can we live without our lives?

    How will we know it’s us without our past?

    (John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath)

    Waverly (his stepdaughter) came home (Salinas, California) yesterday and we had a pleasant homecoming party.

    She was very tired so as usual Elaine (his wife) and I stayed up for her.

    I guess we have no sense.

    But in spite of that I am early this morning.

    Feeling fine.

    Sometimes I get a little panicky – so many things I do not do now that I am writing (on his novel East of Eden).

    I put all the burdens on Elaine, of running the house and doing the many hundreds of things living entails.

    So far, she hasn’t complained.

    I help with what I can but I am very thoughtless – very.

    My mind goes mooning away.

    I never get very far from my book.

    And this must get pretty tiresome.

    I am sure that it does.

    I guess a writer is only half a man as far as a woman is concerned.

    And there is so much violence in me.

    Sometimes I am horrified at the amount of it.

    It isn’t very well concealed either.

    It lies very close to the surface.

    (John Steinbeck, Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters, 3 April 1951)

    He didn’t believe in psychiatrists, he said.

    But actually he did believe in them, so much that he was afraid of them.

    (John Steinbeck, Cannery Row)

    Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 – 1882) has said that when his writing was blocked he would sit down and write a long letter to a friend whom he loved.

    Above: American writer Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 – 1882)

    John Steinbeck, in writing East of Eden, unblocked himself for the daily stint ahead by writing a “letter” to his close friend and editor, Pascal Covici (1885 – 1964).

    Above: Romanian Jewish-American book publisher and editor Pascal Covici (1885 – 1964)

    It was written on the blue-rules pages of a large notebook, size 10 3/4″ X 14″, which Covici had supplied.

    After the two opening letters, which filled the first few pages continuously, the letters appeared only on the left-hand pages.

    On the right, when Steinbeck felt ready, he proceeded to the text of the novel.

    He usually filled two pages of the text a day with a total of about 1,500 words.

    Both the letter and text were written in black pencil in Steinbeck’s minute but clear longhand.

    The writing covered the period from 29 January to 1 November 1951.

    There was a letter for every working day until the first draft of the novel was finished.

    The letter was primarily a method of warming up, flexing the author’s muscles both physical and mental.

    He sometimes used it to adumbrate the problems and purposes of the passage he was about to embark: “a kind of arguing ground for the story“, as he says once.

    If the argument had been worked out in his mind in advance, the material of the letter might consist of random thoughts, trial flights of wordsmanship, nuggets of information and comment for his friend about the surrounding events of the moment, both personal and public.

    But the letters were also full of serious thinking about this novel, his longest and most ambitious, about novel writing in general, and about some of Steinbeck’s deepest convictions.

    Not a formal act of literary creation for its own sake, this document casts a flood of light on the author’s mind and on the nature of the creative process.

    29 January 1951

    Dear Pat:

    How did time pass and how did it grow so late?

    Have we learned anything from the passage of time?

    Are we more mature, wiser, more perceptive, kinder?

    We have known each other now for centuries and still I remember the first time and the last time.

    We come now to the book.

    It has been planned a long time.

    I planned it when I didn’t know what it was about.

    Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters continues Steinbeck’s working tradition of plucking out his self-awareness (he had volumes) and setting it aside so he could carry on the business of writing.

    When he wrote The Grapes of Wrath, Steinbeck kept a personal journal.

    Similarly, Steinbeck authorizes these letters to hold dominion over his progress.

    The letters begin in confidence and strength but slowly reveal a man troubled.

    At the end of February, a few days before his 49th birthday, he writes:

    This morning I am remiss.

    February 23 [Friday]

    This is a sad day at the beginning.

    There is no telling what kind of day it will end up.

    I can’t write down a sadness, although I know what it comes from.

    It is Friday…

    And yet, unlike his experience with Grapes, Steinbeck retains self-control.

    When flustered, he digs deeper into figures, dates, word counts and plans and, ultimately, carries on without floundering in the paranoia he experienced while writing Grapes.

    Steinbeck wrote that his daily letters to Covici loosened his creative abilities.

    Perhaps it was the passage of time and his experience.

    Still, the difference between this experience and that a decade earlier was that he was writing to a friend rather than himself. 

    (He was notoriously self-critical.)

    My nerves are very bad, awful in fact. I lust to get back into it.

    Maybe I was silly to think I could write so long a book without stopping.

    I can’t.

    Or rather, couldn’t.

    I’ll try to go on now.

    Hope to lose some of the frantic quality in my mind now.”

    (John Steinbeck: Working Days: The Journals of the Grapes of Wrath)

    Steinbeck positioned himself in what choreographer Twyla Tharp called a state of “being safe and secure” and what Rainer Maria Rilke (1875 – 1926) called “a feeling of home“. 

    Above: Austrian writer Rainer Maria Rilke

    A position from which Tharp always worked, a position that evoked “mother“.

    Above: American dancer / chereographer Twyla Tharp

    In his first letter, Steinbeck writes:

    But sometimes in a man or a woman awareness takes place — not very often and always unexplainable.

    There are no words for it because there is no one ever to tell.

    This is a secret not kept a secret, but locked in wordlessness.

    The craft or art of writing is the clumsy attempt to find symbols for wordlessness.

    Ideas are like rabbits.

    You get a couple and learn how to handle them, and pretty soon you have a dozen.

    Interview with Robert van Gelder (April 1947), John Steinbeck : A Biography (1994) by Jay Parini

    Creativity comes from a deeply vulnerable state, an openness to ideas, what Alan Lightman calls “divergent thinking“.

    Above: American physicist / writer / social entrepreneur Alan Lightman

    To achieve this, we must feel safe.

    Rollo May’s Courage to Create, a ground-breaking study of fear and creativity, details the paradox of creative strength and personal vulnerability.

    Above: American psychologist Rollo May (1909 – 1994)

    August 29 [Wednesday]

    There’s a real feeling of finality in the air here.

    We have two weeks and half more so it is not as near as I seem to indicate but the fall is surely coming.

    And I have an autumn feeling in me.

    This is one of the best feelings I know.

    I have always loved the fall.

    No reason.

    It is filled with a warm sweet sadness which is a close relative to pleasure and not very far removed.

    Steinbeck lingers in this exceptional space, suffers, and more often than not, draws out greatness.

    Above: John Steinbeck, 1962

    March 13, Tuesday

    Things do happen and continue to happen on the outside.

    Isn’t that odd that I now regard the book as the inside and the world as the outside.

    And just as long as that is so the book is firm and the outside cannot hurt it or stop it.

    And I must be sure that it remains that way by never letting time go by without working on it.

    For it is one thing to have in one’s mind that the book will never be done and quite another to let it stop moving.

    In the draft dedication for East of Eden, Steinbeck recognized his friend’s critical role:

    The dedication is to you with all the admiration and affection that have been distilled from our singularly blessed association of many years.

    This book is inscribed to you because you have been part of its birth and growth.”

    Journal of a Novel is a wonderful companion to the East of Eden novel.

    All of the notes are addressed to Pascal Covici, Steinbeck’s editor.

    The author uses them in order to warm up for the day’s writing:

    “You must think I waste an awful lot of time on these notes to you but actually it is the warm-up period.

    It is the time of drawing thoughts together and I don’t resent it one bit.

    I apparently have to dawdle a certain amount before I go to work.

    Also if I keep the dawdling in this form I never leave my story.

    If I wrote my dawdles some other way I would be thinking all over the map.”

    It’s interesting to see ‘behind the curtain’ and read the mental struggles that he went through in the process of creating his book.

    It seems that this is a shared experience:

    “This is not a morning of great joy for some reason or other.

    I don’t understand why some days are wide open and others closed off, some days smile and others have thin slitted eyes and others still are days which worry.

    And it does not seem to be me but the day itself.

    It has a nature of its own quite separate from all other days.

    Today is a dawdly day.

    They seem to alternate.

    I do a whole of a day’s work and then the next day, flushed with triumph, I dawdle.

    That’s today.

    Went to bed early last night, read happily, slept happily.

    Got up early and suddenly felt terrible — just terrible.

    Fought that off and was drained dry.

    Then I forced the work and it was as false and labored and foolish as anything I have ever seen.

    I tried to kid myself that it only seemed bad but it really was bad.

    So out it goes.

    And what do you suppose could have caused it?

    I just don’t know.”

    January 29, 1951

    In utter loneliness a writer tries to explain the inexplicable.

    And sometimes if he is very fortunate and if the time is right, a very little of what he is trying to do trickles through — not ever much.

    And if he is a writer wise enough to know it can’t be done, then he is not a writer at all. 

    A good writer always works at the impossible.

    September 3, 1951

    The writer must believe that what he is doing is the most important thing in the world.

    And he must hold to this illusion even when he knows it is not true.

    He also procrastinates when he has a particularly difficult piece of writing coming up:

    “I wish I knew how people do good and long-sustained work and still keep all kinds of other lives going — social, economic, etc.

    I can’t.

    I seem to have to waste time, so much dawdling to so much work.

    I am frightened by this week before it even happens.

    I feel just worthless today.

    I have to drive myself.

    I have used every physical excuse not to work except fake illness.

    I have dawdled, gone to the toilet innumerable times, had many glasses of water.

    Really childish.

    I know that one of the reasons is that I dread the next scene, dread it like hell.”

    It is interesting to read his thoughts on the structure and content of the book which ended up being quite different in the finished novel.

    It boggles the mind how this was achieved during a time before word processors and the Internet, with precious handwritten pages being couriered from the author’s home to the publisher, and typed manuscript being reviewed and edited by hand.

    East of Eden is long and it seems that Steinbeck knew this would be the case from the start.

    He has a theory about the impact of long versus short books on the reader:

    “Now — we must think of a book as a wedge driven into a man’s personal life.

    A short book would be in and out quickly.

    And it is possible for such a wedge to open the mind and do its work before it is withdrawn leaving quivering nerves and cut tissue.

    A long book, on the other hand, drives in very slowly and if only in point of time remains for a while.

    Instead of cutting and leaving, it allows the mind to rearrange itself to fit around the wedge.

    Let’s carry the analogy a little farther.

    When the quick wedge is withdrawn, the tendency of the mind is quickly to heal itself exactly as it was before the attack.

    With the long book perhaps the healing has been warped around the shape of the wedge so that when the wedge is finally withdrawn and the book set down, the mind cannot ever be quite what it was before.

    This is my theory and it may explain the greater importance of a long book.”

    June 28, 1951

    I believe that the great ones, Plato, Lao Tze, Buddha, Christ, Paul and the great Hebrew prophets are not remembered for negation or denial. 

    Above: Bust of Plato (427 – 348 BC), Capitoline Museum, Rome, Italy

    Not that it is necessary to be remembered but there is one purpose in writing that I can see, beyond simply doing it interestingly. 

    Above: Portrait of Lao Tzu (5th century BC), Zhang Lu, National Palace Museum, Beijing, China

    It is the duty of the writer to lift up, to extend, to encourage. 

    Above: Statue of the Buddha Siddhartha Gautma (563 – 400 BC), Sarnath Archaeological Museum, India

    If the written word has contributed anything at all to our developing species and our half developed culture, it is this:

    Great writing has been a staff to lean on, a mother to consult, a wisdom to pick up stumbling folly, a strength in weakness and a courage to support sick cowardice.

    Above: The Christ (4 BC to AD 30) Pantocrator, St. Catherine’s Monastery, Sinai, Egypt

    And how any negative or despairing approach can pretend to be literature I do not know.

    Above: Paul the Apostle (5 – 65), Peter Paul Rubens (1611)

    It is true that we are weak and sick and ugly and quarrelsome, but if that is all we ever were, we would milleniums ago have disappeared from the face of the Earth, and a few remnants of fossilized jaw bones, a few teeth in strata of limestone would be the only mark our species would have left on the Earth.”

    Above: Vanity Piece, Hendrick Andriessen (1650), Museum of Fine Arts, Ghent, Belgium

    It was while working on beet farms in the holidays that Steinbeck gained his first insights into the plight of migrant workers – a key theme in his social novels of the 1930s.

    He was born into a middle class family in Monterey County, California, where his mother, a former teacher, fostered in him a love of books.

    Above: 132 Central Avenue, Salinas, California, the home where Steinbeck lived in his childhood

    He dropped out of Stanford University after erratic studies in literature and biology, then headed to New York, where he worked in construction and as a reporter.

    On his return to California, jobs on farms and in forests and fisheries helped to support his writing.

    Above: State flag of California

    His first three books sold poorly, but success eventually came in 1935 with Tortilla Flat, a story about wine-soaked Mexican-Spanish workers, inspired by the Arthurian legend of the Knights of the Round Table.

