tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78067531900072570602024-03-13T03:47:41.750+00:00New Welsh ReviewGwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.comBlogger235125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-28798014016920796272012-03-07T15:36:00.003+00:002012-03-07T15:58:46.350+00:00Brand New WebsiteThis will be the last blog in this current format. It has now found its proper home on our revamped <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/">website</a> where you can read tasters from the current, spring issue together with exclusive interviews of our three key authors from that issue, Christopher Meredith, Jane Yeh and Robert Minhinnick. The current issue contains a marvellous essay on Porthcawl's international Elvis festival, with photos by Eamon Bourke and Lucy Minhinnick; an exclusive extract from Chris Meredith's new novel <i>The Book of Idiots</i> and a new poem by Jane Yeh. But you'll have to buy a copy or subscribe (£19) to read these in full. Hopefully our full interviews with these key authors will whet your appetite en route to subscribing rather than sustaining it. <div><br /></div><div>Blogs, my <i>Western Mail</i> Insider columns, guest blogs, reviews and further author interviews can also be found at the <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/">shiny new site</a> as well as pieces from previous issues in full, and classic pieces from our new Vintage Gems showcase (lace gloves not required to log in). And more - take a browse! We'll let our Facebook Friends know as new material comes on board. </div><div><br /></div><div>Also, in addition to exclusives from Chris Meredith, Robert Minhinnick and Jane Yeh, in issue 95, out now: Dylan Moore on football; Claire Flay and Steven Lovatt on different takes on interwar author Dorothy Edwards; Jeremy Hughes' nonfiction response to Idris Davies' 'The Angry Summer, A Poem of 1926'; Extracts from the Diaries of Dyfrig Prydderch, 1936 (Romanian travel journal) by Diarmuid Johnson; short story, 'Narrenturm' by Eliza Granville; Peter Finch's books column; poetry by Damian Walford Davies (preview of <i>Witch</i>) and by Martyn Crucefix; Stevie Krayer; Paul Henry and Bethany Pope. Enjoy, and let the paper soothe your eye strain. </div><div><br /></div><div>Next editor's blog in its n<a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/">ew home</a> will be on Indian author Sampurna Chatterjee.</div><div><br /></div><div>Gwen Davies, editor</div>Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-59485327347031840282012-03-05T09:40:00.006+00:002012-03-05T09:53:23.389+00:00Far South by David Enrique Spellman. 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mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:JA;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times;font-size:100%;" >The mystery could run and run, and not just that of the author’s identity: Spellman, the so-called ‘voice of the <a href="http://farsouthproject.tumblr.com/">Far South Project</a>’, who assembled the 2006 casebook of Argentinian private investigator,<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Juan Manuel Pérez, together with witness depositions and a graphic diary by associates of the missing avant-garde Uruguayan theatre director, <a href="http://www.realandpresent.org/">Gerardo Fischer</a>. Nor, indeed, the motives and circumstances surrounding Fischer’s disappearance, which become increasingly labyrinthine as the tale unfolds, involving experimental theatre, the criminal underworld of Argentina, ex-Nazis in hiding, the corrupt Italian masonic lodge P2 and Hizbullah, with international arms-dealing, a dodgy adoption agency and police corruption thrown in for good measure. But the fact that the book is one element of a multi-dimensional project incorporating two websites - with additional text, audio and video clips and opportunities for readers’ input - is an innovative expansion of the connections between traditional publishing and new technologies and offers the possibility that the story’s mystery could continue forever.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times;font-size:100%;" >To all extents and purposes, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Far-South-David-Enrique-Spellman/9781846688102">Far South</a></i> is a detective novel featuring a classic, quick-witted, down-at-heel investigator with a shady history. A reader who knows his Pessoa and his Borges, Pérez is divorced, attracted to almost every woman he meets and enjoys wry, monosyllabic exchanges with his trusty sidekick, Rangel. Inevitably he becomes involved with Ana, a member of the artists’ colony which commissions him to find Fischer. As he realises that the case is more dangerous than it’s worth, the distinctions between the professional and the private become blurred. His relationship with his father, a serving cop, comes under pressure and raises issues of loyalty, trust and truth. The more personal the quest becomes, the less certain we are of what is true and the more we see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Far South</i> subverting the genre it celebrates.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times;mso-bidi-font-family:Times;">Gerardo Fischer’s disappearance could be a criminal or political act in a country where the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">desaparecidos </i>were a tragic feature of life under the junta in the 70s and early 80s. But there is also the possibility that Fischer has staged it himself: he has ‘previous’ in this respect and his power as an artist derives from ‘taking people right out to the edge … (he) makes people drop their masks and be real for once in their lives.’ The investigation leads Pérez and the reader to understand that the more we pursue the real, the more elusive it can be. Constantly sharing his questions with the reader, Pérez makes the connection between the role of the private dick and the artist when he considers his relationship with Ana: ‘I was a digger in the dirt of human lives. But wasn’t that what she aspired to as an actress?’ </span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times;mso-bidi-font-family:Times;">Beautifully written in the lucid, direct style that has become the hallmark of some of the best crime fiction, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Far South</i> almost serves as a masterclass in Elmore Leonard’s 10 Rules for Writing Fiction: dialogue indicated only by ‘said’; sparse use of adverbs; concise description of characters; no prologue (though it includes an epilogue to superb structural effect); no use of ‘suddenly’; few, if any, exclamation-marks, and so on. But Spellman is no student of Leonard, as his three previous novels, in very different genres and published under another name, attest. As a writer in both guises, he is his own man, adjusting his style to his form and purpose. The intense, overheated atmosphere of remote Argentinian sierra towns and the vibrancy of busy Buenos Aires are evoked through sharp detail. In portraying the roll-call of characters embroiled in the story, Spellman deploys simple brushstrokes of significant physical appearance. And yet the absolute precision in describing the process of cleaning a M1911 pistol, mounting a horse, or negotiating a roadworks construction-site, for example, show an authoritative writer fully in command of his material. </span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times;mso-bidi-font-family:Times;">Far South </span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times;mso-bidi-font-family:Times;">is an intriguing read, its mysteries deepening at every turn. As befits its genre, there are numerous twists, surprises and cul-de-sacs, but the abiding feeling is that the act of investigation, whether as artist or detective, generates more questions than answers. And in any case, approaching the truth does not necessarily dispel the mystery. If the world of art and theatre is ‘phantasmagoric’, Prez asks, ‘how much more illusory was this world than the world I’d been used to: the world of cops, and thieves and killers?’ This is compelling fiction that chips away at one’s sense of illusion and reality.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times;mso-bidi-font-family:Times;">The reader is not duty-bound to access the QR codes and website links by smartphone or computer, of course. The printed text offers a visually attractive, pleasantly tactile experience of reading in itself. But taking the extra step into the virtual world of the Far South Project is very worthwhile, bringing additional layers of possibility to the reading, and raising further tantalising speculation about why the book received a Creative Wales Award: what exactly are Spellman’s connections with Wales? And don’t some of those faces and places in the videos look strangely, mysteriously familiar?</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times;mso-bidi-font-family:Times;">Visit:<a href="http://www.far-south.org/"> www.far-south.org</a> and <a href="http://www.realandpresent.org/">www.realandpresent.org</a>.</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; font-size:100%;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; ">A shorter version of this was published in the Insider column, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 18px; "> <i>Western Mail,</i> on Saturday 3 </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 19px; ">March 2012.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; font-size:100%;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; "><b><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support writers and publishing in Wales by <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; ">subscribing</a></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; ">!</span></span><o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;color:#15222c;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-63213405592273362142012-02-27T10:43:00.002+00:002012-02-27T11:04:37.587+00:00Rhys Davies 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</w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;">Last week the Norwegian Church in Cardiff Bay played host to the Rhys Davies Short Story Competition ceremony. The night was kick-started by a preview screening of a recently rediscovered set of recorded interviews from 1991–1993 of Welsh fiction writers. The nine films comprise a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Who’s Who</i> of Wales’ authors writing fiction in English towards the end of the twentieth century. The interviews were produced by Professor Tony Curtis and shot at the Trefforest campus for a series from what was then the Polytechnic of Wales. These films will soon be available at <a href="http://www.literaturewales.org/">www.literaturewales.org</a>. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;">They comprise: Dannie Abse reading from his autobiographical book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">There was a Young Man from Cardiff</i> and </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;">his poem ‘Miss Crouch’; Ron Berry reading his story ‘A November Kill’; Emyr Humphreys with a section from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">A Toy Epic</i>; Siân James reading from her award-winning novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Yesterday</i>; Glyn Jones (‘It’s not by his beak you can judge a woodcock’); Elaine Morgan with an extract from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The Aquatic Ape</i>; Leslie Norris (‘A Flight of Geese’); </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana; ">Alun Richards (‘The Sabbatical’) and Bernice Rubens reading the first chapter of her just-published novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">A Solitary Grief</i>.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;">Our poets have not done too badly in terms of contemporary recordings, from the BBC radio broadcasts of Dylan Thomas’ Forties heyday to the late Sixties cultural film documentaries produced by John Ormond (who is the subject of Kieron Smith’s piece in the new edition of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/">New Welsh Review</a></i>, ‘John Ormond: Poetry, Broadcasting, Film’).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But nearly twenty-two years ago it struck Prof Curtis that while there were audio recordings of poets, ‘No one was filming fiction writers then. The opportunity to include older writers would not last much longer. Many of these writers are no longer with us so this is a unique record of their character and voice.’ Prof Curtis adds, ‘I recorded the new introductions last year in the same studio (now less used since the University of Glamorgan Atrium opened in Cardiff) and kept it deliberately low-key. No gimmicks or makeup, no media frills, just words. But what words! Leslie Norris’ reading of ‘A Flight of Geese’ still makes my cry. He had done a very memorable reading of the story to undergraduates that afternoon. There was little money in this for the writers who, without exception, were generous with their time - from Bernice Rubens who had won the Booker Prize to Ron Barry, who was ageing into neglect, apart from the efforts of Dai Smith and a couple of others.’<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;">Contemporary writers are just as generous, as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">New Welsh Review</i>’s latest online interviews, with essayist Robert Minhinnick, novelist Chris Meredith and poet Jane Yeh prove. Spring issue with exclusives from all three out now.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US; mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;">The Rhys Davies Short Story Competition 2012 was won by Kate Hamer for 'One Summer'. The equal runners-up were Bill Davies; Stevie Davies; Nigel Jarrett; Huw Lawrence; Rob Mimpriss; Derek Routledge; Ann Ruffell; Linda Ruheman, and Jo Verity. All nominees receive £100 and the winner, £1000. 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Gwen Davies' <i>Western Mail</i> Insider column published on Saturday 25 February 2012.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-size: 17px; line-height: 20px; "><b><i><br /></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-size: 17px; line-height: 20px; "><b><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support writers and publishing in Wales by <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; ">subscribing</a></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-size: 17px; line-height: 20px; ">! </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Verdana;mso-bidi-mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:Verdana;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen 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priority="37" name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Times; mso-ansi-language:EN-US;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoBodyText">26 letters in the alphabet. 4 countries (currently) in the UK. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">26 Treasures: The Book</i>, a pan-national poetry anthology, has 10 days to get 151 supporters. Without these, Unbound, its crowd-sourced publisher, will not proceed. Poetry by numbers this is not. It does however represent lyrics in which figures figure. It was the brainchild of business writer John Simmons. 26 authors were asked to write 62 words about pieces from national collections. From an embyonic London Design Festival exhibition at the V&A the project grew to encompass the National Library of Wales,<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>the Ulster Museum in Belfast and the National Museum of Scotland.</p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US">As ever, the Welsh contingent provides double for your money, since translations of originals in both Welsh and English are included (I declare an interest since my translation is among them). And since we are talking numbers, how fitting that this book’s pearl is the current winner of Translators House Wales’ challenge, ‘Hen Arian Papur’ by Hywel Meilyr Griffiths. The original, ‘Old Paper Money’, by Lin Sagovsky and Hywel’s translation are the best and most topical of Wales’ contribution. They were inspired by Aberystwyth and Tregaron ‘Black Sheep’ Bank notes on which the number of sheep penned in the fold, as it were, denoted their value. Lin Sagovsky imagines bankers in a desperate, pun-crazy rebranding exercise prior to liquidation (in 1815): ‘Take a gambol! / The bank that likes to say flock. / Tup quality from your local baa. / Sheep like Dolly like lolly. / Folding. We are.’ (And in Hywel’s final line, ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Aeth yr hwch drwy’r siop</i>.’) <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US">Apart from the obvious choice of Gillian Clarke, the lineup of writers for the original English poems in the Wales section has omissions, resulting in evidence of the occasional ‘outsider’ eye. But compensations are made in the translators list, for example Paul Henry, whose ‘Lineage’ betters Annes Glyn’s original ‘Llinach’ based on a family tree from Adam to Edward IV: ‘From King Primate to refugee / I scratched the parched earth for water, / food, unstitching my lineage / from the cracked plains, / believing in it. // Here, read this… read my dead palm.’ <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The same can be said for Rhys Iorwerth’s fine interpretation of Elen Lewis’ ‘Megan Eats Grapes’, based on a film of Lloyd George meeting Hitler. However, Elin ap Hywel’s translation ‘Storybook’ is just as perfect as its original, Mererid Hopwood, ‘Llyfr Mawr y Plant’, and Elin shows her credentials by being brave enough to adapt the title to its new audience.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span lang="EN-US">26 Treasures: The Book</span></i><span lang="EN-US"> offers Welsh greats alongside huge names such as Michael Longley, Paul Muldoon, Andrew Motion and Maura Dooley. Pledge £10 to Unbound by 1 March to make it happen. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:14.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;">This is a version of Gwen Davies' <i>Western Mail </i>Insider column published on Saturday 18 February 2012. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:19px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText2"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; "></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style=" ;font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:17px;"><b><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support writers and publishing in Wales by<a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; ">subscribing</a></b>!</span></span></p><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:14.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-no-proof:no;font-size:10.0pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-59914744752898650832012-02-13T13:08:00.003+00:002012-02-13T13:22:58.956+00:00Chris Meredith’s new masterpiece The Book of Idiots<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> 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<w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:Times; mso-ansi-language:EN-US;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoBodyText">Christopher Meredith’s last novel for adults was published in 1998, so his fanclub’s been a long time waiting. We will be rewarded on 3 April, the publishers assure me, when Seren bring out his new novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781854115652&tsid=3">The Book of Idiots</a></i>, which is previewed in the spring issue of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">New Welsh Review</i>.</p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US">Meredith made his name in 1989 when <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781854111999&tsid=5">Shifts</a></i>, his debut that became a classic of post-industrial south Wales, drawing on his time working in a steel plant, won the WAC Fiction Prize. The hallmarks (humour, work, male protagonists, superlative dialogue, history, politics and precision of place) that made <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Shifts </i>such a success are also present in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">The Book of Idiots</i>. In social terms, it marks Wales’ move towards the service industry but continues to commemorate the contribution of older men struggling to value themselves in a workplace that no longer makes things. Its southeast Wales setting is full of bridges, borders and bulwarks at once historically symbolic and geographically specific, and half of the action takes place around a walk to Carreg y Dial (Revenge Stone), monument for a Welsh-Norman assassination (‘Somebody ap Somebody killed Somebody Fitz Somebody.’) This is a globalised economy, however, and so most other settings are car journeys and generic offices or municipal buildings (after all, ‘misery happens quietly… next to coffee machines’).<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US">You will sail through this hilarious black comedy at one sitting. My favourite scenes include Jeff’s dissolving trunks and Graham deciding to quit after getting locked into the work bog, but nothing tops Wil’s extended guessing game of famous people’s deaths: ‘George Girshwin.’ ‘Piano fell on him.’ ‘Close. Brain tumour.’ ‘I can do Robert Maxwell.’ ‘And maybe somebody did.’ But before, like Chrysippus the Stoic, you die laughing, consider the theme: middle-aged men acting like idiots, having affairs then dying (methods various); also nationhood (declining) and language (ditto). Each chapter beautifully, seamlessly, elaborates a fall, whether from health, prowess or self-respect, and indeed physical ones which celebrate the lift and flight prior to descent, such as children’s games with skimming stones and paper planes or adult ones of parachute jumps and gliding. In life as in the game Best Man’s Fall, it’s all about ‘how artistically we [fall] to our last end, and how authentically dead we [are] on the field.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US">This is a novel about the seriousness of play, about hubris, friendship and sanity against the odds. It is also a literary masterpiece about narrative technique that plays with its own forms (tragedy, farce, romance). It is a thriller in which we guess who survives rather than who will die next. And it is a letter to a lover whose identity and fate the author wants us to have fun guessing (while we may). <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><o:p>Chris Meredith's other two novels for adults are: <a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781854112392&tsid=7">Sidereal Time</a> and </o:p></span> <a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781854111302&tsid=9">Griffri</a>. You can read <i>New Welsh Review</i>'s world exclusive interview with Chris about <i>The Book of Idiots</i> at <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/">www.newwelshreview.com</a> from 1 March.</p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:14.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">This is a version of Gwen Davies' <i>Western Mail</i> Insider column published on Saturday 11 February 2012. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px;">Next editor's blog, <i>26Treasures: The Book</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><b><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support writers and publishing in Wales by <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; ">subscribing</a></b>!</span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-22571559818347934912012-02-08T11:28:00.002+00:002012-02-08T11:35:39.949+00:00The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. Review by Sophie Long<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; ">One of the great curses of being a creative writing student is that you find that you can no longer just read a book without analysing or finding fault. Of course, a book like <i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Night-Circus-Erin-Morgenstern/9780307938909">The Night Circus</a></i> that has been fawned over by agents, critics and even film studios cannot fail to disappoint some, but in this case the praise is also not entirely unjustified. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times">One of the major criticisms has been that the novel lacks a sense of place. It is true that the locations outside of the circus are pretty much interchangeable, with a few irritating cultural mistakes (characters from London ‘walk for two blocks’ and wear rings on their ‘pinkie’ fingers) but would the performers of a travelling circus really be attached to a particular place? The physical space of the circus is strongly evoked and passages like the Wishing Tree or Pool of Tears really display Morgenstern’s gift for description and detail. The physical world she creates is very detailed without there being overkill and it is easy to imagine oneself inside it. It also functions well as a common denominator amongst all the characters, and is a force that drives the plot forward. However, this is only in the latter half of the novel. These characters have all been plucked from somewhere and thrown into this ‘dark, dazzling world’ and yet they bring none of their former life with them. This was perhaps intentional, making them mysterious and otherworldly – but the effect is more flat and two dimensional. Perhaps this explains the criticism – not that the circus is the only fully realised space, but the characters themselves are just a little lacking.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times">Celia and Marco are well built in that their relationship with each other and the circus is very well realised. However, they themselves also seem to have no background, interests or relationship with anything outside of the circus and their challenge. This is understandable as the book progress and the stakes get higher, but in the beginning one imagines they would have different experiences. This would have given their characters some kind of visible journey, but as it is neither of them change much as a result of their being part of the circus, or through their relationship. </p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><i>The Night Circus</i> is beautiful, both in terms of the physical book's appearance and the dazzling details between the black-edged pages. It seems though that behind all this showmanship, Erin Morgenstern has been unable to translate this world as successfully onto the page as she might have wished. If she had perhaps attempted another draft, the annoying kinks that make it rather a frustrating read might have been ironed out.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times">Sophie Long works at Blackwell's bookshop and is an online contributor to <i>New Welsh Review</i>.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">Next editor's blog: <b>advance review of Chris Meredith's <i><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781854115652&tsid=2">The Book of Idiots</a></i>,</b> his long-awaited fourth novel, published on 3 April by Seren. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 20px; "><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support writers and publishing in Wales by <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; ">subscribing</a>!</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><br /></p>Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-48524447300277154282012-02-06T09:35:00.005+00:002012-02-06T09:42:45.299+00:00Dorothy Edwards, aesthete or ‘socialist Welsh spy’? Plus nude camping<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>442</o:Words> <o:characters>2524</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>21</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>5</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>3099</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoBodyText">One of the many juggling acts this job involves is to balance the conflicting expectations of readers and writers: creative versus academic; general reviewer v trained critic, living legend versus author long ago quick-limed in the canon.</p><p class="MsoBodyText"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">Human debris litters the waters of literary mags: a headline-seeking minister kicks against the current, muttering ‘subsidy per page!’; a rock-marooned scholar taps out ‘postcolonial’ in morse-code; funding mandarins tread water, chanting: Cuts! Kindles! Committee places! KPIs!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">We Welsh love to bicker, especially if public funding is involved. But, to focus on that most unequal pairing listed above, the quick and the dead, surely there’s room for both? Put simply, past writers inhabit our hinterland. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">Our spring issue offers contrasting views of interwar author Dorothy Edwards. Her biographer and editor Claire Flay, like Edwards an Ogmore Vale girl, explores. This politically engaged author was brought up to expect imminent revolution by a mother who was a pit-head baths campaigner and a father who camped nude ‘in order to establish the degree of materialism necessary for human survival.’ Edwards was a socialist and yet the world of her fiction, <i><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781905762460&tsid=3">Rhapsody</a></i><span style="font-style:normal"><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781905762460&tsid=3"> </a>(Library of Wales) and </span><i><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781906784294&tsid=5">Winter Sonata</a></i><span style="font-style:normal"> (Honno) is the rarefied one of country houses and idle elites. Claire offers a solution to this apparent paradox that has troubled readers and critics since the books’ publication in the 1920s: her conviction and evidence, presented in her biography, </span><i><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9780708324400&tsid=8">Dorothy Edwards</a></i><span style="font-style:normal">, published in the UWP Writers of Wales series, that ‘rather than aspiring to a middle-class English voice in her fiction, she was undermining that world in order to attack it.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">Both biography and <i>Winter Sonata</i><span style="font-style:normal"> are reviewed in the same issue by Steven Lovatt, a man who dares to question the postcolonial cause: ‘For good or ill, some recent treatments of Edwards’ books have created the impression that their status within Wales rides in part upon whether they exhibit a “postcolonial consciousness”.’ While exempting Claire from this camp, he is convinced by her theory of ‘embedded [class] critique’ within the fiction but not by her conclusion that both Edwards’ books are ‘“permeated… most of all”’ with the author’s ‘“awareness of power structures”’. He certainly takes issue with Claire’s image of Edwards as ‘“a sort of socialist Welsh spy, gathering crucial material with which to attack the ruling classes in her writing”… she was also, in ways both peculiar to herself and characteristic of her times, an aesthete and egoist [with a] sometimes crippling inner feeling of estrangement.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">Since Dorothy Edwards threw herself under a train near Caerffili at the age of 31, we can agree, at least, that she was crippled by emotional turmoil, though we may forever guess whether the cause was political or personal. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> </p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span style="font-size:14.0pt">This is a version of Gwen Davies' <i>Western Mail</i> Insider column published on Saturday 4 February 2012.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; "><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support writers and publishing in Wales by <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; ">subscribing</a>! </span><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> </span><!--[endif]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-39911924637682911862012-01-31T17:10:00.004+00:002012-01-31T17:20:43.628+00:00Selected Unpublished Blog Posts of a Mexican Panda Express Employee by Megan Boyle. Review by Richard Owain Roberts<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>575</o:Words> <o:characters>3283</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>27</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>6</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>4031</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 19px; "><b><i> </i></b></span><i><span style="mso-tab-count:2"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>i want to fall backwards into a pit of bioluminescent pokemon</i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">Even for those of us who have never imagined falling backwards into a pit of bioluminescent Pokemon, Megan Boyle’s debut collection, <a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Selected-Unpublished-Blog-Posts-Mexican-Panda-Express-Employee-Megan-Boyle/9780982206720">Selected Unpublished Blog Posts of a Mexican Panda Express Employee</a>, is relentlessly authentic in its portrayal of boredom, loneliness and introspection.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">Although released as a poetry collection, it would be better described as a poetic collection of thoughts, essays and stories.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">Thoughts: ‘unpublished tweets’<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><i>argued for an hour on the telephone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>now looking at pictures of carbs<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">Essays: ‘everyone i’ve had sex with’<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i>noah: we met in college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>he was in acting school and had a fairy tattoo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>one time we smoked weed under some train tracks and started rubbing each other’s heads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>he liked paul simon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>sex was kind of routine but okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>mechanical kisser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>we didn’t use condoms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>happened a few times.<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">Stories: ‘my family on thanksgiving and most holidays’<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i>someone will inevitably tell a story which climaxes with them crying a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>my dad, if he cries, will say ‘oh dear, why am i doing this’ and i will feel equally endeared and embarrassed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>most of his stories are interesting but he repeats a lot of them and acts defensive if someone reminds him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>there is a running joke about my mom feeling ‘oddly moved’ by things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>my mom seems to frequently feel ‘oddly moved’ by small encounters with people or books or newspaper articles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>when she reaches the point of a story where she cries, she will say ‘oh here i am, ‘oddly moved’ again’ and laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>she is a volunteer at the aquarium and tells detailed stories about fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>they are kind of boring stories<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">Self-consciousness is also something that Boyle/the narrator is familiar with: ‘5.07.10’:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p><p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><i>my philosophy professor asked if we ever looked in the mirror until<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>our faces started to look strange and alien and we dissociated from<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>ourselves<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>i was excited he asked that and i nodded my head<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>he said ‘oh, you do that, megan?’ and a lot of people looked at me<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>i said ‘i do that’<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>he kept talking and people kept looking at me’<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">Critics of confessional/autobiographical writing would no doubt view examples such as this as solipsistic even.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>However, Boyle’s sparse, calm, description does mean that the reader is able to view the event retrospectively and with detachment (in much the way that Boyle/the narrator is doing herself).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><i><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">Though much of the collection is introspective and downbeat, when Boyle chooses to looks outwards, she provides the reader with some very funny moments.