    In every bit of honest writing in the world, there is a base theme.

    Try to understand men, if you understand each other you will be kind to each other.

    Knowing a man well never leads to hate and nearly always leads to love. 

    There are shorter means, many of them.

    There is writing promoting social change, writing punishing injustice, writing in celebration of heroism, but always that base theme. 

    Try to understand each other.

    (Journal entry (1938), quoted in the Introduction to a 1994 edition of Of Mice and Men)

    It was followed by Of Mice and Men, an unfolding tragedy of two migrant workers, the childlike giant, Lennie, and his protector, George.

    Ain’t many guys travel around together.

    I don’t know why.

    Maybe ever’body in the whole damn world is scared of each other.

    His ear heard more than is said to him, and his slow speech had overtones not of thought, but of understanding beyond thought.

    They come, an’ they quit an’ go on; an’ every damn one of ’em’s got a little piece of land in his head.

    An’ never a God damn one of ’em ever gets it.

    Just like heaven.

    Ever’body wants a little piece of lan’.

    I read plenty of books out here. 

    Nobody never gets to heaven, and nobody gets no land.

    It’s just in their head.”

    (Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck)

    I must go over into the interior valleys.

    There are five thousand families starving to death over there, not just hungry but actually starving. 

    The government is trying to feed them and get medical attention to them, with the Fascist group of utilities and banks and huge growers sabotaging the thing all along the line, and yelling for a balanced budget.

    In one tent there were twenty people quarantined for small pox and two of the women are to have babies in that tent this week.

    I’ve tied into the thing from the first and I must get down there and see it and see if I can do something to knock these murderers on the heads.

    Do you know what they’re afraid of?

    They think that if these people are allowed to live in camps with proper sanitary facilities they will organize, and that is the bugbear of the large landowner and the corporate farmer.

    The states and counties will give them nothing because they are outsiders.

    But the crops of any part of this state could not be harvested without them.

    The death of children by starvation in our valleys is simply staggering.

    I’ll do what I can.

    Funny how mean and little books become in the face of such tragedies.

    (Letter to Elizabeth Otis (1938), as quoted in Conversations with John Steinbeck (1988) edited by Thomas Fensch)

    For the first time I am working on a book that is not limited and that will take every bit of experience and thought and feeling that I have.

    (Journal entry (11 June 1938), Working Days : The Journals of The Grapes of Wrath )

    A storm broke over his epic work, The Grapes of Wrath (1939), hammered out over five months after Steinbeck travelled with the Okies – desperate migrant farmers escaping to California from the Dust Bowl.

    After the financial crash of 1929, the US fell into a severe economic depression.

    By the mid-1930s, 25% of the population was unemployed.

    Crop prices fell by 60% and a combination of overfarming, soil erosion and drought refuced the fertile Great Plains to a dust bowl.

    Thousands of smallholders had their homes and plots seized by landowners and banks.

    They then migrated west, lured by the promise of work and sustenance on the farms in California’s land of plenty, only to face animosity and rejection when they arrived.

    Above: An impoverished American family living in a shanty, Dorthea Lange, 1936

    Biblical in tone, Steinbeck’s novel was rooted in the homespun details of the lives of the Joad family.

    I tried to write this book the way lives are being written.

    Above: Migrant Mother, 1936, Dorothea Lange’s iconic photograph of Florence Owens Thompson 

    Boileau said that kings, gods and heroes only were fit subjects for literature.

    The writer can only write about what he admires. 

    Above: French poet / critic Nicholas Boileau-Despréaux (1636 – 1711)

    Present-day kings aren’t very inspiring, the gods are on a vacation and about the only heroes left are the scientists and the poor.

    And since our race admires gallantry, the writer will deal with it where he finds it.

    He finds it in the struggling poor now.

    (Radio interview (1939) quoted in the Introduction to a 1992 edition of The Grapes of Wrath)

    At its peak the Grapes of Wrath sold 10,000 copies a week.

    It earned a Pulitzer Prize, but there was a backlash against his indictment of the American Dream.

    He escaped to the Sea of Cortez to collect marine specimens with his close friend, marine biologist Ed Ricketts.

    Above: American marine biologist Ed Ricketts (1897 – 1948)

    “Let us go,” we said, “into the Sea of Cortez, realizing that we become forever a part of it.

    That our rubber boots slogging through a flat of eel-grass, that the rocks we turn over in a tide pool, make us truly and permanently a factor in the ecology of the region.

    We shall take something away from it, but we shall leave something too.”

    And if we seem a small factor in a huge pattern, nevertheless it is of relative importance. 

    We take a tiny colony of soft corals from a rock in a little water world.

    And that isn’t terribly important to the tide pool.

    Fifty miles away the Japanese shrimp boats are dredging with overlapping scoops, bringing up tons of shrimps, rapidly destroying the species so that it may never come back, and with the species destroying the ecological balance of the whole region.

    That isn’t very important in the world.

    And thousands of miles away the great bombs are falling and the stars are not moved thereby. 

    None of it is important or all of it is.

    We are no better than the animals.

    In fact, in a lot of ways, we aren’t as good.

    (John Steinbeck, The Log from the Sea of Cortez, 1951)

    During WW2, Steinbeck was a war correspondent for the New York Herald Tribune.

    Above: Masthead of the New York Herald Tribune (1924 – 1966)

    During this period, he wrote The Moon is Down (1942), an exploration of the effects of war and occupation on a once peaceable village (a thinly veiled examination of the Nazi occupation of Norway).

    Now a settled New York resident, Steinbeck returned to his roots with Cannery Row (1944), based in the sardine-packing district of Monterey, and the epic East of Eden (1952), for which he drew upon his own family history in Salinas.

    For it is said that humans are never satisfied, that you give them one thing and they want something more.

    And this is said in disparagement, whereas it is one of the greatest talents the species has and one that has made it superior to animals that are satisfied with what they have.

    For every man in the world functions to the best of his ability, and no one does less than his best, no matter what he may think about it.”

    (John Steinbeck, The Pearl, 1947)

    In the 1960s, he lost credibility as a liberal voice because of his support for the Vıetnam War – both of his sons by his second marriage were army recruits.

    Above: Soldiers of the Army of Vietnam (ARVN) 1st Batallion, 6th Regiment, are airlifted to “Landing Zone Kala” northeast of Khâm Đức, Vietnam, by US Army UH-1H Hueys during Operation Elk Canyon, 12 July 1970.

    The Winter of Our Discontent (1961), which is a penetrating study of moral degeneration in the US, was a return to form that contributed to Steinbeck’s winning the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1962.

    No man really knows about other human beings.

    The best he can do is to suppose that they are like himself.

    What a frightening thing is the human, a mass of gauges and dials and registers, and we can read only a few and those perhaps not accurately.

    To be alive at all is to have scars.

    Travels with Charley: In Search of America is a 1962 travelogue which depicts a 1960 road trip around the United States made by Steinbeck, in the company of his standard poodle Charley.

    Steinbeck wrote that he was moved by a desire to see his country because he made his living writing about it.

    He wrote of having many questions going into his journey, the main one being:

    What are Americans like today?

    However, he found that he had concerns about much of the “new America” he saw.

    Steinbeck tells of traveling throughout the United States in a specially made camper he named Rocinante, after Don Quixote’s horse.

    His travels start in Long Island, New York, and roughly follow the outer border of the United States, from Maine to the Pacific Northwest, down into his native Salinas Valley in Califronia across to Texas, through the Deep South, and then back to New York.

    Such a trip encompassed nearly 10,000 miles.

    According to Thom Steinbeck, the author’s oldest son, the reason for the trip was that Steinbeck knew he was dying and wanted to see his country one last time.

    The younger Steinbeck has said he was surprised that his stepmother allowed his father to make the trip;

    His heart condition meant he could have died at any time. 

    A new introduction to the 50th anniversary edition of the book cautioned readers that:

    It would be a mistake to take this travelogue too literally, as Steinbeck was at heart a novelist.

    The author died in December 1968, having written nearly 30 books.

    How do I find time to write?

    Steinbeck averaged 1,500 words a day and this was after he wrote his letter to Pascal moulding his thoughts into the text he wished to create.

    Only you can answer that question, but, if you want to be a successful writer, you have just got to find or make time.

    Prioritıze your activities.

    The real writer cannot not write.

    The real writer makes time to write.

    You will know your own circumstances.

    Try to set aside a regular period each day for writing.

    If you only manage to write 300 words each day, you will complete the first draft of a good-sized 100,000-word novel in a year or a couple of short stories per month or one article a week or one blogpost a day.

    Make your mind up.

    As you have read, Steinbeck was not only born to be a writer, he made himself into a writer.

    Perhaps you too have it in you to emulate Steinbeck.

    Above: John Steinbeck

    Sources

    • Wikipedia
    • Wikiquote
    • Google Photos
    • The Assassin’s Cloak: An Anthology of the World’s Greatest Diarists, edited by Irene and Alan Taylor
    • John Steinbeck : A Biography, Jay Parini
    • Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters, John Steinbeck
    • East of Eden, John Steinbeck
    • Tortilla Flat, John Steinbeck
    • Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck
    • Conversations with John Steinbeck, edited by Thomas Fensch
    • Working Days: The Journals of The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck
    • The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck
    • The Log from the Sea of Cortez, John Steinbeck
    • The Pearl, John Steinbeck
    • The Winter of Our Discontent, John Steinbeck
    • Writers’ Questions and Answers, Gordon Wells (Alison & Busby)
    • Writers: Their Lives and Works (DK Penguin Random House)

    Across the purple hill

    Eskişehir, Türkiye

    Tuesday 2 April 2024

    A life is full of isolated events, but these events, if they are to form a coherent narrative, require odd pieces of language to link them together, little chips of grammar (mostly adverbs or prepositions) that are hard to define words like ‘therefore’, ‘else’, ‘other’ ‘also’, ‘thereof’, ‘therefore’, ‘instead’, ‘otherwise’, ‘despite’, ‘already’ and ‘not yet’.”

    (Carol Shields, Unless)

    Today is International Children’s Book Day (ICBD), an annual event sponsored by the Intenrational Board on Books for Young People (IBBY), an international non-profit organization.

    Founded in 1967, the day is observed on or around Hans Christian Andersen’s birthday, April 2. 

    Activities include writing competitions, announcements of book awards and events with authors of children’s literature.

    Each year a different National Section of IBBY has the opportunity to be the international sponsor of ICBD.

    It decides upon a theme and invites a prominent author from the host country to write a message to the children of the world and a well-known illustrator to design a poster.

    These materials are used in different ways to promote books and reading.

    Many IBBY Sections promote ICBD through the media and organize activities in schools and public libraries.

    Often ICBD is linked to celebrations around children’s books and other special events that may include encounters with authors and illustrators, writing competitions or announcements of book awards.

    International Children’s Book Day (ICBD) is celebrated annually on April 2 to promote reading and to inspire a love for books among children worldwide.

    Every year, the International Children’s Book Day (ICBD) is celebrated in honour of the Danish author Hans Christian Anderson.

    The aim of the day is to encourage children’s love of reading through the use of books.

    Each year, the International Bureau of Children’s Books (IBBY) chooses a new department to be the international sponsor of ICBD.

    The IBBY selects a theme and asks a well-known writer from the host nation to pen a letter to young readers everywhere.

    This message is then accompanied by an illustration by a renowned illustrator on a poster.

    Many strategies are used to promote books and reading with the resources produced by IBBY. 

    IBBY Japan (JBBY) is honoured to be the official sponsor of ICBD 2024, under the theme “Cross the Seas on the Wing of your Imagination“.

    Well-known Japanese writer and 2018 HC Andersen Award recipient Eiko Kadono wrote a letter to all children worldwide.

    The poster was made by Japanese artist Nana Furiya, who resides in Slovakia and has an international outlook.

    The keyword for ICBD 2024 is imagination.

    JBBY believes that fostering imagination will lead to mutual understanding and a spirit of tolerance.

    Above: Eiko Kadono

    ICBD was initiated by the International Board on Books for Young People (IBBY), a non-profit organization founded in Zürich, Switzerland, in 1953.

    The organization aims to promote international understanding through children’s books, as well as to advocate for children’s right to access quality literature.

    The idea for International Children’s Book Day was proposed by Jella Lepman, a German writer and journalist, who founded the International Youth Library in Munich in 1949.

    Lepman strongly believed in the power of children’s literature to foster empathy, understanding, and cultural exchange, especially in the aftermath of World War II.