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">From ‘3.07.08’<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:2"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>richard gere is kissing diane lane again, like spinning her around<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:2"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>i am unsure of this move’s plot but it feels like someone has cancer<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">From ‘2.18.09’<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>most people love sushi<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:2"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>most men seeking women in baltimore on craigslist say they like<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>hiking, sushi, and movies<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>most women seeking men in baltimore on craigslist like posting<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>photos of vaginas<o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">The book closes with ‘lies i have told’, which reads as an amalgamation of everything touched upon by Boyle in the collection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It makes for engaging, funny, and thoughtful reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My particular favourite:<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><i>‘we go to my uncle’s for hanukkah’ <o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><span style="mso-tab-count:2"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>i don’t have an uncle <o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt">Megan Boyle’s writing already has a strong online presence/following, but this collection demonstrates that she has strong crossover potential and deserves to be read by as wide an audience as possible.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><b>Richard Owain Roberts</b> lives in Cardiff. He has two stories in Parthian's recent anthology, Nu2: Memorable Firsts <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> </p>The next editor's blog is on <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>7</o:Words> <o:characters>42</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>1</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>1</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>51</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--><span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:Times; mso-ansi-language:EN-GB"><b>Dorothy Edwards, aesthete or ‘socialist Welsh spy’? </b></span><div><br /></div><div><!--EndFragment--><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support writers and publishing in Wales by <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp">subscribing</a>! <br /><p></p> <p class="BodyA" style="tab-stops:35.45pt 70.85pt 106.3pt 5.0cm 177.15pt 212.6pt 248.05pt 283.45pt 318.9pt 354.35pt 389.75pt 425.2pt 456.6pt"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman";color:windowtext"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--></span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Times New Roman";color:windowtext"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--></div>Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-47585080098239115162012-01-30T10:19:00.004+00:002012-01-30T10:36:24.879+00:00Brave New World that Has Such Objects In It<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>420</o:Words> <o:characters>2397</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>19</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>4</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>2943</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoBodyText">My relationship with physical stuff was never easy. That I was a clumsy child whose most memorable wreckage was the school projector, may have jaded my attitude. The shopping mania of the boom years didn’t help, nor does living with a hoarder whose speciality is DIY kit that mainly remains unused. So the trend towards upcycled clothes and those aspects of austerity that make us waste less in our personal lives, are home truths for me.</p><p class="MsoBodyText"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">But as sentient beings we aren’t all comfy in our brave new virtual world. Letting go of things can be hard, and since nostalgia and sentimentality are bound up with anxiety, the runaway success of books celebrating objects, such as <i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/History-World-100-Objects-Neil-MacGregor/9780670022700">A History of the World in 100 Objects</a></i><span style="font-style:normal"> and last year’s Costa biography winner, </span><i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Hare-with-Amber-Eyes-Edmund-de-Waal/9780099539551">The Hare with Amber Eyes</a>,</i><span style="font-style:normal"> is no surprise. A new paperback edition of a 2007 title adds to the pile: </span><i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Evocative-Objects-Sherry-Turkle/9780262516778">Evocative Objects, Things We Think With</a></i><span style="font-style:normal">, in which editor Sherry Turkle allocates to trinkets the role of ‘companions to our emotional lives’. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">Edmund de Waal, author of <i>The Hare with Amber Eyes</i><span style="font-style:normal"> is no lazy fetishist of his ancestor Charles Ephrussi’s collection of Japanese ‘netsuke’ carvings as he traces its displacement, alongside his family, across the world. How could he be, when Charles was one of two historical model’s for Proust’s Swann, and Proust the pastry-chef of the madeleine, that ‘evocative object’ par excellence? De Waal knows full well that the unfashionable scale and source of his family’s wealth (Jewish bankers) are unlikely to elicit reader sympathy as to its loss, and yet his telling does so. Equally civilised is his patience with the opposite urge (to erase), such as his grandmother’s burning letters: ‘Why keep things, archive your intimacies? Why not let thirty years of shared conversation go spiralling in ash?’<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">A potter, like de Waal, Turner prizewinner Grayson Perry has the obsessive hallmarks of a collector. Traumatised at age four by emotional shutdown following his father’s departure, Perry’s feelings steered into fantasy and fetish, especially around female outfits. Considering this, it is incredible that emotional articulacy characterises the first person voice of his engaging biography, <i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Grayson-Perry-Grayson-Perry/9780099485162">Grayson Perry, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl</a></i><span style="font-style:normal">. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">Grayson states, ‘getting attention is a large part of making art’, and his work is indeed a serious exploration of this apparently flippant comment. His exhibition, <i><a href="http://www.britishmuseum.org/whats_on/exhibitions/grayson_perry.aspx">The Tomb of the Unknown Craftsman</a></i><span style="font-style:normal">, has extended its showing to 26 February at the British Museum. Although his own installations are showcased, Grayson’s main role is as curator to others who failed to gain or who shunned attention. Grayson is doubly brave. He runs counter to celebrity culture </span><span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">by f</span><span lang="EN-US" style="Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-USfont-family:";">ê</span><span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">ting</span> anonymous craftwork. And he does it in a frock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->This is a version of Gwen Davies' <i>Western Mail </i>Insider column published on Saturday 28 January 2012.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support writers and publishing in Wales by <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; ">subscribing</a>!</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><br /></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:19px;"> </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-64243648496785259922012-01-24T15:25:00.003+00:002012-01-24T15:50:55.669+00:00The Klezmer revival in Wales by David Thorpe<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>1291</o:Words> <o:characters>7363</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>61</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>14</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>9042</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Several Welsh bands are experimenting <span style="font-family:Times;">with</span> the Eastern European Klezmer tradition and finding intriguing parallels. Klezmer is a strong part of a musical <span style="font-family:Times;">tradition</span> that <span style="font-family:Times;">originates</span> with the Ashkenazic Jews of Eastern Europe. It is lively dance music, infectious <span style="font-family:Times;">and</span> laden with emotion - both happy and bittersweet but ultimately <span style="font-family:Times;">lifting</span> the spirit. Like traditional Welsh music, it has been <span style="font-family:Times;">largely</span> passed on from generation to generation by example rather than written <span style="font-family:Times;">down</span>. Several Welsh bands are now experimenting <span style="font-family:Times;">with</span> playing <span style="font-family:Times;">Klezmer</span> and, in one notable case, hybridising the style with Welsh music.</span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Cardiff's <a href="http://www.Klezmerkollectiv.com/">Klezmer Kollectiv</a> is an eight-piece who play all around the Cardiff area. They <span style="font-family:Times;">employ</span> the <span style="font-family:Times;">traditional</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">instruments</span> of clarinet, accordion, bass and guitar, but also add <span style="font-family:Times;">cello</span>, sax, <span style="font-family:Times;">trombone</span> and cajon (a box containing a snare for percussion) to give a full, romping sound.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Similarly the Llanidloes-based <a href="http://www.klezmonauts.co.uk/">Klezmonauts</a>, while gigging less often, are educating <span style="font-family:Times;">audiences</span> in this infectious dance style.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Machynlleth-based former<a href="http://www.embersong.com/"> <span style="font-family:Times;">Ember</span></a> member Rebecca Sullivan is also <span style="font-family:Times;">experimenting</span> with Klezmer at the monthly Ceinws acoustic sessions.<span style="font-family:Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">South Wales duo <a href="http://www.fiddlebox.net/">Fiddlebox</a>, however, are unique in trying to meld that <span style="font-family:Times;">tradition</span> with the Welsh one, and in so doing to redefine the boundaries of Welsh <span style="font-family:Times;">traditional</span> music.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times;"> </span>Fiddlebox claim to have <span style="font-family:Times;">invented</span> a new musical style, which they call 'Klezreig' - a synthesis of Cymreig and <span style="font-family:Times;">Klezmer</span> that is proving highly popular with audiences everywhere. The duo are fiddle-player <span style="font-family:Times;">Helen</span> Adam and George Whitfield on accordion. They have just recorded their second important album, <i>On The East Wind</i><span style="font-style:normal">, </span><span style="font-family:Times;">which was launched late last year</span> at a <span style="font-family:Times;">special</span> concert at Burnett's Hill Chapel, Martletwy, Pembrokeshire.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Nowhere is the Klezreig <span style="font-family:Times;">style</span> better exemplified than by a Klezmer version of the traditional song <span style="font-family:Times;">'Machynlleth</span><span style="font-family:Times;">'</span> which, by being played in a Klezmer scale, immediately gains emotional poignancy.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times;"> </span>This version arose from an improvisation at a party in Machynlleth, between Helen and Tony Corden, the guitarist and organiser of the politics and music <span style="font-family:Times;">festival</span> <i><a href="http://www.elsuenoexiste.com/">El Sueno Existe</a></i><span style="font-style:normal">.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">I interviewed them at George's house in Narberth, Pembrokeshire, and <span style="font-family:Times;">wanted</span> to know first of all about the story behind the title.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Helen began her answer by referring to one of the album's key tracks, <span style="font-family:Times;">‘</span>The Girl From The <span style="font-family:Times;">East<i>’</i></span>. <span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">‘</span><span style="font-family:Times;">This song </span>takes <span style="font-family:Times;">as </span>its starting point <span style="font-family:Times;">an</span> English folk song, 'The Girl I Left Behind Me'<span style="font-style:normal">. I wrote three variations </span><span style="font-family:Times;">on</span> it... the first is written in the Klezmer style<span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">’</span>. <span style="font-family:Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">George has a more poetic attitude to the identity of <span style="font-family:Times;">‘The</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">Girl</span> From The East<span style="font-family:Times;">’</span>. <span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">‘</span><span style="font-family:Times;">She's</span> got her eyes on her own country in Eastern Europe, but is dancing in these green hills of Wales!<span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">’</span> he <span style="font-family:Times;">smiles</span>. <span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">‘</span><span style="font-family:Times;">The</span> <span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">“</span><span style="font-family:Times;">girl</span> from <span style="font-family:Times;">the e</span>ast<span style="font-family:Times;">”</span> is <span style="font-family:Times;">actually</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">Helen</span>!<span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">’</span><span style="font-family:Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Helen Adam is one quarter <span style="font-family:Times;">Lithuanian</span> Jewish, and a quarter German, on her <span style="font-family:Times;">mother's</span> side, a part of her heritage of which she is increasingly aware. So you could say she arrived in Wales on the east <span style="font-family:Times;">wind</span>. A recent visit to <span style="font-family:Times;">the</span> Jewish <span style="font-family:Times;">Museum</span> in Berlin led her to reconnect to her Jewish heritage.</span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">‘</span><span style="font-family:Times;">My</span> grandmother emigrated to Germany and converted to Buddhism to marry a German Buddhist writer,<span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">’</span> she says. <span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">‘</span><span style="font-family:Times;">Then</span> she left him and came with my mother to England and <span style="font-family:Times;">became</span> a Catholic. But she ended her life in a convent in North Wales! The Klezmer track <span style="font-family:Times;">‘</span>Hora Dorothea<span style="font-family:Times;">’</span> on our first album called, simply, <i>Fiddlebox</i><span style="font-style: normal">, is about her.</span><span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">’</span><span style="font-family:Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">If you <span style="font-family:Times;">didn't</span> know Fiddlebox was a <span style="font-family:Times;">duo</span>, at times you'd think there were four of them, especially <span style="font-family:Times;">since</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">both</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">members </span>sing.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times;"> </span>This is in <span style="font-family:Times;">many</span> ways also due to George Whitfield's ability to make his custom-made accordion, which is vital to the unique Fiddlebox style, sound like two instruments at once. George had his accordion <span style="font-family:Times;">specially</span> constructed by a top craftsman, Claudio Beltrami, in Stradella, Italy. It <span style="font-family:Times;">employs</span> a unique bass switching system, designed to his <span style="font-family:Times;">specification</span>, with an electric midi on board (that he doesn't use for the purely acoustic <span style="font-family:Times;">Fiddlebox</span>), three <span style="font-family:Times;">rows</span> of bass buttons that permit more complex bass lines and four sets of hand made reeds. Together these produce a <span style="font-family:Times;">big</span> sound with chunky chords, that is usually only achieved with larger <span style="font-family:Times;">concert</span> accordions. The bellows have a short <span style="font-family:Times;">delay</span> time enabling a punchy reverb effect, which George uses eerily to open his song <span style="font-family:Times;">‘Simply</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">Fly’</span>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Helen and George are both immigrants to Wales, where they met, but they have made it their home.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times;"> </span>Helen is fluent in Welsh and has <span style="font-family:Times;">represented</span> Wales at the International Celtic Congress. Fiddlebox are a regular at events at the National Botanic Gardens and the Royal Welsh Show.</span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Times;">‘So</span>, <span style="font-family:Times;">the</span> <span style="font-family:Times;"><i>“</i>girl</span> from the east"<span style="font-family:Times;"><i> </i>i</span><span style="font-family:Times;">s</span> happy to <span style="font-family:Times;">be</span> here, but remembers her country,<span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">’</span> says Helen. <span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">‘</span><span style="font-family:Times;">She</span> feels an interloper, but that's how I present the Welsh material we play because I don't think I can pretend to <span style="font-family:Times;">be</span> Welsh. <span style="font-family:Times;">We</span> are trying to channel Welsh music through the prism of our own identities.<span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">’</span><span style="font-family:Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">George nods. <span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">‘</span><span style="font-family:Times;">We</span> are doing what no <span style="font-family:Times;">one</span> else is doing. I think it's a shame that Welsh culture has a lack of extension outside Wales, <span style="font-family:Times;">unlike</span> Irish culture which extends all over world. One of the reasons for this is that <span style="font-family:Times;">there</span> is a perception that Welsh music is just scales and arpeggios and we are trying to say it's not true.<span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">’</span><span style="font-family:Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Helen attributes this to the point at which <span style="font-family:Times;">Welsh</span> music was written down. In fact, its historical development up to date seems to <span style="font-family:Times;">have</span> gone through two phases. Firstly, before the advent of Methodism, Welsh music was highly social, just like Klezmer, and centred around <span style="font-family:Times;">community</span> celebrations, both <span style="font-family:Times;">seasonal</span> and familial. It was jolly and upbeat.</span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">In the eighteenth century, however, <span style="font-family:Times;">Methodist</span> ministers frowned on such profane practices and the music became more <span style="font-family:Times;">sombre</span>, or overtly religious. There are stories of musicians' harps being stowed away and falling into disuse.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Secondly, there is a feeling amongst <span style="font-family:Times;">some</span> historians of music, such as Phyllis Kinney, author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Welsh-Traditional-Music-Phyllis-Kinney/dp/070832357X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1321989788&sr=8-1"><span style="font-family:Times;"><i>Welsh</i></span><i> Traditional Music</i></a><span style="font-style:normal">, that the scale in which Welsh music </span><span style="font-family:Times;">was</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">originally</span> played was the Dorian scale, which contains notes similar to those used in <span style="font-family:Times;">seventh</span> and minor chords.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">However, when it came to be <span style="font-family:Times;">written</span> down, by collectors such as D. Emlyn Evans and Llewelyn Alaw, there was a tendency to regularise it to fit with accepted musical theory. For example, seven-bar phrases might become eight-bar, and Dorian might become minor. This is how it is <span style="font-family:Times;">now</span> played. A further change is that originally tunes were closely associated with the lyrics, and thus followed the stresses and <span style="font-family:Times;">cadences</span> of the Welsh language. Often, the original words were lost, and this has contributed to a further regularisation of the tunes. Therefore, in the past, it is likely that Welsh music would have had more emotional depth or <span style="font-family:Times;">breadth</span> than it does <span style="font-family:Times;">now</span>, perhaps something like the blues and gospel music.</span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Fiddlebox's Helen Adam offers her own angle on this: <span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">‘</span><span style="font-family:Times;">For</span> me, Welsh music must be robust <span style="font-family:Times;">enough</span> to stand it<span style="font-family:Times;">s</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">own</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">ground against</span> others, and not have too much preciousness about it,<span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">’</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">she</span> says.<span style="font-family:Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">The <span style="font-family:Times;">implication</span> is that <span style="font-family:Times;">we</span> need to keep an open mind about how to present this material. A culture is <span style="font-family:Times;">not</span> static, <span style="font-family:Times;">but rather changes</span> in reaction to the times. Just as it has been forced to <span style="font-family:Times;">evolve</span> in the past, as <span style="font-family:Times;">Wales</span> opens up to welcome visitors from abroad, <span style="font-family:Times;">this</span> is bound to influence its culture <span style="font-family:Times;">and</span> its music. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">But Fiddlebox's new album is not entirely </span><span style="font-size: large; font-family:Times;">Klezreig</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">. George Whitfield cites his influences as rock, country, blues and folk, </span><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;">while</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"> Helen also is classically trained and </span><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;">practises</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"> contemporary composition.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; font-family:Times;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Between them they offer the full <span style="font-family:Times;">emotional</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">range</span> and some very catchy tunes, from </span><span style="font-size: large; font-family:Times;">George's</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"> upbeat </span><span style="font-size: large; font-family:Times;">‘</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Simply Fly</span><span style="font-size: large; font-family:Times;">’</span><i style="font-size: large; "> </i><span style="font-size: large; font-style: normal; ">to an update </span><span style="font-size: large; font-family:Times;">of</span> <span style="font-size: large; font-family:Times;">the</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"> gruelling traditional English song </span><span style="font-size: large; font-family:Times;">‘</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">Pills of </span><span style="font-size: large; font-family:Times;">White</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"> Mercury</span><span style="font-size: large; font-family:Times;">’</span><i style="font-size: large; "> </i><span style="font-size: large; font-style: normal; ">which is about syphilis in the eighteenth century.</span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">George observes, <span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">‘</span><span style="font-family:Times;">On</span> the whole album, <span style="font-family:Times;">nothing</span> was recorded that wasn't played live first, and much <span style="font-family:Times;">of</span> it was played live for 6 months beforehand to make sure we had it down.<span style="Times New Roman"font-family:";">’</span><span style="font-family:Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:Times;">Fiddlebox</span> were <span style="font-family:Times;">insistent</span> that they wanted no special effects like echo or distortion. It would all sound <span style="font-family:Times;">exactly</span> as it would at a live gig. The <span style="font-family:Times;">album</span> was recorded in an old Welsh chapel by producer David Unlimbo. The chapel also contained nesting swallows, and the mikes picked up their chirruping songs. Listen closely to the album and you can hear them, deliberately left in.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;font-size:130%;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;">The <span style="font-family:Times;">swallows</span> are gone now, blown on the east wind far away for the winter. Perhaps they <span style="font-family:Times;">are</span> like <span style="font-family:Times;">the</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">girl</span> <span style="font-family:Times;">from</span> the east,<span style="font-style:normal"> and dream of </span><span style="font-family:Times;">their</span> homeland. Except Fiddlebox's girl has made Wales her home, and Welsh music is all <span style="font-family:Times;">the</span> more enriched for it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-family: georgia; line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support writers and publishing in Wales by <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; ">subscribing</a>!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-family: georgia; line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#15222c;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; ">Gwen's next blog: more on Grayson Perry, <i>The Hare with the Amber Eyes </i>and the renaissance of the object</span></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoList" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt"><span style="font-family:Times;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-70963556612793934022012-01-23T14:34:00.003+00:002012-01-23T14:45:25.068+00:00Handbag etiquette and A.N. Wilson roots for Wales!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>405</o:Words> <o:characters>2310</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>19</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>4</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>2836</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">Among DT grand-daughter Hannah Ellis’ plans to revive the Dylan Thomas Society (WM, 14/1/12) is an interactive version of <i><a href="http://classiclit.about.com/od/christmasstoriesholiday/a/aa_childswales.htm">A Child’s Christmas in Wales</a></i><span style="font-style:normal">. For my mother, it was decade-spanning stocking fodder, with its ‘shawling snow’ and ‘polar cats’. Happy days, and yet too much pudding chokes the dog, as the Welsh idiom goes. Two recent titles from London publishers prove that DT’s shadow continues to dampen our new fiction pages.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Cowards-Tale-Vanessa-Gebbie/9781608197729">The Coward’s Tale</a></i><span style="font-style:normal"> by Vanessa Gebbie won the </span><i>Telegraph</i><span style="font-style:normal">’s Novel in a Year award and an accolade (his first for Wales?) from A.N. Wilson. </span><i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Thoughts-Happenings-Wilfred-Price-Purveyor-Superior-Funerals-Wendy-Jones/9781780330563">The Thoughts and Happenings of Wilfred Price Purveyor of Superior Funerals</a></i><span style="font-style:normal"> is Wendy Jones’ fiction debut. That she previously wrote the biography of the transvestite potter, </span><i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Grayson-Perry-Grayson-Perry/9780099485162">Grayson Perry, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Girl</a>,</i><span style="font-style:normal"> is attractive, as is the deluxe hardback edition of her novel. But my ideal of fictional small-town life is closer to </span><i>Psychoville</i><span style="font-style:normal"> than Llareggub, so I was deflated to read Jones on blog.booktopia.com.au: ‘I listen to [</span><i>Under Milk Wood</i><span style="font-style:normal">] most days’. And both </span><i>Thoughts and Happenings…</i><span style="font-style:normal"> and </span><i>The Coward’s Tale </i><span style="font-style:normal">were rendered limp at first glance by their tableaux of eccentrics defined by honorifics and occupation. Reviewers: prove me wrong! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">Mid-decade Manhattan is the place to escape Welsh clichés, even though Dylan died in 1953 at NY’s Chelsea hotel. My Santa wish-list for a <i>Mad Men</i> Series 5 DVD was foiled by legal wrangles keeping the masterpiece off-air (from forbidden BskyB) all last year and up to March. Since one of Don Draper’s bed mates, according to the <i>Times</i>, was ‘not another woman but <i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Best-Everything-Rona-Jaffe/9780141196312">The Best of Everything</a></i>, [a] 1958 novel by Rona Jaffe’, I gave that a go instead. The career girl genre never shook my Martini, although I enjoyed the holiday R4 broadcast on Helen Gurly Brown’s <i>Sex and the Single Girl</i> (1962), revealing it as another of the genre’s pioneers as well as being a model for <i>Mad Men.</i> So Jaffe’s novel being dubbed as a precursor to <i>Sex in the City</i> should have been a warning. It is baggy, and while its matching handbag etiquette is educational, as is its portrayal of pre-Pill sex anxiety, there is nothing here of sexual mores (and indeed fashion mags) that Sylvia Plath didn’t put pithier in <i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Bell-Jar-Sylvia-Plath/9780571081783">The Bell Jar</a></i> only five years later: ‘Bile green. They were promising it for fall, only Hilda, as usual, was half a year ahead of time. Bile green with black, bile green with white, bile green with nile green, its kissing cousin…. Fashion blurbs, silver and full of nothing, sent up their fishy bubbles.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">Postscript: <a href="http://www.ft.com/cms/s/2/44d6d466-2344-11e1-af98-00144feabdc0.html#axzz1kICfRdTP">A.N. Wilson on <i>Resistance</i></a>. Gets the film, still doesn’t get the language. We know we're fascinating but give us a rest, dear. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">This is a version of Gwen Davies' <i>Western Mail</i> Insider column, published on Saturday 21 January 2012</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-family: georgia; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px; "><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support writers and publishing in Wales by <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; ">subscribing</a>!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"> </span><!--[endif]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-16867707786393942012012-01-19T14:16:00.003+00:002012-01-19T14:24:28.862+00:00The Echo Chamber, Chapter Cardiff, 27-28 Jan<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Verdana"></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">At some point in your life you may have found yourself wondering what might happen if four international avant-garde theatre actors and producers came together to create a piece of performance art exploring the peculiarities and mysteries of the human condition. If so, then the Llanarth Group’s newest production, <i><a href="http://www.chapter.org/25118.html">The Echo Chamber</a></i> might satisfy your curiosity. Weaving together music, text and sound, the group’s latest offering claims to explore the relationship between our physical bodies and that immeasurable ‘something else’ that has been the domain of philosophers for centuries. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">But if the Llanarth Group’s reputation is anything to go by, this will not be merely idle musing. Following on the heels of <i><a href="http://www.colum.edu/dance_center/performances/The%20Llanarth%20Group/index.php">Told by the Wind</a></i>, a production whose success saw it tour between Chicago, Poland, Berlin and Portugal, <i>The Echo Chamber</i> places two men in separate rooms and incites them to ‘dance the other’s absence’, as <i>Chicago Time Out</i> put it. The piece is a labyrinth, reverberating with the echoes of memory, in which inner landscapes sound and resound. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Arial"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font: 12.0px Times">‘<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">This is all very well,’ you may say, ‘but what does that mean?’ I don’t know, but if any production team can pull off such a feat, it is the one behind <i>The Echo Chamber</i>. This quadrumvirate of introspection is made up of playwright Kate O’Reilly, whose Ted Hughes Award-winning piece <i>Persians</i> was recently staged on an army base in the Brecon Beacons, and Phillip Zarrilli, </span></span>internationally renowned director, actor, actor-trainer, and author (and founder of the Llanarth Group), as well as director and artist Peader Kirk of European avant-garde production company Mkultra and actor Ian Morgan, in his first performance in Wales since returning from seven years working in Poland. If the clear wealth of this team’s experience at the cutting edge of performance art doesn’t convinced you of the calibre of the performance, then perhaps a glance at the glowing reviews will. <i>The Guardian</i> described it as ‘hypnotic…a haunting, painterly beauty…[with] the astringent purity of a haiku poem…[an] intense meditation in movement’, while <i>British Theatre Guide</i> calls it ‘easily the most hypnotic piece of theatre I have experienced.’ <i>The Echo Chamber</i> premieres in Cardiff’s Chapter Arts Centre on 27-28 January and plays again on 2-4 February.</span></p><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-family: georgia; font-size: 12px; "><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support literary writers and literary publishing in Wales by <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; ">subscribing</a>!</span></div><p></p>Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-50432100897037760712012-01-18T14:08:00.000+00:002012-01-18T14:09:11.926+00:00Etchings for Primo Levi by Jane Joseph. Exhibition review by Paul Griffiths<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.mostyn.org/whats_on/etchings_for_primo_levi">Etchings for Primo Levi by Jane Joseph</a></span></i></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">Review by Paul Griffiths of an exhibition at the Mostyn Gallery, Llandudno</span></b></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><b></b><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><b>Gallery 4: </b>19th January - 11th March 2012; <b><a href="http://www.mostyn.org/whats_on/event_detail/etchings_for_primo_levi_-_talk">opening event</a>:</b> Saturday 28th January, 2pm</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">Jane Joseph is a painter, draftsman and printmaker whose reputation, since the late 1970s, has been based on her integrated approach to both her subject matter—notably, the post-industrial Thames bank of West London—and her methods of working, in which her drawings and prints, in particular, create a strong and distinctive perception of reality.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">In 1999 and 2001, Joseph was commissioned by the Folio Society to produce etchings to accompany their special editions of works by Primo Levi, <i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/If-This-is-ManThe-Truce-Primo-Levi/9780349100135">If This is a Man</a></i> (published 2000) and <i>The Truce</i> (2002). The two suites of etchings now exist in two modes; as images that relate to specific texts in each book, and as sets of the original prints to be exhibited.