    Above: Jella Lepman and children

    Above: Memorial plaque for Jella Lepman at the international youth library in Blutenburg Castle, Bavaria (Bayern), Germany (Deutschland)

    The first International Children’s Book Day was celebrated on 2 April 1967, coinciding with Hans Christian Andersen’s birthday, the renowned Danish author best known for his fairy tales.

    Andersen’s works have had a profound influence on children’s literature worldwide, making his birthday a fitting date to celebrate children’s books.

    International Children’s Book Day is important because it encourages children around the world to read for pleasure and to become more literate.

    This annual event, organised by the International Board on Books for Young People (IBBY), celebrates children’s literature and the continuing legacy of authors such as Hans Christian Andersen.

    Through books, children are given the opportunity to discover many points of view, spark their imagination and develop a lifelong love of reading, helping to create a brighter future through the power of storytelling.

    Oh, grown-ups cannot understand

    And grown-ups never will,

    How short’s the way to fairy land

    Across the purple hill

    (Alfred Noyes)

    Above: English poet Alfred Noyes (1880 – 1958)

    Hans Christian Andersen (2 April 1805 – 4 August 1875) was a Danish author.

    Although a prolific writer of plays, travelogues, novels and poems, he is best remembered for his literary fairy tales.

    Andersen’s fairy tales, consisting of 156 stories across nine volumes,[1] have been translated into more than 125 languages.

    They have become embedded in Western collective consciousness, accessible to children as well as presenting lessons of virtue and resilience in the face of adversity for mature readers. 

    His most famous fairy tales include:

    • The Emperor’s New Clothes
    • The Little Mermaid
    • The Nightingale
    • The Steadfast Tin Soldier
    • The Red Shoes
    • The Princess and the Pea
    • The Snow Queen
    • The Ugly Duckling
    • The Little Match Girl
    • Thumbelina

    His stories have inspired ballets, plays, and animated and live-action films.

    Above: Hans Christian Andersen (1869)

    Andersen was born in Odense, Denmark (Danish: Danmark) on 2 April 1805.

    Andersen was baptized on 15 April 1805 in Saint Hans Church in Odense.

    When the new-born child was taken to the church to be baptised, it cried resoundingly, which greatly displeased the ill-tempered pastor, who declared, in his passion, that “the thing cried like a cat”, at which his mother was bitterly annoyed .

    One of the godparents, however, consoled her by the assurance, that the louder the child cried, the sweeter he would sing some day, and that pacified her.

    Above: Sankt Hans Kirke, Odense, Danmark

    The father of Andersen was not without education.

    The mother was all heart.

    The married couple lived on the best terms with each other.

    Yet the husband did not feel himself happy.

    He had no discourse with his neighbours, but preferred keeping himself at home, where he read Holberg’s Comedies, The Thousand and One Tales of the Arabian Nights, and worked at a puppet theatre for his little son, whom on Sundays he often took with him to the neighbouring woods, where the two commonly spent the whole day in quiet solitude with each other.

    Andersen’s father, who had received an elementary school education, introduced his son to literature, reading him Arabian Nights

    Andersen’s mother, Anne Marie Andersdatter, was an illiterate washerwoman.

    Following her husband’s death in 1816, she remarried in 1818.

    Above: Andersen’s childhood home, Odense, Danmark 

    Andersen was sent to a local school for poor children where he received a basic education and had to support himself, working as an apprentice to a weaver and, later, to a tailor.

    At 14, he moved to Copenhagen to seek employment as an actor.

    Above: Copenhagen, Danmark

    Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen
    Friendly old girl of a town
    ‘Neath her tavern light
    On this merry night
    Let us clink and drink one down
    To wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen
    Salty old queen of the sea
    Once I sailed away
    But I’m home today
    Singing Copenhagen, wonderful, wonderful
    Copenhagen for me
    I sailed up the Skagerrak
    And sailed down the Kattegat
    Through the harbor and up to the quay
    And there she stands waiting for me
    With a welcome so warm and so gay
    Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen
    Wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen
    Friendly old girl of a town
    ‘Neath her tavern light
    On this merry night
    Let us clink and drink one down
    To wonderful, wonderful Copenhagen
    Salty old queen of the sea
    Once I sailed away
    But I’m home today
    Singing Copenhagen, wonderful, wonderful
    Copenhagen for me

    Danny Kaye, Hans Christian Andersen, 1952

    Having a good soprano voice, Andersen was accepted into the Royal Danish Theatre, but his voice soon changed.

    A colleague at the theatre told him that he considered Andersen a poet, and taking the suggestion seriously, Andersen began to focus on writing.

    Above: Det Kongelige Teater, Copenhagen, Danmark

    Jonas Collin (1776 – 1861), director of the Royal Danish Theatre, held great affection for Andersen and sent him to a grammar school in Slagelse, persuading King Frederick VI (1768 – 1839) to pay part of his education. 

    Above: Danish patron of the arts Jonas Collins

    Above: Danish King Frederick VI

    Andersen had by then published his first story, “The Ghost at Palnatoke’s Grave” (1822).

    Though not a stellar pupil, he also attended school at Elsinore until 1827.

    He later said that his years at this school were the darkest and most bitter years of his life.

    At one school, he lived at his schoolmaster’s home.

    There he was abused and was told that it was done in order “to improve his character“.

    He later said that the faculty had discouraged him from writing, which resulted in a depression.

    Above: Helsinger (English: Elsinore), Danmark

    A very early fairy tale by Andersen, “The Tallow Candle” (Danish: Tællelyset), was discovered in a Danish archive in October 2012.

    The story, written in the 1820s, is about a candle that does not feel appreciated.

    A tallow candle, whose parents are a sheep and a melting pot, becomes more and more disheartened as it cannot find a purpose in life.

    It meets a tinderbox who lights a flame on the candle, so it finally finds its right place in life and spreads joy and happiness for itself and its fellow creatures.

    It was written while Andersen was still in school and dedicated to one of his benefactors.

    The story remained in that family’s possession until it was found among other family papers in a local archive.

    In 1829, Andersen enjoyed considerable success with the short story “A Journey on Foot from Holmen’s Canal to the East Point of Amager” (Fodreise fra Holmens Canal til Østpynten af Amager i Aarene).

    Its protagonist meets characters ranging from Saint Peter to a talking cat.

    A crucial factor which enhanced and secured Andersen’s international fame, was his eagerness for lengthy sojourns both at home and abroad.

    Through his frequent and extensive travels, Andersen was able to cross and transgress spatial, temporal and social borders and expand his international social network far beyond his home country.

    Maybe even more important is the fact that Andersen thereby experienced the profound dynamics of spatial and temporal change, which made him aware of the two fundamentally opposed approaches to travel he himself embodied:

    On the one hand he represented the quintessential 19th century bourgeois traveller, conducting his
    educational Grand Tour, while he on the other hand, as a result of his personal life journey
    so to say, was inescapably connected to its opposite:

    The underlying social image of the tramp, the social misfit who rejects everything a contemporary upper-class traveler in those days wanted to be.

    The gentleman traveler Andersen was doomed to be accompanied by his crude lower-class shadow, although he finally not only became a celebrity, but even a prestigious national literary icon of exceptional proportions.

    More importantly, also in his literary work Andersen’s notion of mobility oscillates
    between these two extreme positions, one emanating from his motivation to climb the social
    ladder, while the other is fueled by his assiduous awareness of his modest social background.

    For Andersen, his humble origin was a lifelong touchstone for everything he undertook, a
    fundamental point of reference in his travels into the unknown, both geographically as well
    as socially speaking.

    In short:

    Andersen’s mobility was clearly motivated by his longing for social advancement, with a clear awareness of the distance already covered.

    One of the reasons to engage with this particular work, is the fact that it contains some of the earliest examples of what later was to become the essence of Andersen’s oeuvre:

    The juxtaposition of the real and the imaginary.

    Another reason why is the fact that Fodreise draws attention to one particular – historically
    defined – form of locomotion, i.e. travel on foot.

    Unlike what one might expect, walking – especially in the early 1800s – is not merely an expression of the natural human ability to move on foot but walking rather is a culturally and historically determined signifier, both in Andersen, as in more general terms.

    It is an extremely playful, arabesque and grotesque quasi-travel account of a surprisingly short walk during the last hours of New Year’s Eve 1828 and the initial hours of New Year’s Day 1829.

    Thus, the extensive title, feigning that the text deals with some sort of lengthy expedition on foot into some kind ofuncharted territory, plays an ironic and entertaining game with the reader’s expectation, because anyone who is just faintly familiar with the geography of Copenhagen knows that the distance between Holmen’s Canal and the East point of the island of Amager can be covered in less than an hour – even on foot.

    Above: Holmens Kanal, Johannes Rach and Hans Heinrich Eegberg, 1750

    Andersen does not really make use of the cityscape as a motif, but rather utilizes the city as a realist launchpad for his otherwise unbridled fantasy.

    Although various localities in the urban topography are easily recognizable in Fodreise, they are functioning as a mere backdrop for Andersen’s unrestrained fantasies.

    The fact that Andersen’s book – judging from its actual title – is about a walk or journey on foot seems to
    downplay or degrade its importance.

    The inconspicuous activity of walking sends a warning signal to readers not to expect too much from it, because isn’t walking a bit nutty and an utterly ordinary and totally unspectacular activity, that tends to be overlooked?

    This negative framing of walking does not only pertain to Andersen’s contemporary readership, but also
    to later generations and even today pedestrians are often marginalized by city planners, motorists and traffic analysts.

    Instead of a voyage or a Grand Tour of some kind, Fodreise deals with a detour, merely a stroll, a short, nonsensical walk, and one may well ask what it is that makes this miniature ‘enterprise’ so special, that an entire book length travelogue was devoted to it.

    Fodreise commences on New Year’s Eve 1828 with a Faustian scene in which the first person narrator is visited by the Devil himself, who conveys the ‘sinful’ idea of becoming an author to him.

    Satan’s underlying purpose with this strategy is that the world, in the end, will be flooded with bad literati, who ultimately will corrupt and undermine the world with their crappy work.

    Bad literature, whatever that may be, would ultimately eradicate humanity and enslave people under the rule of evil.

    But instead of rejecting the Devil’s encouragement, Andersen’s protagonist cannot resist the temptation, leaves his cozy room, rushes down the stairs and is out in the street in a jiffy.

    After a few steps, he meets a couple of ladies who force him to choose between the two of them.

    One is an attractive, down-to-earth woman offering him carnal love, while the other is a melodramatic apparition of a languishing girl, representing literature or “den lyriske Muse” (the Muse of poetry) as
    she calls herself.

    And from then on, the story is a roller coaster of supernatural, grotesque events, a fantastic mixture of improbable and impossible actions and encounters.

    Instead of walking straight towards a clearly defined goal, the narrator, as soon as he has left his home, is tossed around, thrown out of orbit, slowed down by a series of Kafkaesque encounters and random choices turning the road into a chaotic spatial and temporal labyrinth.

    In the end, the narrator does reach a kind of destination, but when he finally wishes to step on board a boat that will ferry him across the Sound to Sweden, and thus beyond the frame defied by the title, he is denied access, because this would be a subversion of themeaning of the title, Fodreise, which is still a journey conducted on foot, and not a seaborne ‘voyage’ to another country.

    So, when he is finally standing on the shore of Amager, the narrator has no other option than to stick to his word, stay in Denmark and try to settle his debt to Satan and write a lousy book.

    The question then is whether he has become one of the many inferior authors who flood the world with their insignificant or at best mediocre works that ultimately will corrupt and undermine humanity, or is he able to make it to the top and produce canonical works of lasting value and thereby save humankind?

    In any event, once he has reached the shore of Amager, his final destination, the narrator is drained for words and imagination and, as the final wordless chapter clearly shows, now it is up to the readers and critics to give their verdict.

    Above: Satellite image of Amager Island

    Andersen followed this success with a theatrical piece, Love on St.Nicholas Church Tower, and a short volume of poems.

    Above: Kunsthallen Nikolaj, the former Sankt Nikolaj Kirke, Copenhagen, Danmark

    He made little progress in writing and publishing immediately following these poems, but did receive a small travel grant from the King in 1833.

    This enabled him to set out on the first of many journeys throughout Europe.

    At Jura, near Le Locle, Switzerland, Andersen wrote the story “Agnete and the Merman“.

    Above: Le Locle, Canton Jura, Switzerland (French: Suisse)

    There is an old Danish folks-song of Agnete and the Merman, which bore an affinity to my own state of mind, and to the treatment of which I felt an inward impulse.