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">Both sets of prints have been shown together once before, in 2004, at the School of Art Gallery, Aberystwyth. The Mostyn's present exhibition, timed to coincide with <span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Helvetica Neue UltraLight'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://hmd.org.uk/events/find/wales">Holocaust Memorial Day</a> on 27th January,</span></span> is another opportunity to view all these prints together<span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Helvetica Neue UltraLight'; ">. </span>On the 28th, January Jane Joseph will be in conversation in the gallery with Emma Hill, Director of the Eagle Gallery, London, with whom she has had a long term working relationship. This show also coincides and interacts with the exhibition in gallery 3, <i>Anselm Keifer: Artist Rooms</i><span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Helvetica Neue UltraLight'; ">.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Helvetica Neue UltraLight'; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">The key to understanding these prints is the intimate relationship between the Folio Society, as publishers of Primo Levi's books, Joseph's role as illustrator, and the book's actual texts. The Folio Society asked her to choose the specific texts that would be illustrated, and left her to decide what form the images would take, creating a situation in which she had considerable creative freedom. Joseph has remarked that she was fired by Levi's writing, by 'his prose so full of the most wonderful analogies', and feels strongly that his writing 'doesn't need embellishment of any kind' and that 'in a way it should not be illustrated'. Joseph's fundamental achievement is that her approach to the selection of texts, and to the production of images to accompany them,</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:100%;">amounts to a complex act of literary as well as artistic interpretation, resulting in the creation of diverse, ambiguous and allusive relationships between Primo Levi's books and her etchings.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">With one exception, an image of a tap, none of the images directly represents scenes or incidents from the books. Most images can be understood as observation-based landscapes, located in familiar urban, rural or post-industrial situations, or as still lives that have a life of their own. In each book, only one or two images stand apart from such matter-of-factness. For example, in <i>If This is a Man</i>, a nocturnal scene of shipwreck, a tonally sombre aquatint, is dramatically illuminated by a shaft of moonlight penetrating the clouds. Such singularly theatrical images operate as a localised 'rupture' of the fabric of Jane's dominant way of working. The actual subjects of most images place us, the readers, simultaneously within and outside the contexts of the books; in the latter situation, bringing us closer to 'home', away from the reality of the Nazi Lager, but not necessarily comfortably so. The rupture of the shipwreck underscores our discomfited state. Yet it is in keeping with the complexity of these prints that the same image might also release us into the world of narrative, of fiction even, offering us some kind of relief and rescue.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><i>New Welsh Review</i> gets writers noticed. Support literary writers and literary publishing in Wales by <a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions.asp">subscribing</a>!</span></p>Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-16647653545778193982012-01-16T13:01:00.003+00:002012-01-16T13:08:19.037+00:00Julia Forster talks to Horatio Clare about The Prince's Pen<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>395</o:Words> <o:characters>2257</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>18</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>4</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>2771</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoFooter" style="line-height:150%;tab-stops:36.0pt"><span style="font-family:Courier;">In December, <i>The Insider </i></span><span style="font-family:Courier;">made a day-trip to the Hay-on-Wye Winter Weekend festival.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Speaking to us exclusively before appearing on stage about his first work of fiction, <i><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781854115522&tsid=2">The Prince’s Pen</a></i></span><span style="font-family:Courier;">, the erudite Horatio Clare told us what inspired him to write a novella narrated from the point of view of the androgynous Clip, a freedom fighter in Clare’s terrifying, dystopian world.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;">In the original Mabinogion myth on which this novella is based, Llud, King of Britain seeks the wise counsel of his youngest brother, Llevelys, in trying to rid his kingdom of three plagues which have been cast over it. Clare fast-forwards this myth to a post-apocalyptic Wales, resource-rich in precious water, bordering infighting England which has become an archipelago of islands besieged by climate change. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;">The re-telling stays true to the nub of the original. In Clare’s hands, it also benefits from a political twist and inherits what readers of Clare’s previous memoirs will recognise as the echoes of the author’s life history.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Take our narrator, Clip: an archetypal outsider. Clare explains he feels some affiliation with outsiders, being English (with, he says, a ‘posh accent’ to boot) and yet having been schooled in Wales fifteen miles as the crow flies from the cosy Blue Boar pub in which we meet. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Without spoiling the third section of the book, you also can’t help but feel that the setting in this part is also indebted to the isolated sheep farm so high in altitude I imagine ears would pop approaching it, where Horatio lived in his infancy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;">One of Clare’s talents that shine through in this novella is his prowess at dialogue; he’s able to exploit his obvious relish of the Welsh cadence, a lilt which imbues all that Ludo says. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Clare attributes some of this skill to having cut his teeth at Radio Four as a young producer. It was at the BBC, Clare explains, that he learnt to think in terms of sound: there, he mastered the art of eavesdropping. And this is where Clare felt the freedom in writing this commission most keenly. For, after all, what is retelling a myth but an eavesdropping on the oral stories of old and redressing them to make them relevant for the present day?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;">Although Horatio’s heart is Wales, his home is in Verona, Italy and he has just spent two months on a container ship researching his next book, mucking in and sharing dinner with Danish sailors, surprisingly quiet, Horatio remembers, in the saloon. It will be fascinating to see how he interprets the tensions between silence and noise of life at sea in his next offering.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span style="font-family:Courier;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Courier;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Courier;">A version of this was published in the <i>Western Mail</i> Insider column, Saturday 14 January 2012.<i> </i>Julia Forster is an online and print contributor to <i>New Welsh Review</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Courier;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:150%"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Courier;"><i><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp">New Welsh Review</a> </i>gets writers noticed. Support writers and ensure our survival by subscribing!</span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-24740942673345394372012-01-11T10:57:00.001+00:002012-01-11T10:59:14.359+00:00Tair Rheol Anrhefn by Daniel Davies. Review by Dafydd Saer<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>441</o:Words> <o:characters>2518</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>20</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>5</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>3092</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="StyleLinespacingDouble"><span lang="EN-US"><i><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781847714039&tsid=2">Tair Rheol Anrhefn</a></i></span><span lang="EN-US"> (The Three Rules of Anarchy) is Daniel Davies’s fifth book and is the winner of the 2011 Daniel Owen Memorial Prize, one of the chief literary awards presented at the National Eisteddfod.</span></p> <p class="StyleLinespacingDouble" style="text-indent:36.0pt"><span lang="EN-US">Immediately this book was Not My Friend. The general state of mild irritability in which I constantly live was heightened considerably when I observed with disappointment that the author had opted to use dashes instead of quotation marks. Why, when countless millions of writers and readers manage famously with quotation marks? In the absence of any mark signifying the closure of a quotation, how many times, during the reading of this book, did I find myself in the middle of a speech that did not make sense, only to realise that I had left the speech, and was in the middle of narrative again? How annoying.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="StyleFirstline127cmLinespacingDouble"><span lang="EN-US">However, I forged ahead and soon found I couldn’t put it down. It’s a thrillingly fantastical tale of intrigue and industrial espionage set against the slightly unlikely backdrop of the Pembrokeshire Coastal Path – with some cryptic clues for those who enjoy that sort of thing; personally I was carried along on the crest of the action.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="StyleFirstline127cmLinespacingDouble"><span lang="EN-US">Dr Paul Price and Professor Mansel Edwards have developed the next generation of LCD televison technology – not in Tokyo or Silicone Valley as one might expect, but in the dusty halls of Aberystwyth University. The Welsh boffins’ research is a threat to the vested business interests of several international parties, wherein lies the subterferge and intrigue of a convoluted plot to acquire and suppress their research. Their lives are in dire peril!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="StyleFirstline127cmLinespacingDouble"><span lang="EN-US">As the tale unfolds from this anus-clenching premise, most of the action occurs during a Pembrokeshire walking holiday undertaken by anti-hero Paul. He encounters various characters who turn out not to be all they seem, and becomes embroiled in twists and turns which involve eccentric walkers and sundry members of the police and the secret service. Throw in the occasional murder for good measure, season with plenty of romantic conflict and tension, and you can be sure that the reader’s hand is constantly reaching for the next page.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="StyleFirstline127cmLinespacingDouble"><span lang="EN-US">The tongue-in-cheek delivery is established quite firmly in the first couple of chapters when a surprise birthday party for Paul degenerates into a hilariously unpleasant full-scale family feud, unwittingly set off by an inebriated Paul. He manages to upset not only his own dysfuncional relatives, but also his partner Llinos’s, with repercussions that haunt him for the rest of the tale.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="StyleFirstline127cmLinespacingDouble"><span lang="EN-US">So. A contemporary tale with hints of James Bond action – though I can’t see an entire 007 movie being shot entirely on location in Pembrokeshire (not even with a few scenes shot in Pembroke Dock). I mean, youth hostels, anoraks and walking boots can only precipitate a very limited amount of excitement – unless you’re blessed with Daniel Davies’s imagination and story-telling skills. Take the novel with the pinch of salt with which it is offered, and enjoy!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-38077567798926723372012-01-10T15:56:00.000+00:002012-01-10T15:57:23.388+00:00Midwinterblood by Marcus Sedgwick. Review by Anite Rowe<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>399</o:Words> <o:characters>2275</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>18</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>4</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>2793</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="font-size:8.0pt; color:blue"><b><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> </b></span>This latest Young Adult novel from Marcus Sedgwick has a most unusual plot construction, and is a departure from his previous works where the narrative follows a more conventional curve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Also the fantasy element is slighter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There is a stronger sense of realism and mystery combined with an atmosphere of timeless myth and atavistic superstition, which gradually draws the reader in.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>The book is divided into seven parts plus an epilogue, each part taking place in a different period on the same fictional island, The Blessed Island,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>set somewhere in the far north, in the land of the 'Midnight Sun', where the language is English but appears to have developed, like island customs, from old Norse and Icelandic traditions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Apart from this and the setting, the only fantasy elements here are the climate - the summers are so warm that wheat and fruit grow plentifully – and a magic flower called the Little Blessed Dragon Orchid which grows profusely all over the Western half of the island, but not the Eastern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Tea brewed from this flower has all kinds of amazing properties, some beneficial, others sinister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There is also a supernatural element in that the protagonist has seven lives, each corresponding with one part of the book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Other characters also reappear in each section, under slightly different names.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>Part one is set in the future, June 2073.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>While the other six sections are flashbacks, they do not appear in chronological order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Part two takes place in the present day, in July 2011,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>then the other parts regress in time while the months go forward: August 1944, September 1902, October 1848, and the tenth century. The seventh and final part is set in 'Time Unknown'.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The epilogue returns the reader to the end of the first section, in June 2073.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In each month the moon has a different name, from Flower Moon in the first part, to Blood Moon in the seventh part, when a lunar eclipse turns it red.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>The tale that weaves through the whole is a love story, in which the two lovers meet and part again and again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But underlying this is the sinister theme of blood sacrifice, in which I find subtle echoes of D.H. Lawrence's long short story, ‘The Woman Who Rode Away’, and of the 1973 cult film, <i>The Wickerman.</i><span style="font-style:normal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The author tells us in the acknowledgements that this theme was partly inspired by a painting in a museum in Stocholm called </span><i>Midvinterblot</i><span style="font-style:normal">, Swedish for midwinter sacrifice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A similar painting by a fictitious painter, one of the protagonist's seven different selves, is described in Part Four.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Sedgwick is a past master at evoking sinister undercurrents that flow beneath apparently tranquil and harmonious beauty, and he has excelled himself here.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;line-height:200%"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:200%"><span style="mso-tab-count:2"> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-44443649322036107982012-01-09T09:51:00.002+00:002012-01-09T09:58:23.610+00:00Lobbying for Libraries, guest blog by Paul Cooper<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>422</o:Words> <o:characters>2410</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>20</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>4</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>2959</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times-Roman; mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Last month I interviewed poet and author Matthew Francis for <i><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp">New Welsh Review</a></i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Times-Roman;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> about his upcoming short story collection, <i>Singing a Man to Death</i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times-Roman;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">. He told me how he attempts to recreate ‘the chaotic pluralism of modern culture’ in his work, and about his early flirtations with surrealist literature (‘the idea of it liberating, the practice usually disappointing’). His collection weaves together a truly staggering breadth of settings and influences. Did you know, for instance, that the Vegetable Lamb of Tartary was a mythical tiny sheep once thought to grow from the stem of a plant? No, neither did I. Like Michael Ondaatje or Anne Michaels, Francis’ background as a poet (he was named as one of the Poetry Book Society’s ’20 Best Modern Poets’ in 2004) has given him a prose style that is at once spare and energetic, and an impressive eye for detail makes his new collection an enchanting read.