    The song tells that Agnete wandered solitarily along the shore, when a merman rose up from the waves and decoyed her by his speeches.

    She followed him to the bottom of the sea, remained there seven years, and bore him seven children.

    One day, as she sat by the cradle, she heard the church bells sounding down to her in the depths of the sea, and a longing seized her heart to go to church.

    By her prayers and tears she induced the merman to conduct her to the upper world again, promising soon to return.

    He prayed her not to forget his children, more especially the little one in the cradle, stopped up her ears and her mouth, and then led her upwards to the seashore.

    When, however, she entered the church, all the holy images, as soon as they saw her, a daughter of sin and from the depths of the sea, turned themselves round to the walls.

    She was affrighted, and would not return, although the little ones in her home below were weeping.

    I treated this subject freely, in a lyrical and dramatic manner.

    I will venture to say that the whole grew out of my heart.

    All the recollections of our beechwoods and the open sea were blended in it.

    In the midst of the excitement of Paris I lived in the spirit of the Danish folk songs.

    It is a weakness of my country-people, that commonly, when abroad, during their residence in large cities, they almost live exclusively in company together.

    They must dine together, meet at the theatre, and see all the lions of the place in company.

    Letters are read by each other.

    News of home is received and talked over, and at last they hardly know whether they are in a foreign land or their own.

    I had given way to the same weakness in Paris, and in leaving it, therefore, determined for one month to board myself in some quiet place in Switzerland, and live only among the French, so as to be compelled to speak their language, which was necessary to me in the highest degree.

    Above: Paris, France

    In the little city of Lodi, in a valley of the Jura mountains, where the snow fell in August, and the clouds floated below us, was I received by the amiable family of a wealthy watchmaker.

    They would not hear a word about payment.

    I lived among them and their friends as a relation, and when we parted the children wept.

    We had become friends, although I could not understand their patois.

    They shouted loudly into my ear, because they fancied I must be deaf, as I could not understand them.

    In the evenings, in that elevated region, there was a repose and a stillness in nature, and the sound of the evening bells ascended to us from the French frontier.

    At some distance from the city, stood a solitary house, painted white and clean.

    On descending through two cellars, the noise of a millwheel was heard, and the rushing waters of a river which flowed on here, hidden from the world.

    I often visited this place in my solitary rambles.

    Here I finished my poem of “Agnete and the Merman,” which I had begun in Paris.

    The same year he spent an evening in the Italian seaside village of Sestri Levante, which inspired the title of “The Bay of Fables“.

    Above: Sestri Levante, Italy (Italian: Italia)

    Above: The Bay of Fables and Silence (La Baia della Favole e del Silenzio), Sestri Levante, Italia

    He arrived in Rome (Roma) in October 1834.

    Above: Roma, Italia

    Andersen’s travels in Italy were reflected in his first novel, a fictionalized autobiography titled The Improvisatore (Improvisatoren), published in 1835 to instant acclaim.

    The story, reflecting Andersen’s own travels in Italy in 1833, reveals much about his own life and aspirations as experienced by Antonio, the novel’s principal character.

    In this fictionalized autobiography, the hero Antonio does not arrive as a tourist but grows up in Italy, thus able to show not just the sunny side of life but also some of its shadows.

    In its structure, the novel reflects Andersen’s own life and his travels through Italy.

    The descriptions of the Italian towns and regions are particularly captivating, expressed in the author’s colourful language. 

    Like Andersen himself, Antonio comes from a poor background but fights his way through various crises and amorous relationships until he is finally successful.

    The last improvisation involves a fishing boat accident in which many lose their lives.

    But finally Antonio becomes the happy husband of the beautiful young Lara as well as a landowner in Calabria.

    Hans Christian Andersen is one of those men who, from their earliest youth, have had to keep up a warfare with circumstances – a man who seemed destined by Fate to end their lives unnoticed in a village, and yet through an instinctive sense of their destined pre-eminence in the beautiful regions of art and literature, and sustained by an irrepressible will, have made themselves a part of the great world.

    Fairy Tales Told for Children. First Collection. (Eventyr, fortalt for Børn. Første Samling.) is a collection of nine fairy tales by Hans Christian Andersen.

    The tales were published in a series of three installments by C. A. Reitzel in Copenhagen between May 1835 and April 1837.

    They were Andersen’s first venture into the fairy tale genre.

    The first installment was a volume of 61 unbound pages published 8 May 1835 containing “The Tinderbox“, “Little Claus and Big Claus”, “The Princess and the Pea” and “Little Ida’s Flowers“.

    The first three tales were based on folktales Andersen had heard in his childhood.

    The fourth was Andersen’s creation for Ida Thiele, the daughter of folklorist Just Mathias Thiele (1795 – 1874), Andersen’s early benefactor.

    Above: Just Mathias Thiele

    Reitzel paid Andersen 30 rigsdalers for the manuscript.

    The booklet was priced at 24 shillings.

    The second booklet was published on 16 December 1835 and contained “Thumbelina“, “The Naughty Boy“, and “The Travelling Companion“.

    Thumbelina” was inspired by “Tom Thumb” and other stories of miniature people.

    The Naughty Boy” was based on a poem about Eros from the Anacreontea.

    The Travelling Companion” was a ghost story Andersen had experimented with in the year 1830.

    Thumbelina, Thumbelina, tiny little thing
    Thumbelina dance, Thumbelina sing
    Thumbelina, what’s the difference if you’re very small?
    When your heart is full of love, you’re nine feet tall

    Though you’re no bigger than my thumb (than my thumb)
    Than my thumb (than my thumb), than my thumb (than my thumb)
    Sweet Thumbelina, don’t be glum (don’t be glum)
    Now now now, hee hee hee, come come come

    Thumbelina, Thumbelina, tiny little thing
    Thumbelina dance, Thumbelina sing
    Thumbelina, what’s the difference if you’re very small?
    When your heart is full of love, you’re nine feet tall

    Though you’re no bigger than my toe (than my toe)
    Than my toe (than my toe), than my toe (than my toe)
    Sweet Thumbelina, keep that glow (keep that glow)
    And you’ll grow, and you’ll grow, and you’ll grow, whoooa!

    Thumbelina, Thumbelina, tiny little thing
    Thumbelina dance, Thumbelina sing
    Thumbelina, what’s the difference if you’re very small?
    When your heart is full of love, you’re nine feet tall

    Above: Danny Kaye, Hans Christian Andersen, 1952

    The third booklet contained “The Little Mermaid” and “The Emperor’s New Clothes“.

    It was published on 7 April 1837.

    The Little Mermaid” was influenced by Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué’s “Undine” (1811) and legends about mermaids.

    This tale established Andersen’s international reputation. 

    Above: The Little Mermaid statue, Copenhagen, Danmark

    The only other tale in the third booklet was “The Emperor’s New Clothes“, which was based on a medieval Spanish story with Arab and Jewish origins.

    On the eve of the third installment’s publication, Andersen revised the conclusion (in which the Emperor simply walks in procession) to its now-famous finale of a child calling out:

    The Emperor is not wearing any clothes!

    This is the story of the King’s new clothes
    Now there was once a King who was absolutely insane about new clothes
    And one day two swindlers came to sell him what they said was a magic suit of clothes.
    Now they held up this particular garment and they said ‘Your majesty this is a magic suit’.
    Well the truth in the matter is there was no suit there at all.
    But the swindlers were very smart and they said
    ‘Your majesty to a wise man this is a beautiful raymond but to a fool it is absolutely invisible.
    Well naturally the King not wanting to appear a fool said.
    ‘Isn’t it grand, isn’t it fine, look at the cut, the style, the line.

    The suit of clothes is all together
    But all together, it’s altogether, the most remarkable suit of clothes that I have ever seen
    These eyes of mine have once determined the sleeves are velvet
    The cape is zurman, the holes are blue, and the doublet is a lovely shade of green.
    (Lovely shade of green)
    Somebody send for the Queen

    Well they sent for the Queen and they quickly explained to her about the magic suit of clothes
    Well naturally the Queen not wanting to appear a fool said
    “Well isn’t it awe, isn’t it rich, look at the charm and then the stitch”

    The suit of clothes is altogether but all together it’s altogether
    The most remarkable suit of clothes that I have ever seen
    These eyes of mine have once determined the sleeves are velvet
    The cape is zurman, the holes are blue, and the doublet is a lovely shade of green.
    (Lovely shade of green)

    Summon the court to convene
    Well the court convened and you never in your life saw as many people as were at that court
    All the ambassadors, the dukes, the earls, the counts
    It was just blanketed with people
    And they were all told about the magic suit of clothes
    And after they were told they naturally didn’t want to appear fools
    And they said
    Isn’t ooh, isn’t it aah, Isn’t it absolutely (whistle)
    The suit of clothes is altogether, but all together, it’s altogether
    The most remarkable suit of clothes a tailor ever made
    Now quickly put it all together
    With gloves of leather and hat and feather
    It’s altogether the thing to wear on Saturday’s parade
    (Saturday’s parade)
    Leading the royal brigade

    Now Saturday came and the streets were just lined
    With thousands and thousands and thousands of people
    And they all were cheering as the artillery came by
    The infantry marched by
    The cavalry galloped by
    And everybody was cheering like mad
    Except one little boy

    You see
    He hadn’t heard about the magic suit
    And didn’t know what he was supposed to see
    Well as the King came by the little boy looked
    And horrified said

    “Look at the King, look at the King, look at the King, the King, the King”
    The King is in the altogether, but altogether, the altogether, he’s altogether
    As naked as the day that he was born
    The king is in the altogether, but altogether, the altogether, he’s altogether
    The very least the King has ever worn
    (Call the court physician, call an intermission)
    His Majesty is wide open to ridicule and scorn
    The King is in the altogether, but altogether, the altogether, he’s altogether
    As naked as the day that he was born

    Above: Danny Kaye, Hans Christian Andersen, 1952

    Danish reviews of the first two booklets first appeared in 1836.

    They were not enthusiastic.

    The critics disliked the chatty, informal style and apparent immorality, since children’s literature was meant to educate rather than to amuse.

    The critics discouraged Andersen from pursuing this type of style.

    Andersen believed that he was working against the critics’ preconceived notions about fairy tales.

    Above: The flag of Denmark

    He temporarily returned to novel-writing, waiting a full year before publishing his third installment.

    The nine tales from the three booklets were published in one volume and sold for 72 shillings.

    A title page, a table of contents, and a preface by Andersen were published in this volume.

    In 1868, Horace Scudder (1838 – 1902), the editor of Riverside Magazine for Young People, offered Andersen $500 for 12 new stories.

    Sixteen of Andersen’s stories were published in the magazine.

    Ten of them appeared there before they were printed in Denmark.

    Above: American man of letters Horace Scudder

    In 1851, he published In Sweden, a volume of travel sketches.

    The publication received wide acclaim.

    I felt, what since then has become an acknowledged fact, that travelling would be the best school for me.

    “Now be happy,” said my friends, “make yourself aware of your unbounded good fortune!

    Enjoy the present moment, as it will probably be the only time in which you will get abroad.

    You shall hear what people say about you while you are travelling, and how we shall defend you; sometimes, however, we shall not be able to do that.”

    A keen traveller, Andersen published several other long travelogues: 

    • Shadow Pictures of a Journey to the Harz: A Report of a Trip to Saxon Switzerland (1831)

    • A Poet’s Bazaar: Pictures of Travels in Germany, Italy, Greece and the Orient (1871)

    • In Spain and A Visit to Portugal (1866).

    (The last one describes his visit with his Portuguese friends Jorge and José O’Neill, who he knew in the mid-1820s while he was living in Copenhagen.)

    In his travelogues, Andersen used contemporary conventions related to travel writing but developed the style to make it his own.

    Each of his travelogues combines documentary and descriptive accounts of his experiences, adding additional philosophical passages on topics such as authorship, immortality and fiction in literary travel reports.

    Some of the travelogues, such as Pictures of Sweden, contain fairy tales.

    Above: Flag of Sweden

    In the 1840s, Andersen’s attention returned to the theatre stage, but with little success.

    He had better luck with the publication of the Picture-Book without Pictures (1840).

    He started a second series of fairy tales in 1838 and a third series in 1845.

    At this point Andersen was celebrated throughout Europe, although his native Denmark still showed some resistance to his pretensions.

    Between 1845 and 1864, Andersen lived at Nyhavn 67, Copenhagen, where a memorial plaque is now placed.

    Patrons of Andersen’s writings included the monarchy of Denmark, the House of Schleswig – Holstein – Sonderburg – Glücksburg.

    An unexpected invitation from King Christian IX (1818 – 1906)  to the Royal Palace entrenched Andersen’s folklore in Danish royalty as well as making its way to the Romanov dynasty when Christian IX’s daughter Maria Feodorovna (1847 – 1928) married Alexander III of Russia (1845 – 1894).

    Above: Hans Christian Andersen statue in Kongens Have, Copenhagen, Denmark

    In “Andersen as a Novelist“, Soren Kierkegaard (1813 – 1855) remarks that Andersen is characterized as “a possibility of a personality, wrapped up in such a web of arbitrary moods and moving through an elegiac duo-decimal scaled of almost echoless, dying tones just as easily roused as subdued, who, in order to become a personality, needs a strong life-development“.

    Above: Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard

    In June 1847, Andersen visited England for the first time, enjoying triumphant social success.

    The Countess of Blessington (1789 – 1849) invited him to her parties where many intellectuals would meet, and at one such party he met Charles Dickens (1812 – 1870) for the first time.

    They shook hands and walked to the veranda, which Andersen noted in his diary:

    We were on the veranda, and I was so happy to see and speak to England’s now-living writer whom I do love the most.”

    The two authors respected each other’s work and as writers, and had in common their depictions of the underclass who often had difficult lives affected both by the Industrial Revolution and by abject poverty.

    Above: English writer Charles Dickens

    Ten years later, Andersen visited England again, primarily to meet Dickens.

    He extended the planned brief visit to Dickens’ home at Gads Hill Place into a five-week stay, much to the distress of Dickens’ family.

    After Andersen was told to leave, Dickens gradually stopped all correspondence between them, to Andersen’s great disappointment and confusion.

    He had enjoyed the visit and never understood why his letters went unanswered.

    Above: Gads Hill Place, Rochester, England

    It is suspected that Dickens modeled the physical appearance and mannerisms of Uriah Heep from David Copperfield after Andersen.

    Wikipedia then goes on to discuss Andersen’s romantic past.

    Frankly, this is something I don’t really need to know.

    Was Andersen heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, asexual or involuntarily celibate?

    Does the answer enhance or detract from the quality of his character and the writing he produced?

    I believe this does not matter.

    What interests me about Andersen is how he wrote unforgettable stories and inspirational travelogues.

    The rest is just noise to me.

    Above: Hans Christian Andersen (1836)

    As well I feel the topic of Andersen’s intimate life diminishes the magic of his tales for children.

    In early 1872, at age 67, Andersen fell out of his bed and was severely hurt.

    He never fully recovered from the resultant injuries.

    Soon afterward, he started to show signs of liver cancer.

    He died on 4 August 1875, in a country house called Rolighed (literally: calmness) near Copenhagen, the home of his close friends, the banker Moritz G. Melchior (1816 – 1884) and his wife.

    Shortly before his death, Andersen consulted a composer about the music for his funeral, saying:

    Most of the people who will walk after me will be children, so make the beat keep time with little steps.

    At the time of his death, Andersen was internationally revered.

    The Danish government paid him an annual stipend for being a “national treasure“.

    Above: Rolighed, Osterbro, Copenhagen, Danmark

    Above: Burial site of Hans Christian Andersen, Assistens Cemetery, Copenhagen

    What interests me are the places Andersen went and the works he produced.

    How did he derive inspiration from the things he saw?

    How did he create great stories?

    Above: Hans Christian Andersen and the ugly duckling, Central Park, New York City

    I know that storytelling comes naturally to human beings.

    That is why stories are all around us.

    When you talk to your friends, you tell stories.

    When you watch movies and read books, you are watching and reading stories.

    When you study history and current events, you are understanding the world through stories.

    You have stories to tell and whether you consider yourself a storyteller or not, you already tell them.

    By learning how to tell a story, you can become a stronger communicator and even a better writer in other area, like academic and professional writing.

    What is a story?

    A story is, essentially, an account of connected events.

    These events can be mentioned explicitly or implied.

    Take a look at this famous six-word story that is often attributed incorrectly to Ernest Hemingway:

    For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

    Above: American writer Ernest Hemingway (1899 – 1961)

    There is a lot you might infer from this sentence.

    From the story’s scant clues, you might form ideas about who is offering the shoes, why they were never worn and why the seller is seeking payment for them rather than passing them along for free.

    As you make these inferences, you are putting together a story.

    An account of events is not always a story.

    To be a story, the following elements must be present:

    • setting
    • plot
    • conflict
    • character
    • theme

    How to write a story in five steps:

    1. Find inspiration
    2. Brainstorm
    3. Outline
    4. Write the first draft
    5. Revise and edit your story

    My novel (The Donkey Trail) and my colloborative project with former Olympic calibre athlete Steve O’Brien (Highway One) are frame storiesmultiple shorter stories that fit into a larger framework.

    Andersen was a master at both short stories and frame stories (his stories told within travelogues).

    My colleague, Melek, originally assigned to teach an intermediate level Creative Writing found off the Internet a short story table involving objects, themes and characters.

    How would you combine: (object / theme / character)

    • a rocking horse, a fear of cats and an adventurous chıld?
    • a secret garden, a surprise meeting and a famous celebrity?
    • an unopened drawer, a fear of the dark and a curious teenager?
    • an old notebook, a beautıful moment and a naughty child?
    • an English dictionary, a beautiful gesture and an extended family member?
    • a poisonous drink, a busy morning and a slow waitress?

    How would Andersen make stories from these?

    Take my present dilemmas with Highway One:

    How can I combine Steve’s first day on his Trans-Canada Tour with his mention of Terry Fox (maybe I could compare their individual moments?) with:

    Above: Canadian athlete / humanitarian Steve O’Brien

    Above: Canadian athlete / humanitarian Terry Fox (1958 – 1981)

    • Victoria-born artist Emily Carr (1871 – 1945), with excerpts from her memoir Klee Wyck?

    Above: Emily Carr, Kitwancool, 1928

    • Victoria-died writer Carol Shields (1935 – 2003)
      • (Excerpts from The Stone Diaries, with the theme of a chapter detailing an epoch in the life of a person?
      • Or from Larry’s Party, where we consider mazes and choices we make in trying to navigate them?
      • Or from Unless – a linear series of reflections?)

    The journey – both biographically and geographically that led Steve to decide to do his Trans-Canada Tour, starting from Mile Zero of the Trans-Canada Highway, to raise awareness of the difficulties in the development of children and youth- and his challenging first day as a man in motion with and without man-powered methods:

    Above: Mile Zero, Trans-Canada Highway, Victoria, British Columbia

    How can I incorporate all the aforementioned elements together?

    Should I even try?

    Take my present challenge with The Donkey Trail:

    As I describe the married couple’s journey to the Donkey Trail, how much description of the places they pass through do I mention and still make these asides importance influences on the story?

    Do I mention the murder on the mountain that they can see from the window of their apartment?

    Part of me thinks I should, for the sense of difficult problems that must be ascended, the risk of relationships between people, the bond between man and wife are both part of The Donkey Trail plot and of the murders on Mount Säntis.

    Part of me thinks I shouldn’t, but instead maybe I should pare the story down to its most basic elements.

    I will let the readers decide.

    Above: Säntis Berg, Switzerland (Swiss German: Schweiz)

    Andersen realized that children need wholesome stories in the same way that they need fibre and fruit.

    Just as there has been a concerted effort in recent years to reintroduce children to the benefits of exercise and decent nutrition (lessons Steve has taught to children as a gym teacher), there has similarly been a battle that many parents, publishers, librarians and teachers have been fighting to engae children once more with the joy of reading.

    Our children deserve the best and that is as true for writing as it is for anything else.

    We live in a culture of plenty.

    Most people in the industrialized world have plenty of food, decent accommodation, as well as education, health, recreation and entertainment facilities that would astonish our recent ancestors.

    Everyone in Canada and the US and the UK and Australia and New Zealand is already a lottery winner when compared with the majority of the world’s population.

    And yet we often seem determined to squander these gifts.

    Many of our children are bored witless despite a plethora of entertainment choices that someone someone born in my generation can only marvel at.

    Who could have predicted when I was a boy that there would be digital TV, video games, Wii, PSP, Nintendo DS, and giant plasma screen HD TV?

    Above: Children playing ball games, Roman artwork, 2nd century AD, Louvre Museum, Paris, France

    And yet many children seem restless and dissatisfied.

    Parents are consequently frustrated and cross.

    The trouble is that a lot of the entertainment offered to us and our children is junk, the equivalent of a non-stop diet of fizzy pop and sweets.

    A good book, a good story, can show them that Life need not be lived through a lens.

    Reading might seem hard work when compared with sitting in front of the television all day.

    And nearly every parent has used children’s television as a babysitter from time to time.

    Yes, TV and computers can be educational, but so can dissection and we don’t usually allow to undertake that kind of experiment unsupervised.

    The main drawback of allowing children unfettered access to the various screen-based entertainments is that the lassitude it induces becomes addictive.

    But even worse than this is the fact that a room without someone burbling away in the corner begins to seem unnatural to children.

    They becomes unnerved by quiet and by reflection because quiet and reflection is so rare to them.

    They become scared of it, in the way that previous generations were scared of the woods and the darkness.

    The modern world is loud and bright and children have access to unlimited options.

    Reading can offer a rare and vital moment of peace and reflection.

    We all know that a book is the real thing for a child when that child demands to have it read to them again and again.

    A story is the real thing when we know every word by heart and still we want it read to us.

    A book is the real thing when it completely absorbs the child.

    Children are a difficult audience.

    Not only do books have to compensate with all the other entertainment in what has become a visual rather than a literary culture, but children demand to be engrossed.

    Generally, kids like books that are funny, that are full of adventure, that feature strong close relationships that are gripping without being too frightening and that end more or less happily.

    It is a tall order but if a child loves your book then they will love it forever, read it over and over, and seek out other stories that you may write.

    And herein lies the value of International Children’s Book Day.

    Here is the reason that Andersen’s birthday was chosen to celebrate this Day.

    Discover children’s books.

    Rediscover the child within you.

    Read the classic stories like the Famous Five, Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, Narnia and Wonderland, Anne of Green Gables and Harry Potter, Robert Louis Stephenson, Jules Verne and Hans Christian Andersen.

    Read as much modern children’s literature as you can.

    What do the fine folks of the International Board of Books for Young People recommend?

    Read to find the child within you.

    Write to listen to what that child has to say.

    You will be glad you did.

    Sources

    • Wikipedia
    • Google Photos
    • The Story of My Life and İn Sweden, Hans Christian Andersen (Abe Books)
    • How to Write a Great Story in 5 Steps“, Lindsay Kramer, Grammarly, 23 September 2022
    • Get Started in Creative Writing, Stephen May (Teach Yourself)

    Legacy

    Eskişehir, Türkiye

    Thursday 28 March 2024

    Arnold Bennett died last night, which leaves me sadder than I should have supposed.

    A loveable genuine man, somehow a little awkward in life, well meaning, ponderous, kindly, coarse, knowing he was coarse, dimly floundering and feeling for something else, glutted with success, wounded in his feelings and thick-lipped, prosaic intolerably, rather dignified, set upon writing, yet always taken in, deluded by splendour and success, but naive, an old bore, an egoist, much at the mercy of life for all his competence, a shopkeeper’s view of literature, yet with the rudiments, covered over with fat and prosperity and the desire for hideous Empire furniture, of sensibility.

    Some real understanding of power, as well as a giantic absorbing power.

    These are the sort of things that I think by fits and starts this morning, as I sit journalizing.

    I remember his determination to write 1,000 words daily and how he trotted off to do it that night and feel some sorrow that now he will never sit down and begin methodically covering his regulation number of pages in his workmanlike beautiful but dull hand.

    Queer how one regrets the disperal of anybody who seemed – as I say – genuine, who had direct contact with life – for he abused me and I yet rather wished him to go on abusing me and me abusing him.

    An element of life – even in mine that was so remote – taken away.

    This is what one minds.”

    (28 March 1931, Virginia Woolf)

    Above: English writer Virginia Woolf (1882 – 1941)

    How well did Woolf really know Bennett?

    Would he have agreed with her assessments of him?

    Would he have wished to be remembered in this manner?

    As I write these words, I consider their folly

    He could not possibly know or care about how others felt about him once he was dead.

    Is there life after death?

    Do our souls live beyond our bodies?

    I have neither opinion nor hope that there is more than my perception of this moment.

    My attitude toward an afterlife is similar to that of the existence of God.

    I can neither prove nor disapprove that either an afterlife or God exist.

    I choose to focus on that of which I am certain.