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times-Roman; mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times-Roman; mso-ansi-language:EN-US">As the Leveson Inquiry into media ethics fills the Royal Court of Justice with a strange mix of comedians, authors, actors, and the victims of unspeakable tragedy, anyone following the news this week would be forgiven for overlooking another investigation taking place in the halls of government, one that could have even broader ramifications for the cultural life of the nation. A cross-party select committee has been summoned to investigate the forest fire of closures currently set to ravage libraries across England and Wales. The situation on this side of the toll booth looks particularly dire. Libraries in some of North Wales’ worst areas for literacy and employment face closure, as do many in Newport, Cardiff, Swansea and Bridgend, and all this despite book-borrowing in Wales enjoying an increase of 5.4% last year. Before you start entertaining notions of going door to door collecting signatures, or setting up tents and placards outside your local library, be aware that there is a simpler solution. The select committee, chaired by conservative MP John Whittingdale, is calling for members of the public to send in their thoughts about what they would consider to be ‘a comprehensive and efficient library service for the 21<sup>st</sup> Century’ and are asking for perspectives on ‘the impact library closures have on local communities’. If you think you have a thing or two to say on the subject, email your testimony as an attachment to </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: ArialMT; "><a href="http://www.parliament.uk/business/committees/committees-a-z/commons-select/culture-media-and-sport-committee/news/library-closures-call-for-evidence/">cmsev@parliament.uk</a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times-Roman;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> by 12 January, with ‘Library Closures’ as subject. Guidelines for submitting evidence to a select committee can be found at http://bit.ly/1g2o3v. Have fond memories of your own local library? Believe they should be reformed into Open University-style hubs of learning and betterment? Think that cutting libraries in recession is like cutting hospitals in a plague? Let the committee members know!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times-Roman; mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->A version of this was published in the <i>Western Mail </i>on Saturday 7 January 2012 <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times-Roman; mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Paul Cooper is an online contributor and intern for <i>New Welsh Review</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times-Roman; mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Times-Roman; mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><b><i>New Welsh Review </i>gets writers noticed. Support writers by<a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp"> subscribing</a>!</b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-62367955077094202622011-12-09T14:28:00.003+00:002011-12-09T14:41:15.664+00:00Blow on a Dead Man’s Embers, Mari Strachan. Review by Crystal Jeans<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>387</o:Words> <o:characters>2208</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>18</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>4</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>2711</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:TimesNewRomanPSMT; mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Mari Strachan’s second novel, <i><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781847675316&tsid=3">Blow on a Dead Man’s Embers</a></i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:TimesNewRomanPSMT; mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, is set in a quiet Welsh village just after the First World War.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Davey has recently returned from the trenches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One morning his wife, Non, finds him crouched under the kitchen table holding an imaginary rifle in a waking dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The same the next morning, and the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Davey is not the husband Non married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He’s quiet, he doesn’t laugh anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He’s admitted that he was unfaithful while abroad and cannot be her husband as he once was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They sleep in the same bed, but separate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She wants her husband back.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; ">Non also has to cope with a demanding, gossipy neighbour, an adopted son, Ossian, who does not speak and screams when touched, a dragon bitch mother-in-law from hell, and a heart condition that causes her to feel death is constantly at her shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Did I mention she has a special gift which enables her to see people’s physical illnesses?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That she’s a herb-gathering witch-healer and an ex-abortionist?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She’s got a lot going on, has Non.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; ">The story sees Non trying to find a way to help her husband recover his mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She travels to London, visits pawn shops, clairvoyants, hospitals full of sick men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In doing so she inadvertently finds out some life changing truths about herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>These little revelations and the lead up to them are quite compelling, so much so that this book might have Mystery added on to the end of Family Drama/Historical Fiction/Romance/Supernatural.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; ">Basically Non is on a journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Half way through the story, she begins to express a tentative feminism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She grows a pair of (metaphorical) balls – they’re not very big ones, but they’ll do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This is the time of the suffragettes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Women are only allowed to vote once they reach the age of thirty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Any balls are good balls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; ">My main criticism of this novel is that sometimes the characters are just slightly two-dimensional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The baddies are pretty bad – the mother-in-law, Catherine, who is spectacularly foul in every scene, pervy Uncle Billy who likes to get young girls pregnant, and Teddy the traveller who’s just plain creepy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The nice characters – Davey, Non, nephew Gwydion, son Wil, neighbour Lizzie – are a little too wholesome for my tastes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:TimesNewRomanPSMT; mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:TimesNewRomanPSMT; mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><i>Blow on a Dead Man’s Embers</i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:TimesNewRomanPSMT; mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> is about doing the best you can for the ones you love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s about dealing with the disturbing things in life which are as yet unnamed – autism, shell-shock, statuary rape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Despite this, it’s a gentle read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Death, war and mental breakdown seen through chaste eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This is not my thing, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My Nan will love it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none; text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:TimesNewRomanPSMT; mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->Crystal Jeans is an online and print contributor to <i>New Welsh Review</i>. <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; "><i><b>New Welsh Review</b></i><b> gets writers noticed. Support writers by </b><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; "><b>subscribing</b></a><b>! Christmas gift offers now available.</b></span> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-45864519098673058412011-12-05T09:50:00.002+00:002011-12-05T09:54:32.758+00:00Review of Lucy Caldwell's The Meeting Point, Dylan Thomas prizewinner<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>544</o:Words> <o:characters>3102</o:Characters> <o:company>New Welsh Review</o:Company> <o:lines>25</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>6</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>3809</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>10.260</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:usemarginsfordrawinggridorigin/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt">The winner of this year University of Wales Dylan Thomas prize, announced last month, is an old-fashioned book. This was my first impression of Lucy Caldwell’s <i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Meeting-Point-Lucy-Caldwell/9780571270545">The Meeting Point</a></i></span><span style="font-size:16.0pt">, which the novelty of it being my first novel on an e-reader (Sony) did nothing to dispel. The story of losing my e-book virginity is simple: it was an impulse buy for a journey; I also had to carry a heavy art book, and the device was borrowed. I am not a convert: I couldn’t get a handle on the novel’s length (it felt short) and I seemed to be turning pages too often. Also my initial excitement at the prospect of making electronic notes evaporated when I only managed to make squiggles on the page as though it were an expensive version of Etch-a-Sketch, rather than creating detailed observations ready to cut-and-paste into a review. So rather than replacing my main love, Sony will only be allowed on business trips, if he behaves himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt">There’s converts aplenty, though, in <i>The Meeting Point</i></span><span style="font-size:16.0pt">, since its protagonist, Ruth, is the wife of a northern Irish evangelical Anglican vicar set on a mission to smuggle bibles and other weapons of mass conversion from Bahrain into Saudi Arabia. Troubled teenage Noor has been sent by her English mother to the island to stay with her born-again orthodox Muslim father, Dr al-Husayn. Noor, however, falls headlong under the influence of the golden Irish Christian couple who have moved for a few months into her ‘compound’, and despite the ways in which she, as a vulnerable minor, is exploited by Ruth, has become a born-again young woman by close of play. The (too numerous) bible quotations kick in by page 11 (on Sony Reader’s old lady large print setting), and we quickly realise that this is a novel about faith, especially when the setting shifts from rural Ulster to the Persian Gulf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But Caldwell confounds any readers’ assumptions that they may be in for a dose of Middle Eastern fundamentalism or critique of cultural mores. The Arab characters are either westernised (Ruth’s love interest Farid), rediscovering their faith (Dr al-Husayn) or ‘happy… and unembarrassed’ to be a second wife (Maryam). <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt">Either Caldwell is a Christian herself (I noted Spitalfields Alpha course among the acknowledgements), or she has managed the feat of entering the mindset. Ruth opens the story with the revelation that her wedding was brought forward because she was pregnant. We start to wonder why she is complaining so much about the loss of a harvest wedding to an early spring one until we realise both parents feel a ‘quiet guilt…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>at not having waited until their wedding night… as they had ought to.’ Ruth’s reference to Bible readings, prayers and sermons to guide her behaviour displays an almost exotic mentality for liberal, secular readers. Having set her goals so high, she is very nearly hung for a sheep as she gets reckless once her prized virtue starts to slip. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt"><i>The Epic of Gilgamesh</i></span><span style="font-size:16.0pt"> and evidence associating the sacred island paradise or ‘Holy Dilmun’ with Bahrain as the source of the Garden of Eden story, greatly enriches The Meeting Point, widening its references beyond the notion of Ruth’s Christian fall from grace. The title itself is a reference to the confluence of rivers (including the Tigris and Euphrates) said to water the Garden. Deft use of imagery also unites the novel. Broad cultural symbolism surrounding stones is beautifully handled, as is the pencil-size roll of paper, variously used for love messages between strangers and to slip the gospel over the border. Once we get used to Ruth’s measured tones and bed in to Noor’s urgent voice and story, this is a fantastically structured page-turner with depths. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt">This is a version of Gwen Davies’ <i>Western Mail</i></span><span style="font-size:16.0pt"> Insider column published on Saturday 3 December 2011.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-size:16.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-family: Times; font-size: medium; "><i><b>New Welsh Review</b></i><b> gets writers noticed. Support writers by </b><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions.asp" style="color: rgb(83, 135, 171); text-decoration: none; "><b>subscribing</b></a><b>! Christmas gift offers now available.</b></span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-23102146763186993632011-11-30T11:32:00.002+00:002011-11-30T11:44:45.904+00:00Review by Sophie Long of Michelle Paver's Dark Matter<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Having never actually read a contemporary ghost story, I wondered whether people’s assertions that ‘books are scarier than films’ was in fact true. In a world where graphic, explicit scenes of violence in video games and films are commonplace, I thought perhaps it would be far more difficult for a book to elicit that same chill using only words.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I could not in fact, have been more wrong, although it would take me a while to discover it when reading <i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Dark-Matter-Michelle-Paver/9781409123781">Dark Matter</a></i>. I found protagonist Jack’s neuroticism fairly irritating at the start. Other reviewers have supposed that his preoccupations with class and general tendency towards depression are important as the book moves on and becomes darker. In the beginning though, these traits are not particularly well explained, nor are they rooted in concrete relationships or events. In many ways, it seems as though Michelle Paver is merely trying to tick all of the ‘sad loner’ boxes – no family, no friends, dead end job, depressed....</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As the narrative moves on from London into the North and eventually to Gruhuken, these niggling matters melt away as they do (much later) for Jack. Paver’s descriptions are just right, being only sentences here and there evoking shapes and colours as opposed to long-winded paragraphs. There is a definite monochrome palette running throughout the story, which makes phenomena such as the Northern Lights stand out, and the disappearance of the twilight is almost as unnerving for the reader as it is for Jack. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It is when the reader joins in his frequent swings between terror and rationality </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">that Jack’s psychological profile comes into its own</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">. Paver is able to make the slow, encroaching footsteps of the ghostly trapper echo in readers' minds as much as they do in Jack’s. The storyline of this ghostly presence is woven into the fabric of Jack’s everyday life: much as Jack does, the reader goes through periods of believing the ghost is real and then suddenly the real world will intrude in the form of Algie or Gus on the wireless, and for a time it appears that everything is alright. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">By the end of the novel, with footsteps pounding around the hut, Jack’s terrified realisation that the ghost is able to enter the hut is as chilling for the reader as it must be for Jack. Another reviewer mentioned that at this point she became afraid to look out of the windows of her own house, and this particular feeling of jumpy paranoia also afflicted me as I read on to the end. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Given that the prickly, unsettled feeling this book gave me lingered for an entire weekend, I must say that this book is by far scarier than any film. I was not just a voyeur, instead I was forced into feeling and experiencing everything as Jack does, as my mind created a picture of Paver’s perpetually dark Arctic winter. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Perhaps I’m just a little bit wimpish, but I dare you to try it for yourself.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b>Sophie Long</b> is an online contributor and until recently was an intern at <i><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions.asp">New Welsh Review</a></i>.</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><i><b>New Welsh Review</b></i><b> gets writers noticed. Support writers by </b><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions.asp"><b>subscribing</b></a><b>! </b></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Times"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p>Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-33770016015294709642011-11-29T10:56:00.009+00:002011-11-29T11:59:38.422+00:00Writing your way out – an interview with Matthew Francis by Paul Cooper<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxzqc0W-iUsoXTZdDf4k-j3HZPPLI00-QLiDzeyAcChxgVRy14nkuUiP6vr50-70xpqUfeZinvW0oct3hbkHOxJ_LcujLZtLgI75ApOaKBIxahWpf91ZMRWH9kWexX8Dh1qLvlftqQPA/s1600/mnatgallery2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 277px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxzqc0W-iUsoXTZdDf4k-j3HZPPLI00-QLiDzeyAcChxgVRy14nkuUiP6vr50-70xpqUfeZinvW0oct3hbkHOxJ_LcujLZtLgI75ApOaKBIxahWpf91ZMRWH9kWexX8Dh1qLvlftqQPA/s320/mnatgallery2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680372550761552466" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span lang="EN-US" style="color:#121A20;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Matthew Francis’ long poem 'Things that Make the Heart Beat Faster' </span></b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(18, 26, 32); font-family:georgia;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">is in the winter issue of </span><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/nwr_current.asp"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">New Welsh Review</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, out now. The sequence is </span></b></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color:#121A20;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">inspired by the writing of Shei Shōnagon, the medieval Japanese courtesan and recorder of </span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The Pillow Book</span></i></b></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color:#121A20;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Things that Make the Heart Beat Faster</span></b></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></b></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color:#121A20;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">is the working title of Matthew’s next poetry collection.