    Did Virginia reveal to Arnold how she felt about him while he was awhile?

    Did she admit her feelings to anyone other than her private diary?

    Above: English writer Arnold Bennett (1867 – 1931)

    If we spent more time expressing our love for those who live rather than regret the absence of this expression after our loved ones have died then perhaps each and every one of us would feel a reason to live our lives joyfully and abundantly.

    The fact is in the end we all become stories.

    Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

    But also words to words.

    Writing doesn’t get much more meaningful than the revelation of a person’s life and their meaning to us in the stories we tell about them.

    There’s nothing quite so moving that truly captures and honors the spirit of the deceased.

    .Stories that are unafraid to let the person’s personality shine.

    Craft your own obituary –– in advance.

    Write your own legacy.

    Write your own story.

    When we connect with the idea that life is not limitless, we realize that we need to make the most out of our time.

    This exercise will help you live your life the way you want to be remembered.

    You can also use the obituary exercise to uncover your purpose.

    Writing your own obituary is a very straightforward exercise. 

    This activity is about reconnecting with what really matters to us.

    Usually, when people get closer to their death, they begin to worry about what they didn’t achieve and what they do with the time that’s left.

    The purpose of this obituary exercise is to uncover what’s really important to you –– hopefully, long before your end.

    Use it as a guiding principle for your life. 

    Live the way you want to be remembered. 

    Don’t let others choose the words of your obituary. 

    Let your acts and legacy pen it instead.

    Start by writing your name the way you’d like it to look on your tombstone.

    In one line, how did you make the world a better place? 

    Be concise.

    The more focused, the more honest you’ll be with yourself.

    Write down how people will remember you. 

    Avoid pompous language.

    Stick to the tone and words that regular people would use — especially those who know you well.

    The why is essential (once again, you don’t need the full laundry list).

    This part requires more introspection. 

    Look yourself into the mirror and answer this unfiltered:

    Who was the real you?

    Not your masks or costumes, not your job or titles or roles.

    What was your essence?

    What made you unique?

    Saying ‘yes’ is easy. 

    What we say ‘no’ to defines who we really are.

    Which was in your case?

    What were the ‘temptations’ distractions, or possibilities that you said ‘no’ to because they would derail you from achieving your goals?

    Who will miss you the most? 

    This seems easy, but it’s not.

    The answer is not about what you wish, but trying to understand who will really miss you.

    A lot of people (hopefully) will for sure.

    But who were those people to whom you meant something special?

    Once again, avoid judging yourself.

    Being honest is what makes this exercise meaningful.

      Now it’s time to be creative. 

      Now it’s time to bring your epitaph to life.

      Write down in one or two paragraphs the words that you would love someone to say about you once you departed.

      This is the most critical part of the exercise.

      Connect with your true essence, not your vanity.

        Go ahead and craft yours.

        Share your thoughts.

        What did you learn about yourself by doing this exercise?

        How would you define your relationship with death?

        Great endings make us remember a movie forever.

        In our lives, we avoid writing that last episode.

        We celebrate life.

        But death feels dark and sad.

        As the great philosopher Thomas Nagel asks:

        If death is the permanent end of our existence, is it evil?

        Literature has played an influential role in portraying death as something evil  —  because it deprives us of life.

        But as Nagel explains, in the case of death, there’s no subject to suffer harm.

        As long as a person exists, he has not yet died. 

        Once he dies, he no longer exists.

        Thus, there’s no evil that death can cause that person.

        Above: American philosopher Thomas Nagel

        You might think this is too rational.

        Or that it lacks compassion to those who lost their loved ones.

        But, that is the paradox of death:

        Those who mourn the dead are alive.

        We can either hold onto sadness or turn that loss into something meaningful.

        One of my friends passed away last year.

        Losing a friend hurts deeply.

        But it’s irreversible.

        When I miss him, I feel sad, but it also reminds me to celebrate life.

        He deserves that respect.

        I’m not just saying, “seize the day”.

        Live your life with a purpose. 

        Instead of trying to hold onto life forever, embrace its ephemerality.

        What if we see life as a preparation for dying?

        When death knocks on your door, be ready to leave.

        Live without regrets.

        When you stop portraying death as evil, you’ll start enjoying living.

        Western civilization fears death.

        That’s because we’ve been taught to hold on to things.

        In our material world, life has become a possession too.

        And we cannot let go of it.

        Interestingly enough, when someone dies, even the most religious folks feel sad.

        We hold onto life as a material property, thus blinding our spiritual beliefs.

        Let go of living.

        It is not a possession.

        You can’t control how long you live.

        But you manage how you will live in what time remains.

        Come to terms with death.

        Being afraid of death won’t let you make the most of your life.

        Analysis of death is not for the sake of becoming fearful but to appreciate this precious lifetime.”

        (Dalai Lama)

        Above: Tenzin Gyatso, 14th Dalai Lama

        When we fear death, we stop living.

        We like to feel invincible or immortal for that matter.

        But not thinking about death won’t make your life last forever. 

        It takes guts to confront this vulnerable truth:

        The only sure thing is how uncertain life is.

        We avoid thinking about death, yet we fear it in silence.

        Keeping the “What if I die tomorrow?” question present will free you from that worry that exists at a subconscious level.

        Imagine you have 10 minutes to live, what would you do?

        And ten days?

        And ten months?

        And ten years?

        And the rest of your life?

        We take time for granted.

        But when the end is around the corner, we regret our assumptions. 

        Some folks feel guilty for what they haven’t done (e.g., not saying“I love you” or “sorry” more often).

        Some people get anxious about finishing (or starting) their most valuable project.

        Everyone agrees that they want to spend their last 10 minutes with their close family.

        The premise of confronting our (future) death is a powerful reflection on how we are living.

        The purpose of this exercise is to stop taking life for granted. 

        Live as if you were going to die tomorrow.

        Adding a sense of urgency to your life makes you focus on what really matters.

        Spend your energy doing something worthy of your time on Earth.

        Buddhism promotes meditating on death and dying as a way to embrace it and prepare in advance.

        Most people find this idea absurd.

        But ignoring your worries won’t make ‘death’ disappear.

        Life is too short.

        Death can happen anytime.

        You don’t know when.

        As we get older, we know we don’t have much time left.

        So, the time goes fast.

        Death’s going to happen sooner or later.

        Death is both inevitable and uncertain.

        We know it will happen, but we don’t know when. 

        Our human body — our whole existence — is very fragile.

        Spiritual practice can train our mind to accept that truth instead of being in denial.

        Live as if you were to die tomorrow.

        Learn as if you were to live forever. “ 

        (Mahatma Gandhi)

        Above: Indian political activist Mahatma Gandhi (1869 – 1948)

        Live the way you want to be remembered.

        Don’t let others choose the words of your obituary.

        Let your acts and legacy pen it instead.

        Writing your own obituary is not easy.

        Thinking about your death is moving.

        But it’s a great path to reconnect with the imprint you want to leave once you say goodbye for the last time.

        Go on.

        Write your own obituary.

        Don’t take yourself too seriously.

        If you are humorous, let your epitaph be fun also.

        Go ahead, and do yours.

        Share your thoughts.

        What did you learn about yourself by doing this exercise?

        How would you define your relationship with death?

        Thinking about your death may be particularly difficult.

        Death is a natural part of life, but most of us live in a death-denying bubble.

        We find it difficult to contemplate our own death and fear for the death of loved ones.

        Put aside your fears for a few minutes.

        Imagine that you will die within one year and answer the following prompts:

        • The first person I would tell is….
        • There are several things I would do during the one year. They include…

        Have you considered doing any of these things even if you are in good health now?

        You are alive NOW.

        Act NOW.

        While you still can.

        Sources

        • The Assassin’s Cloak, edited by Irene and Alan Taylor
        • Pearl, The Gawain Poet
        • Metamorphoses, Ovid
        • Writing Your Legacy, Richard Campbell and Cheryl Svennson

        Addressed to (k)no(w) one

        Eskişehir, Türkiye

        Wednesday 27 March 2024

        ADDRESSED TO A CERTAIN NOBODY

        Poland Street, London, 27 March 1768

        To have some account of my thoughts, manners, acquaintances and actions, when the hour arrives in which time is more nimble than memory, is the reason which induces me to keep a Journal.

        A Journal in which I must confess my every thought, must open my whole heart!

        But a thing of this kind ought to be addressed to somebody – I must imagine myself to be talking – talking to the most intimate of friends – to one in whom I should take delight in confiding and remorse in concealment – but who must this friend be?

        To make choice of one in whom I can but half rely, would be to frustrate entirely the intention of my plan.

        The only one I could wholly, totally confide in, lives in the same house with me, and not only never has, but never will, leave me one secret to tell.

        To whom, then, must I dedicate my wonderful, surprising and interesting adventures?

        To whom dare I reveal my private opinion of nearest relations?

        My secret thoughts of my dearest friends?

        My own hopes, fears, reflections and dislikes?

        Nobody?

        To Nobody, then, will I write my Journal!

        Since to Nobody can I be wholly unreserved – to Nobody can I reveal every thought, every wish of my heart, with the most unlimited confidence, the most unremitting sincerity to the end of my life!

        For what chance, what accident can end my connections with Nobody?

        No secret can I conceal from Nobody and to Nobody can I be ever unreserved.

        Disagreements cannot stop our affection.

        Time itself has no power to end our friendship.

        The love, the esteem I entertain for Nobody.

        Nobody does not have the power to destroy.

        From Nobody I have nothing to fear, the secrets sacred to friendship.

        Nobody will not reveal when the affair is doubtful. Nobody will not look towards the side least favourable.

        I will suppose you, Nobody, then, to be my best friend, (though God forbid you ever should!) my dearest companion – and a romantic, for mere oddity may perhaps be more sincere – more tender – than if you were a friend in propria persona – in as much as imagination often extends reality.

        In your breast my errors may create pity without exciting contempt, may raise your compassion without eradicating your love. From this moent, then, my dear – but why, permit me to ask, must you be made Nobody?

        Ah, my dear, what were this world good for were Nobody real?

        And now I have done with preambulation.

        (Fanny Burney)

        Above: Frances Burney (aka Fanny Burney) (1752 – 1840)

        Who knows my secret broken bone?
        Who feels my flesh when I am gone?
        Who was a witness to the dream?
        Who kissed my eyes and saw the scream
        Lying there?
        Nobody

        Who is my reason to begin?
        Who plows the earth, who breaks the skin?
        Who took my two hands and made them four?
        Who is my heart, who is my door?
        Nobody

        Nobody but you, girl
        Nobody but you
        Nobody in this whole wide world
        Nobody

        Who makes the bed that can’t be made?
        Who is my mirror, who is my blade?
        When I am rising like a flood
        Who feels the pounding in my blood?
        Nobody

        Nobody but you
        Nobody but you, girl
        Nobody in this whole wide world
        Nobody, girl
        Nobody

        Nobody but you
        Nobody but you
        Nobody in this whole wide world
        Nobody, nobody
        Nobody

        (Paul Simon, One Trick Pony, 1980)

        The Scottish poet William Soutar wrote:

        A diary is like drink, we tend to indulge in it over often.

        It becomes a habit which would ever seduce us to say more than we have the experimental qualifications to state.”

        It must be said that Soutar, bedridden with a wasting illness, was a special case.

        Trapped from a young age in a small room in his parents’ house in Perth, his view of the world circumscribed by the size of his window.

        Above: Perth, Scotland

        He was, in effect, a prisoner.

        His diary was his constant companion, a visitor who never went away.

        Thus the temptatıon to overindulge.

        Above: Bust of William Soutar (1898 – 1943)

        For many people, however, a diary is like a reproach, a perpetual reminder of our lack of discipline, absence of application, weakness of resolve.

        How many diaries, started in the first flush of a New Year, peter out even before the memort of the annual hangover?

        We open the pristine book with enthusiasm but after a few days what had been a torrent turns into a drip.

        Soon, whole weeks go by unremarked, blank page followed by blank page.

        Humdrum life intrudes and the compulsion to memorialize in print evapoarates.

        There are few things quite as capable of inducing guilt as an empty diary.

        Soutar, his life cruelly condemned, came to depend on his diary.

        It was his friend, crutch, confidant, shrink, father confessor, mirror of himself, for a diary is the most flexible and intimate of literary forms.

        Diaries have been kept by everyone, from the barely literate to the leaders of men and women, from serial killers to conmen, kitchen maids to all-conquering heroes, children and nonagenarians, tinkers, tailors, soldiers and spies.

        Some diarists are chroniclers of the everyday.

        Others have kept their books only in special times – over the course of a trip or during a crisis.

        Some have used them to record journeys of the soul, plan the art of the future, confess the sins of the flesh, lecture the world from beyond the grave.

        And some of them, prisoners and invalids, have used them not so much to record lives as create them, their diaries being the only world in which they could fully live.

        Into the last category falls William Soutar, who but for his diary and a few verses in Scots for children – would now be forgotten.

        Though he began keeping a diary in 1917, when he was 19 years old and serving in the Atlantic with the Navy, it comprised little more than brief notes of appointments and books read.

        His diary took on a fresh complexion, however, after February 1929, when he fell ill with pneumonia.

        His right leg became increasingly disabled.

        In hindsight, the prescribed treatment seems medieval.

        Weights were put on the leg to counteract muscle contraction.

        When this failed, the only hope was surgery.

        In May 1930, Soutar was operated on, paraphrasing Milton as he went to his fate:

        This is the day and the happy morn.

        At 0930 got morphine and atropine injection.

        Off to theatre – sine crepuscula toga – at 10 a.m.

        Never saw actual theatre – elderly doctor chloroformed me in the “green room”.

        Woke up again at 11:20 or so.

        Wasn’t sick.

        Not an extra lot of reaction.

        Plaster of Paris troubling me more than the leg – nasty nobbly part at back – can’t be comfortable.

        Above: English poet John Milton (1608 – 1674)

        The operation was unsuccessful but the stoical philosophical Soutar gives little indication of despair, of the hopelessness of his plight.

        Soutar’s main interest was not his own invalidism but the general human situation.

        On occasion, he fletfrustrated and sorry for himself but more often he managed to transcend his illness, setting himself goals – reading the Encyclopaedia Britannica, for example – and pursuing his ambitions.

        Due to his unusual circumstances, the world had to come to him, rather than the other way around.

        But unlike many other diarists who are consumed with themselves, egocentrics who seem to live only inside their heads and are obsessed with their own troubles, Soutar managed to transcend the self and entered an elevated state of being.

        Just a month before he died in October 1943, he wrote:

        The true diary is one, therefore, in which the diarist is, in the main, communing with himself, conversing openly and without pose, so that trifles will not be absent, not the intimate and little confessions and resolutions which, if voiced at all, must be voiced in such a private confessional as this.

        Above: William Soutar Trail, Perth, Scotland

        When, truly, is a diary a diary?

        What is the difference between a diary and journal or, for that matter, a log or a notebook?

        Dictionary definitions are not much help.

        A diary is “a daily record of events, transactions, thoughts, etc., especially ones involving the writer.”

        A journal, on the other hand, is defined thus:

        A personal record of events or matters of interest, written up every day or as events occur, usually in ore detail than a diary.”

        It is a fine distinction and one which individual writers seem blithely to ignore.

        In his Devil’s Dictionary, Ambrose Bierce wrote:

        Diary: a daily record of that part of one’s life which he can relate to himself without blushing.”

        Above: American writer Ambrose Bierce (1842 – 1914)

        Oscar Wilde, however, went a step further:

        I never travel without my diary.

        One should always have something sensational to read in the train.

        Above: Irish writer Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900)

        For others, though, a diary serves more prosaic purposes.

        If a man has no constant lover who shares his soul as well as his body he must have a diary – a poor substitute, but better than nothing.“, mused James Lees-Milne.

        Above: English writer James Lees-Milne (1908 – 1997)

        More often or not, writers question why they do or do not keep a diary:

        The Reverend Francis Kilvert asked:

        Why do I keep this voluminous journal?

        I can hardly tell.

        Partly because life appears to me such a curious and wonderful thing that it almost seems a pity that even such a humble and uneventful life as mine should pass altogether away without some such record as this, and partly too because I thnk the record may amuse and interest some who come after me.”

        Above: English diarist Robert Francis Kilvert (1840 – 1879)

        Sir Walter Scott deemed not keeping a diary one of the regrets of his life.

        Above: Scottish writer Walter Scott (1771 – 1832)

        But perhaps one of the most curious comments on diary-keeping came from A.A. Milne when he remarked in 1919:

        I suppose this is the reason why diaries are so rarely kept nowadays – that nothing ever happens to anybody.

        Above: English writer Alan Alexander Milne (1882 – 1956)

        The idea that diaries are not only worth keeping when great events are in train is hardly worthy of examination.

        The human condition is such that there is always something happening somewhere, whether personally or politically, parochially or on the international stage.

        The most durable diarists have not always been those who mix in high society or are connected with the great and the good and have the opportunity to peek through the keyhole as momentous events unfold.

        The best diaries are those in which the voice of the individual comes through untainted by self-censorship or a desire to please.

        First and foremost, the diarist must write for himself.

        Those who do not, who are invariably looking towards publication and public recognition, invariably strike a phoney note.

        The first real diarist was Samuel Pepys, who may not have patented the form but was certainly instrumental in its development.

        Pepys’ naive enthusiasm for self-reckoning has been echoed by diarists down the decades.

        Life, unvarnished and uncensored, is what Pepys’ diary such a constant source of wonder.

        In every entry, Pepys reveals something of his true self, from his disquiet at discovering that the food he had been served at a friend’s house was rotten to his views on Shakespeare and his unalloyed and unequivocal delight at coming into a legacy.

        Above: English diarist Samuel Pepys (1633 – 1703)

        A diary, at least to begin with, is not a daunting prospect, like an epic poem or a play or a novel.

        There is no imperative to publish or show anyone how it is progressing.

        You don’t need to do any research or check facts.

        Entries can be long or short, factual or inaccurate, real or imagined.

        Though diarists, invariably, attempt to keep up a daily routine they just as invariably fail.

        Life has its insidious way of interrupting the flow.

        Some diarists take this in their stride while it throws others into a spin, as if they had forgotten to turn up for a dinner party or missed a job interview.

        Time after time one comes across diarists chastising themselves for their laziness, their inconstancy, their lack of fidelity to a diary which they address as they might address a lover.

        For communion with a diary is unlike any other literary activity.

        Once a diarist, always a diarist, it seems.

        A diary becomes part of a diarist’s routine, an integral part of his household, a member of the family which needs to be nurtured like a baby or a pet kitten.

        Neglect is conspicuous but it need not be harmful, for silence has its own eloquence.

        While many diarists write entries daily, as if brushing their teeth, others let weeks and months go by without so much as writing a few lines.

        Some diarists write during times of emotional and financial crisis, others when they are at their most happy and socially active.

        Evelyn Waugh, one of the great 20th century diarists, kept a diary for diverse reasons:

        Fading memory and a senile itch to write to the Times on all topics have determined me to keep irregular notes of what passes through my mind.”

        Waugh, in common with most diarists, wrote with no intention of seeing his diary in the public domain.

        He wrote privately and did not tell many of his friends that he kept a diary.

        Even his wife did not know.

        Though not by nature furtive, he seemed to want to keep his diaries to himself.

        Why?

        No one knows.

        Above: English writer Arthur Evelyn St. John Waugh (1903 – 1966) 

        Each diarist is an individual describing his life, for which he needs make no excuses.

        Curiosity is not the least of the attractions of reading a diary.

        Until the ğresent age, when it is possible if one is so inclined to view every moment of complete strangers’ lives via the Internet, a diary was the closest one could get to understanding the way people lived and thought.

        Without the commonplace and the trivial the best diaries would be bereft of much that makes them compelling and enduringly fascinating.

        That which many people might not deem worth recording sheds the most brilliant light on the diarist’s character or illuminates the times in which he lived.

        Often, one is struck by the ability of great diarists to combine in a single entry news either momentous or terrifying, or both, with some minor observations or irritation of everyday life.

        It is in a diary that our private world imperceptibly merges with the cataclysmic events which make headlines in every language.

        All human life is here.

        The diarist is a genre to which it is impossible to ascribe formulas and standards.

        Ultimately, any attempt at definition is defeated by the diarists themselves who are the most singular of species.

        More than any other branch of literature, diaries revel in otherness.

        Like a chameleon, a diary can change in colour to suit the mood of its keeper.

        It can be whatever the diarist wants it to be.

        Franz Kafka used his to pour out his angst and limber up for his novels and short stories.

        Above: Bohemian writer Franz Kafka (1883 – 1924)

        Dorothy Wordsworth brought her botanical eye to the landscape of the Lake District, providing rich source material which her brother William mined for his poetry.

        Above: English writer Dorothy Wordsworth (1771 – 1855)

        Virginia Woolf spoke to hers as she might to an intimate friend, in so doing etching a portrait of the artist on the edge of the abyss.

        Above: English writer Adeline Virginia Woolf (1882 – 1941)

        All contributed to the mosaic that is life, but one keeps coming back to William Soutar, lyıng on his back in bed as his health evaporated.

        His diary is an inspiration.

        It may be the work of a dying man but he lived for the moment.

        Soutar sagely realized better than most the ambiguous potential of a diary, imbued as it inevitably is with secrecy and all it implies.

        A diary may be like drink, but it is also only as reliable as the diarist.

        Not only can it persuade us to betray the self, “it tempts us to betray our fellows also, becoming thereby an alter ego sharing with us the denigrations which we would be ashamed of voicing aloud.

        A diary is an assassin’s cloak which we wear when we stab a comrade in the back with a pen.

        And here is the diary proving its culpability to its own harm –

        For how much on this page is true to the others?

        Above: Pavement poem (William Soutar) Writers Museum, Edinburgh, Scotland

        Write what you know” might be the single most uttered writing maxim.

        Most fiction is full of an author’s story, whether real life is cast through a fictional lens or in the themes, motifs and conflicts that preoccupy the writer.

        Aristotle said that the secret to moving the passions in others is to be moved oneself.

        Above: Bust of the Greek philosopher Aristotle (384 – 322 BC)

        Moving oneself is made possible by bringing to the fore the visions and experiences of one’s life.

        Write what you know” does not instruct you to put your life directly on the page, but rather to take the rich mulch of your experience and let stories grow from it in other forms.

        As Saul Bellow said:

        Fiction is the higher autobiography.

        Above: Canadian- American writer Saul Bellow (né Solomon Bellows) (1915 – 2005) was a Canadian–American writer

        Writing what you know becomes something like a pilgrimage, a chase scene, a dreamscape, a meditation and a scientific experiment all in one.

        Don’t shortchange your experiences.

        You have a rich life to draw on in your writing.

        We have all felt a deep range of emotions, emotions that we can amplify with our imaginations to infuse our stories with the deep truths of life.

        Write who you are.

        Write what you know.

        Write what you need to know.

        A diary is a way to explore who you are.

        Just keep writing.

        He’s a real nowhere man
        Sitting in his nowhere land
        Making all his nowhere plans for nobody

        Doesn’t have a point of view
        Knows not where he’s going to
        Isn’t he a bit like you and me?
        Nowhere man please listen
        You don’t know what you’re missing
        Nowhere man, the world is at your command

        He’s as blind as he can be
        Just sees what he wants to see
        Nowhere man, can you see me at all
        Nowhere man don’t worry
        Take your time, don’t hurry
        Leave it all ’til somebody else
        Lends you a hand
        Ah, la, la, la, la

        Doesn’t have a point of view
        Knows not where he’s going to
        Isn’t he a bit like you and me?
        Nowhere man please listen
        You don’t know what you’re missing
        Nowhere man, The world is at your command
        Ah, la, la, la, la

        He’s a real nowhere man
        Sitting in his nowhere land
        Making all his nowhere plans for nobody
        Making all his nowhere plans for nobody
        Making all his nowhere plans for nobody

        (The Beatles, Rubber Soul, 1966)

        Sources

        • Nobody“, One Trick Pony, Paul Simon, 1980
        • Nowhere Man“, Rubber Soul, The Beatles, 1966
        • Pep Talks for Writers, Grant Faulkner
        • The Assassin’s Cloak: An Anthology of the World’s Greatest Diarists, edited by Irene and Alan Taylor

        In the beginning was the Word

        Eskişehir, Türkiye

        Monday 25 August 2024

        Tolkien fandom is an international, informal community of fans of the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, especially of the Middle Earth legendarium, which includes The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion.

        The concept of Tolkien fandom as a specific type of fan subculture sprang up in the United States in the 1960s, in the context of the hippie movement, to the dismay of the author (Tolkien died in 1973), who talked of “my deplorable cultus“.

        Tolkien fandom changed in character with the release of Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings film trilogy between 2001 and 2003, attracting both a wide audience of existing fans (“book-firsters“) and many people who had not read Tolkien’s books (“film-firsters“).