</span></b></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Singing-Man-Death-Matthew-Francis/dp/1906061564">Singing a Man to Death</a>, </span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">your first collection of short stories, will be published by Cinnamon in April. It is an impressively eclectic collection that weaves together music, myth and history, with dozens of different voices and characters. How do you think a collection that incorporates an assassin in the Fatimid Caliphate, a first-millennium Pope, as well as a journalist floundering to encapsulate the experience of 1970s punk manages to feel so cohesive? Was this your intention?</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The stories were written over a long period, so I’m glad you do find them cohesive. Over the last few years, I have become increasingly aware of recurring themes and patterns in my work; they developed without any conscious effort on my part, but it’s been intriguing watching their appearance. With regard to the variety of setting and subject, I have always found it difficult to write the kind of realistic, semi-autobiographical fiction that is a staple for many writers – when I do, I usually find myself getting very self-conscious. I am strongly drawn to historical, or even mythical, settings because I enjoy being taken away from the preoccupations of my everyday life. Of course, good writing always arises from your own concerns, but I hope by transposing them in place or time (or both) I gain some perspective on them that I wouldn’t otherwise have had. Having said that, I must admit that some of the stories in the volume are more directly autobiographical. In the title story, the urban folktale of a song that kills the listener was such a far-fetched fantasy theme that it somehow freed me to include some quite personal reminiscences of my undergraduate days. ‘The Lovers’ has fantastic elements, but is set in a school very like the one I went to. ‘The Beehive’ and ‘Sleevenotes’ are about characters very different from me, but incorporate my memories of, respectively, office life and being a somewhat sceptical follower of punk rock in the 1970s.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">I</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">sidore Ducasse famously described the inherent beauty of juxtapositions such as ‘a chance encounter between an umbrella and a sewing machine on an operating table’. I felt that you exhibit a talent in your writing for creating surprising and satisfying contrasts between a story or poem’s elements. For instance, the embattled tropical nation of Kuovala in '</span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Demonland'</span> </span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">manages to contain CIA agents, communists and jazz girls, giant blue butterflies, demons and codeless computer programmes within a very tight narrative arc. To what extent do you feel that bringing together the disparate is a guiding principal behind your work?</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It probably has something to do with being a poet; metaphor, which asserts the similarity between apparently dissimilar objects, is fundamental to poetry. I remember stumbling upon the technique of narrative juxtaposition in the first story I wrote, ‘American Fugue’. I was writing about an amnesiac American poet who runs away from home and ends up living on a university campus in the Nevada desert. For some reason that wasn’t apparent to me at the time, I made this a very odd university, in which all the students were divided into social groups according to their main interest in life: vegetarianism, religion, Eastern mysticism etc. It just seemed to make the story more interesting to have two unusual and apparently unrelated things going on it. Afterwards I realized that it was saying something about the sometimes chaotic pluralism of postmodern culture. I try not to follow a single line of thought, but let my mind jump tracks every now and then, and see what the result might be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">You have been compared to both Byron and Borges during your career – which of these do you feel more affinity with? In <i>'</i></span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">American Fugue</span>'</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i>,</i> Dr. Jespersen contends that ‘life was essentially paradoxical’. Do you consider yourself a surrealist?</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Definitely Borges. My eldest brother gave me a copy of </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Labyrinths</span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> for my sixteenth birthday: Borges has been a touchstone for me ever since, and the comparison to him in a review was, for me, the finest compliment my work has received. If there’s a Borgesian element in my fiction, it’s perhaps the determination not to let too much realism get in the way of an interesting idea. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">As for Dr Jespersen’s remark, it’s a disguised reminiscence: when I wrote that story (many years ago), I was not long out of psychotherapy myself. It was a very unhappy time in my life, and the comic confusion of the nameless narrator reflects my own more distressing confusion. During my therapy, I was taught the technique of ‘paradoxical intention’, where the patient deliberately tries to bring on unpleasant symptoms as a way of preventing them. It seemed to epitomise the upside-down world I was experiencing at the time, and which my narrator also experiences.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And regarding surrealism, I find the idea of it liberating, the practice usually disappointing (in literature, anyway – I admire surrealist painting and am a huge fan of the films of Lu</span></span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span></span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s Bu</span></span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">ñuel). Just as I don’t want to be too trammelled by realism, so I don’t want to escape from it altogether. A related question would be whether I consider myself a fantasy author. As a matter of fact, I am now, for the first time, experimenting with fantasy fiction in a novel I’ve just begun. Up to now I’ve only flirted with departures from the physically possible. In ‘Singing a Man to Death’ the magical powers of the song are only hinted at, never confirmed, in ‘The Vegetable Lamb’ the mythical object of the heroine’s quest never quite appears, and so on. I suppose being bitten by a butterfly (as in ‘Demonland’) is impossible, come to think of it, but it’s a minor detail so it hardly counts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Your background in the computer industry obviously influenced your 1989 novel </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Whom-Matthew-Francis/dp/0747503915">WHOM</a></span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, in which a gigantic computer system controls the White House, and stories such as '</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Demonland'</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, in which demons are apparently manifest in lines of computer code. Apart from these examples, do you find that your background in computing has informed your writing as a whole? Have you found any surprising parallels between the process of writing fiction and that of writing software?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">For most of my computing career I was a technical author, writing manuals for software systems. It was great training for a writer – you get used to producing large numbers of words quickly and editing your own work and that of your colleagues. In one of my jobs I gave in my notice, and then had to spend a month sitting at my computer in the office with nothing to do, since no one was going to give me a new project at that stage. So I used the opportunity to start work on </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">WHOM</span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. I was never very knowledgeable, just good at translating what I learned from the programmers into a language ordinary people could understand. </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">WHOM </span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">is very unsophisticated in its treatment of IT: put it alongside William Gibson’s incredibly prescient treatment in </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Neuromancer</span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, which came out at about the same time, and you’ll see what I mean. ‘Demonland’ parodies an actual piece of documentation I came across in the course of my work, and draws on anecdotes I had heard about programmers who were assigned to far-flung places. ‘The Beehive’ also uses some of my experiences of that time, including an explanation of how to make breakfast using the principles of project management!<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">It’s interesting you mention Gibson: I find dreaming to be a strong recurrent theme in your writing, as in his. In the millenarian '</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Between the Walls'</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">, one of the stories in </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Singing...</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">,</span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"> </span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">you call dreams ‘</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">the medium by which God communicates with those of us who are not ready for the ulcers and the haloes’ of sainthood. Do you consciously make dreams a concern of your work? Are the processes of writing and dreaming essentially similar?</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I am fascinated by dreams and the way they act as a counterpoint to our waking lives. They’re a wonderful source of imaginative energy, but at the same time I find it very difficult to draw on them directly – just as I also find it difficult, as I mentioned before, to dispense with the laws of reality in my writing. Tell people about your dreams, and they just switch off: it’s the same, most of the time, with writing about them. Some of my favourite works of fiction are those that have overcome this problem: Robert Irwin’s </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Arabian Nightmare</span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> and Jonathan Carroll’s </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Bones of the Moon</span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> are two extraordinary and underrated contemporary novels dealing with dreams, and an older and even finer example is Jan Potocki’s early nineteenth-century masterpiece </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Manuscript Found in Saragossa</span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. I have written about dreams in my poetry, which is perhaps a more appropriate form for them – poetry could be described as a dreamlike use of language. But I’ve never really managed it in fiction.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Your next novel, tipped to be set in the seventeenth century, and moving between London and Wales, seems to continue many of the themes that have concerned your previous work. Do you feel this is true, or will it be a break from what has gone before? Is it going to be a set of seemingly unrelated stories, like </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">WHOM</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">, or have you set your sights on a more traditional narrative structure?</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The novel, which still hasn’t found a publisher, is called </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Book of the Needle</span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. It’s based on the life of a real man, the seventeenth-century Welsh tailor and prophet Arise Evans. In some ways, Evans resembles the narrator of my 2008 poetic sequence </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9780571239276&tsid=13">Mandeville</a></span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. Both are men with a very clear personal view of the world, and in both cases it’s difficult for the reader to know how far to believe them. Questions of belief seem more and more important in the contemporary world. We haven’t, as some of us expected when I was much younger, moved beyond faith: rather we have a world of multiple faiths, constantly conflicting with each other. Mandeville and Evans, unlike me, are both very religious people, and each, in his own way, is a visionary. Ultimately the reader is not going to accept those visions, and the way they come into conflict with reality is sometimes a source of comedy. At the same time, I hope the visions are a richly imaginative experience even when you don’t share the narrator’s faith that inspired them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <pre style="line-height:12.75pt;background:white"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: normal; white-space: normal; color: rgb(255, 0, 0); ">Best of luck finding a publisher - I look forward to reading it! Your next collection of poetry, a section of which is published in <i><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/">New Welsh Review</a></i> under the provisional title 'Things that Make the Heart Beat Faster' finds its setting in medieval Japan, and recent poems have spanned seventeenth-century Muscovy and even a voyage to the moon. What compels you to travel so far in the scope of your work, and occasionally to move so far back in time?</span></span></span></pre><pre style="line-height:12.75pt;background:white"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></pre> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">All the three of the poems you mention have literary sources. ‘Things that Make the Heart Beat Faster’ is based on </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Pillow-Sei-Shonagon/9780140448061">The Pillow Book</a> </span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">by the tenth-century Japanese courtesan Sei Sh<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; color: rgb(18, 26, 32); "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">ō</span></b></span>nagon, ‘Muscovy’ on a journey to Russia undertaken by the poet Andrew Marvell and described in a book by one of his travelling companions, and ‘The Man in the Moon’ draws on a piece of early modern science fiction by the seventeenth-century bishop Francis Godwin. I am increasingly fascinated by the technical and imaginative challenges involved in adapting material like this; </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mandeville </span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Book of the Needle </span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">are other examples. </span></span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">My first few stories were all set in foreign countries that I hadn’t even visited, and at one time I thought I was incapable of writing a story set in the UK! J</span></span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">ust as I feel the urge to look outside my own life for my subject matter, so I often like to start from someone else’s words rather than my own. Writers have always done this, of course – Shakespeare hardly wrote an original plot. In the poetry world, there has been a vogue for adaptations of classic material recently. I’m currently reading Alice Oswald’s </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Memorial</span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, the latest of many recent poetic adaptations of Homer. I prefer not to use sources that everyone is familiar with, though – digging out obscure but fascinating texts like the writings of Arise Evans or that account of Marvell’s trip to Russia is one of my great pleasures, and I see it as an important part of my creative process.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">In </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">Familiar Spirit</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">, one of your recent poems, you celebrate the ‘downbeat, doorstepping rhythms’ of Welsh speech. I even thought (though this might be stretching too far) that the ‘salad of trees’ line in your poem '</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">The Man in the Moon'</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"> bore more than a passing phonological resemblance to the famous ‘cellar door’ analogy that Tolkien used to praise the Welsh language. As a writer in English, what is your attitude towards the Welsh language, and how has living in Wales sculpted your voice?