        The large audience made the artistic conception of Jackson’s artists influential, indeed creating a stereotyped image of Middle Earth and its races of elves, dwarves, orcs and hobbits shared by fans and artists alike. 

        Some fans, known as Tolkien tourists, travel to places in New Zealand to visit sites where scenes in the films were shot.

        A “Tolkien Reading Day“, held annually on 25 March, an anniversary of the fall of Barad-dûr, was proposed by Sean Kirst, a columnist at the Post-Standard in Syracuse, New York, and launched by the Tolkien Society in 2003.

        Above: John Roland Reuel Tolkien (1892 – 1973)

        The name Barad-dûr translates to “dark tower“.

        The main villain, Sauron, began to stir again and chose Mordor as a stronghold in which to build his fortress. 

        It was strengthened by the power of the One Ring, which had recently been forged.

        Its foundations would survive as long as the Ring existed.

        The wizard Gandalf described the Ring as being the “foundation of Barad-dûr“.

        The Dark Tower is described as being black, composed of iron, and having battlements and gates.

        In The Two Towers Barad-dûr is described as “that vast fortress, armoury, prison, furnace of great power“. 

        The same paragraph goes on to say the Dark Tower had ‘immeasurable strength‘.

        The fortress was constructed with many towers and was hidden in clouds about it:

        Rising black, blacker and darker than the vast shades amid which it stood, the cruel pinnacles and iron crown of the topmost tower of Barad-dûr.” 

        The structure could not be clearly seen because Sauron created shadows about himself that crept out from the tower. 

        In hobbit Frodo’s vision on Amon Hen, he perceived the immense tower as “wall upon wall, battlement upon battlement, black, immeasurably strong, mountain of iron, gate of steel, tower of adamant Barad-dûr, Fortress of Sauron“. 

        There was a lookout post, the “Window of the Eye“, at the top of the tower.

        This window was visible from Mount Doom where Frodo and Sam had a terrible glimpse of the Eye of Sauron. 

        Barad-dûr’s west gate is described as “huge” and the west bridge as “a vast bridge of iron“.

        In The Return of the King, hobbit Sam Gamgee witnessed the destruction of Barad-dûr:

        Towers and battlements, tall as hills, founded upon a mighty mountain-throne above immeasurable pits.

        Great courts and dungeons, eyeless prisons sheer as cliffs, and gaping gates of steel and adamant.”

        Barad-dûr, along with the One Ring, Mordor and Sauron himself, were destroyed on 25 March.

        Do you remember the first book that had an impact on you?

        Perhaps it was one that was read to you or the first one you were able to read yourself.

        Or was there a book later in your childhood that had an influence you didn’t discern at the time?

        Many noted authors have said they were deeply moved by what they read as youngsters.

        In some cases it was one particular book that made them want to be writers and to which they still return for inspiration years later.

        Even once a writer is established, a classic author may serve as their mentor.

        Martin Amis has said:

        When I am stuck with a sentence that isn’t fully born, it isn’t there yet, I sometimes think:

        “How would Dickens go at this sentence?

        How would Bellow or Nabokov go at this sentence?”

        What you hope to emerge with is how you would go at that sentence, but you get a little shove in the back by thinking about writers you admire.”

        Above: Martin Amis (1949 – 2023)

        If that sounds like a strategy you would like to employ, it can be handy to have the masters nearby.

        You don’t have to limit yourself to the greats.

        Above: Charles Dickens (1812 – 1870)

        William Faulkner’s advice was:

        Read, read, read.

        Read everything – trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it.

        Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master.

        Read!

        You will absorb it.

        Above: William Faulkner (1897 – 1962)

        Vladimir Nabokov advocated reading poetry:

        You have to saturate yourself with English poetry in order to compose English prose.

        Above: Vladimir Nabokov (1899 – 1977)

        For Maya Angelou, the Bible was the greatest inspiration:

        The language of all the interpretations, the translations, of the Judaic Bible and the Christian Bible, is musical, just wonderful.

        I read the Bible to myself.

        I will take any translation, any edition, and read it aloud, just to hear the language, hear the rhythm, and remind myself how beautiful English is.

        Above: Maya Angelou (1928 – 2014)

        Harper Lee, author of To Kill a Mockingbird, referred to her love of books when she was young and said:

        Now, 75 years later in an abundant society where people have laptops, cell phones, iPods, and minds like empty rooms, I still plod along with books.

        Above: Harper Lee (1926 – 2016)

        Eudora Welty found that:

        Virginia Woolf was the one who opened the door.

        When I read “To the Lighthouse”, I felt:

        “Heavens, what is this?”

        I was so excited by the experience I couldn’t eat or sleep.

        I have read it many times since, though more often these days I go back to her diary.

        Any day you open it to will be tragic.

        And yet all the marvellous things she says about her work, about working, leave you filled with joy that is stronger than your misery for her.”

        Above: Eudora Welty (1909 – 2001)

        It was the works of Kafka that literally shocked Gabriel Garcia Marquez into writing:

        One night a friend lent me a book of short stories by Franz Kafka.

        I went back into the pension where I was staying and began to read “The Metamorphosis”.

        The first line almost knocked me off the bed.

        I was so surprised.

        The first line reads:

        “When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin.”

        When I read the line I thought to myself that I didn’t know anyone was allowed to write things like that.

        If I had known, I would have started writing a long time ago.

        So I immediately started writing short stories.

        Above: Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1927 – 2014)

        Ralph Ellison told The Paris Review:

        In 1935 I discovered Eliot’s “The Waste Land”, which moved and intrigued me but defied my powers of analysis.

        At night I practiced writing.

        I studied Joyce, Dostoyevsky, Stein and Hemingway.

        Especially Hemingway.

        I read him to learn his sentence structure and how to organize a story.

        Above: Ralph Ellison (1913 – 1994)

        Ray Bradbury advises:

        You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfume and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads.

        Above: Ray Bradbury (1920 – 2012)

        That is harder to do now that libraries are being turned into multimedia centres in which actual books sometimes are the quaintest and most neglected element, but it is good advice nonetheless.

        Until iPads and Kindles and other e-readers can give off the lovely smell of an old book (and probably it is only a matter of time), at least those of us brought up on traditional books will always have a place in our hearts for them and for libraries.

        In today’s busy world it can be a challenge to find the time to read, but it is still one of the best ways to feed your mind.

        How long has it been since you’ve read some of the classic authors like Joyce, Dostoyevsky, Hemingway or Dickens?

        Plan reading sessions into your schedule because reading nourishes the brain and brings peace into an otherwise hectic day.

        Is there a famous work you have always intended to read but haven’t gotten around to?

        Make an appointment with yourself to read a book.

        You may also want to revisit some of your favorites.

        Consider the books you found most formative.

        Choose one you think would warrant re-reading or reviewing and schedule the required time.

        This time read it not only for enjoyment but to analyze what made the book so powerful for you.

        What can you learn from that author’s methods that might help you make your own writing more vivid and influential?

        For starters, consider:

        • What is the story about, in a sentence or two?
        • What is at stake for the protagonist?
        • What does the story reveal about the characters, and how?
        • How does the opening capture your interest?
        • How do the action and the central conflict escalate?
        • What are the story’s surprises?
        • What emotions does it envoke in you? How does it do that?

        If you are an architect, you should certainly read architectural literature.

        If you are in computers, you must keep up with what is being written about terabytes, hacking and the latest operating systems.

        Reading the books and trade magazines as well as clicking out the key websites of your particular field will not only keep you informed.

        It will show you how experienced writers are turning the jargon and the complexities of your vocation into readable prose.

        But no matter what your field of expertise, you should also read books, magazines and newspapers designed for the general reader.

        Through the daily paper and online news sites contain much that is swill, they also contain some good writing.

        From them you can learn to write leanly, to get to the point, and to compress several facts into a clear sentence.

        If you read mysteries and romances, you will discover how writers create curiosity and build tension.

        You will also learn how to construct an event, a person, or a place with just a few well-chosen words.

        Read novels.

        You will see how words can be used to communicate subtleties and stir emotions, how words can be arranged one way to make you worry, another to make you laugh.

        Above: Ernest Hemingway (1899 – 1961)

        Read magazine articles and you will see how quotes are pared down from lengthy interviews until they contain nothing but the words that matter.

        Notice how opinions are supported by facts.

        Watch to see how the writer makes his points by calling on outside help, such as scientific reports, quotes from books, surveys, etc.

        Then go to the online version and see whether they have a longer version so you can see what was edited for the print copy.

        Read.

        Listen to what you read.

        Listen for the sound of the language, the music.

        Note the punctuation, the spelling, the logical progression of information.

        Find the things that fail, also.

        Listen to how two similar sounds come together in your head.

        Hear how the use of the wrong word wakes you from your reading spell.

        Be a critical reader.

        Look upon all that you read as a lesson in good writing.

        Reading and writing are two sides of the same coin, but it is not only what you read that is important, it is how you read, too.

        When starting to read a novel for the first time, or re-reading an old favourite, try to view it as an editor would, looking “through” the text in X-ray fashion, as it were.

        Reading books in this way allows you to examine a narrative closely, locating and identifying deep structure and embedded themes.

        How does the writer bring their themes to life?

        What most appealed to you about the story?

        How was that dramatized in the narrative?

        Try to begin reading not just for pleasure, but also for ideas.

        Reading in this way can be a great source of inspiration.

        You should not hesitate to use all this stimulation and motivation to kick-start your own work.

        A work is eternal not because it imposes a single meaning on different men, but because it suggests different meanings to a single man.

        (Roland Barthes)

        Above: Roland Barthes (1915 – 1980)

        Of course, it is good to read as widely as possible – especially outside your race, class and gender – but, as a writer, returning to the same book many times over can be just as, if not more, instructive.

        When you finish reading a novel for the first time, your memory of it does not stay fixed forever.

        It shifts and evolves.

        Years later, you mıght find yourself talking about it, only to discover that your memory has retained just a few scraps – mythic representations – of the text.

        You realize that, in the intervening years, you have reconstructed in your mind an entirely different book – an inner book of “received beliefs” – from the actual one.

        This is when the value of re-reading becomes obvious.

        A book comes alive with each new reading.

        A book is born again every time you pick it up.

        When you re-read a book, it will appear to be different on a second or third reading, but the book has not changed, you have.

        Any text has the potential for several different interpretations.

        No one reading can ever exhaust a text’s full potential because, on re-reading, each reader will search for connections in their own way, excluding other possibilities and thus making them aware of their own role in the play of meaning.

        It is not the case that subsequent readings are any “truer” than the first – they are just different.

        The fact that readers can be differently affected by the same text shows the degree to which reading is a creative process.

        If you read a single book many times over, it marks the changes in your life.

        Whatever happens, you continue to have a conversation with it.

        Novels are second lives.

        Novels reveal the colours and complexities of our lives.

        Novels are full of people, faces and objects we feel we recognize.

        When we read novels we are sometimes so powerfully struck by the extraordinary nature of the things we encounter that we forget where we are and envision ourselves in the midst of the imaginary events and people we are witnessing.

        At such times, we feel that the fictional world we encounter and enjoy is more real than the real world itself.

        We dream assuming dreams to be real.

        We read novels assuming them to be real.

        There are many ways to read a novel, many ways in which we commit our soul and mind to it.

        We observe the general scene and follow the narrative.

        We transform words into images in our mind.

        We wonder how much of the story the writer tells is real experience and how much is imagination.

        We wonder:

        Is reality like this?

        Does the novel conform with what we know from our own lives?

        At the heart of the novelist’s craft lies an optimism which thinks that the knowledge we gather from our everyday experience, if given proper form, can become valuable knowledge about reality.

        Under the influence of such optimism, we both assess and derive pleasure from the precision of analogies, the power of fantasy and narrative, the building of sentences, the secret and candid poetry and music of prose.

        We make moral judgments about both the choices and the behaviour of the protagonists.

        We judge the writer for his moral judgments regarding his characters.

        We congratulate ourselves on the knowledge, depth and understanding we have attained.

        The sweet illusion that the novel was written solely for us slowly arises within us.

        We read to discover that we are not alone in the universe.

        It is Tolkien Reading Day.

        I reach for a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring and begin to read:

        When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.

        Sources

        • Wikipedia
        • The Naive and the Sentimental Novelist, Orhan Pamuk (Faber and Faber)
        • 100 Ways to Improve Your Writing, Gary Provost (Berkley)
        • Writing a Novel, Richard Skinner (Faber and Faber)
        • The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien (Harper Collins)
        • Your Creative Writing Masterclass, Jurgen Wolff (Nicholas Brealey)