</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I’ve lived in Wales for twelve years, the last eight of them in a Welsh-speaking area on the west coast [Llanon, near Aberaeron]. I hear Welsh spoken around me every day. I still hope one day to learn the language myself, but at present, I’m afraid, I only know a few common words and phrases, plus the meanings of place-names etc. One of the effects of hearing a ‘foreign’ language spoken regularly is that it dissolves the spurious layer of normality that clings most of the time to one’s native language. Carol Rumens describes this brilliantly in one of her poems: on coming back to England from France she hears people speaking English and finds the sounds strange: ‘a language lumpy as a ploughed field’. Living in Wales has probably not made me any less English (though I am flattered when, occasionally, I read descriptions of myself as ‘a Welsh poet’), but it’s put my Englishness in context, as well as giving me glimpses into a rich culture that, as yet, I barely understand. The earliest piece of mine which draws on my Welsh experience is the title poem of my 2001 collection </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9780571206667&tsid=10">Dragons</a></span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, in which I tried, without being too obvious, to draw on the rhythms of South-Walian English. I also think there’s something very ‘Valleys’ about the gentle irony with which it spoofs the ubiquity of that mythic Welsh symbol. There’s a lot of Welsh material in </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Book of the Needle</span></span></i></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, and in some of my recent poems, but none in the stories. Some were written before I came to Wales, but of those that came after, two have what I call a disguised Welsh setting. ‘The Vegetable Lamb’ is set in a fictional Tartary, and ‘Assassin’ in the Middle-East, but those landscapes are really based on Wales. I walk in the countryside as often as I can, and feel privileged to live in such a beautiful place.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">In the eponymous ‘Singing a Man to Death’, a mysterious song is believed to kill any man who hears it a certain number of times. Similarly, in ‘The Lovers’, ‘Read a certain word on a certain page and the succubus slips in through your eye into your brain.’ Words, literature and music seem to become weaponised in your work. Are they potentially dangerous things?</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Certainly powerful things. And dangerous, not usually when used by artists, but by demagogues, whether religious or political. That’s a theme in both my novels, but in the stories it’s hinted at rather than explored in detail.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;">One of my favourite lines in the poem ‘Muscovy’ is: ‘He wrote us so far. Now he must write our way out.’ Is your work a process of ‘writing your way out’?</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">‘He’, in this context, is Andrew Marvell, one of my favourite poets. And the line alludes, once again, to the theme of language as an instrument of imaginative power. Most of my main characters are writers of one kind or another, in addition to their roles of traveller, courtesan, prophet or whatever else. So for all the wide-ranging interests of my work, much of the time I’m looking at the reflection in a variety of distorting mirrors of this bizarre thing I’m doing: writing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="color:#121A20;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Paul Cooper is currently an intern at </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">New Welsh Review </span></span></i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color:#121A20;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and will take up his MA in Creative Writing at UEA next September.</span></span></span><b><o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="color:#121A20;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="color:#121A20;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; font-family:Times-Roman;font-size:13px;"><b></b></span></span></span></span></p><span lang="EN-US" style="color:#121A20;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><b><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;">NWR gets new writers noticed. Support writers by </span></span><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); text-decoration: none; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;">subscribing</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;">!</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;">Next on blog: review by Gwen Davies of the new Dylan Thomas prizewinner, <i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Meeting-Point-Lucy-Caldwell/9780571270545">The Meeting Point</a></i> by Lucy Caldwell</span></span></span></span></p></b></span></span></span><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-53814128139151434922011-11-28T10:18:00.004+00:002011-11-28T10:27:06.379+00:00Barrie Llewelyn on how as a memoirist she found herself recreating her grandmother as a Chicago prostitute<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I never knew my paternal grandmother. Nor did my father. She was persuaded to leave her marriage and her infant son for $500 in 1925. My dad told me the stories he had heard. She was ‘incapable of looking after him’. She ‘left him wet or dirty’ while still at home; afterwards, she’d try and ‘kidnap’ him back. ‘Rosie was a prostitute.’</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Times-Roman;font-size:16.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">O</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n car journeys, my father would rage, but not at me. I was a girl traveling alone with him, but I wasn’t scared. I learned to share his pain. His missing mother lived in both our lives. When I had my own babies, I couldn’t comprehend how anyone could give up a child. As the years went by, so my dad’s depression grew, despite his having seemed a happy and popular, if introverted, man. The terrors of his childhood may have caught him up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Five years after my father took his own life, I found myself in a hotel room in Fort Lauderdale. I started to write and before long I had down the first section of Rosie’s story. She is in the waiting room at Chicago’s Union Station, in her purse an envelope containing $500 cash. Rosie isn’t thinking about what she will do with the money, nor about the decision she has just made, nor the new life ahead of her. All she cares about is what she looks like. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">My novel in progress attempts to understand Rosie’s choice. In reality, I didn’t even have her maiden name or know where in Chicago she’d lived. The facts my father had, he took to his seaside grave. I had no hope of knowing her, nor the will to conduct a thorough search. When I finished my first draft in 2008, I felt that I had found her story, her truth. I had to accept my own version of her life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">But last month I had a message on Facebook: ‘Are you George Volk’s daughter? I am his half sister.’ I am now in contact with Rosie’s daughter, my aunt Franny. Francine told me stories of her mother’s life. My missing grandmother was a flapper in Chicago who frequented Al Capone’s speakeasies. Francine and her sister Caroline believe that any love Rosie had was left behind with her baby son. How it would have changed my father’s life to know his mother loved him!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Franny and I haven’t spoken since I returned from holiday. I’m hesitating about getting back in touch. Why am I somehow disappointed? This is my theory: I never actually wanted to know anything about Rosie. As a writer and storyteller, I preferred to make it up. So how do I go on with the story now?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="margin-bottom: 10pt; text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">A version of this was first published in the <i>Western Mail</i>'s Insider books column on Saturday 26 November 2011. Barrie Llewelyn is an online contributor for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">New Welsh Review.</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;margin-bottom: 10pt; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Times-Roman;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:13px;"></span></span></i></span></p><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">NWR gets new writers noticed, and gets published writers new readers. Support writers by </span><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); text-decoration: none; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">subscribing</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">!</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">Next blog: review of Lucy Caldwell's Dylan Thomas-prizewinning <i>The Meeting Place</i></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; font-size:medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; font-size:medium;"><b>Next interview coming soon: Matthew Francis</b></span></span></p></span></i><p></p>Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-74267115590663563382011-11-22T16:09:00.009+00:002011-11-22T20:11:17.105+00:00Jim Perrin talks to the Wales Literature Exchange about his latest book West<div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Jim Perrin's 'Slate Country Fictions' is in the winter issue of </span><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions.asp"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">New Welsh Review</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, out this week</span>.</span></span></b></div><div><br /></div><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/30378800?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" width="400" height="225" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="" mozallowfullscreen="" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/30378800"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Jim Perrin</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> from </span><a href="http://vimeo.com/user693999"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Wales Literature Exchange | Cyfn</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> on </span><a href="http://vimeo.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Vimeo</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">. </span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Film by Sara Penrhyn Jones</span></p><p><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Jim Perrin's latest book, </span><i><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/West-Journey-Through-Landscapes-Loss/dp/1843546124/ref=sr_1_sc_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1321980337&sr=1-1-spell"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">West, A Journey Through the Landscapes of Loss</span></a></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, was out in paperback from Atlantic this spring. His essay 'Slate Country Fictions, Outside Views of Wales' looks at three novels of the past sixty years which succeed to varying degrees in capturing '</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">the agricultural/industrial interface along the northern and western margins of Eryri: sheep-country; slate-country; Kate Roberts country.' The novels are Patrick O'Brian's </span><i><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Testimonies-Patrick-OBrian/dp/000647652X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1321980747&sr=8-1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Testimonies</span></a></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">(1952), John Wain's </span><i><a href="http://www.abebooks.co.uk/9780670774517/Winter-Hills-Wain-John-0670774510/plp"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">A Winter in the Hills</span></a></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> (1970), and Peter Ho Davies'</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Welsh-Girl-Peter-Ho-Davies/dp/0340938277"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The Welsh Girl</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">(2007). </span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 24px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">You can read Jim Perrin's 'Slate Country Fictions' in the winter '11 issue of </span><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">New Welsh Review</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, straight to your doormat this weekend if you </span><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">subscribe </span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">or order from us direct, or in shops from 1 December.</span></span></span></b></p><p><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></b></p><p><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Next author interview</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">: Matthew Francis, whose long poem 'Things that Make the Heart Beat Faster', inspired by Shei </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 19px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Shōnagon (Japanese courtesan and recorder of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The Pillow Book),</span></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> is also in our winter issue</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">. Things that Make the Heart Beat Faster <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">is the title of Matthew's next poetry collection. </span></span></span></i></p><p><br /></p>Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-8022466730080313522011-11-22T13:09:00.007+00:002011-11-28T15:12:51.457+00:00Christien Gholson talks to Paul Cooper and Nia Davies<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwr4IzauVxz5u4Jn0T0PieTSZlcZsA2V2CcpvURqZ6kEFqNoaI6fw5pLcNb4P4_4-T7XmyViYNoCJKvh7GN6z3jg91ScnDNU5i0gmu09FEAJ_UcSUeGLbxD572Fofu8fqmAd_W7B1YiM4/s1600/IMG_1673.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwr4IzauVxz5u4Jn0T0PieTSZlcZsA2V2CcpvURqZ6kEFqNoaI6fw5pLcNb4P4_4-T7XmyViYNoCJKvh7GN6z3jg91ScnDNU5i0gmu09FEAJ_UcSUeGLbxD572Fofu8fqmAd_W7B1YiM4/s320/IMG_1673.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677812601768091954" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Christien Gholson is author of a novel, </span><i><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781906998905&tsid=4"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">A Fish Trapped Inside the Wind</span></a></i></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> and a prose-poetry collection, </span><i><a href="http://www.gwales.com/bibliographic/?isbn=9781908069689&tsid=6"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">On the Side of the Crow</span></a></i></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, both published by Parthian. </span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">His dystopian short story, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The Feed</span></i></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, is published in the winter edition of </span><i><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">New Welsh Review</span></a></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, out next week</span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Paul Cooper is currently an intern at </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">New Welsh Review </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">and will take up his MA in Creative Writing at UEA next September. Nia Davies works at Literature Across Frontiers, has published poetry for Salt anthologies, and is drafting her first novel. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">David Mitchell recently described Hari Kunzru’s new novel </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Gods Without Men</span></span></i></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> as ‘an echo chamber’. I felt this description also applied to </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">A Fish Trapped Inside the Wind</span></span></i></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> – such a varied mix of voices and influences resonating together: from Magritte and Rimbaud to </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The Battleship Potemkin</span></span></i></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">. Do you feel this is an accurate description of your novel, or indeed novels in general?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I recently saw a conversation on the Lannan Foundation site between John Berger and Michael Ondaatje, two of my favourite authors, in which they both spoke about echoes. Ondaatje said that when he was writing </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">In the Skin of a Lion</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> he was immersed in the murals of Diego Rivera. “Someone’s holding a wrench over there on that wall,” he said, “and someone’s holding a pencil over there on that wall. It’s exactly the same gesture...” Those echoes intrigued him, and he mirrored them in gestures and scenes between all the characters in the novel. Berger said of echoes: “No story exists without them, really”, and I would agree. All the characters in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Fish</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> are different aspects of one whole; each particular narrative trajectory needs the others to find its completion. The pattern of the novel is, for the most part, the order in which it was written, so anything that was left unsaid, or unfinished, is completed by someone else in a following chapter. If you lifted just one character’s narrative out of the book and read it all by itself, I’m not sure it would make sense. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">My own experience is that the self doesn’t really exist as some rigid, defined thing – an isolated billiard ball clacking against others – but that it exists only in context, mired in a constant process of creation and interaction with its surroundings. As the master magician Chiqui says to Guy: “Nothing exists by itself.” Everything is in a constant process of being created; the idea that things exist in isolation is, to me, an illusion. That surfaced in the pattern of the book - in a community of characters that, in the end, couldn’t exist without each other. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Most people imagine a novel starting with a single idea, a ‘eureka moment’. Was this the case for you? What was the initial spark or germ that you felt carried it through to the end? In what ways did its conceit mutate and develop as you wrote?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">If you mean that in terms of a vision where a skeleton of the entire story appears all at once, then no, that didn’t happen. It started as a long prose-poem sequence: fish swimming through fog over the Belgian countryside (which now appears as one of Marie’s visions about three quarters of the way through the book). I’ve always been fascinated with the phenomena of animals, insects, or other odd things raining from the sky - the mystery of it. And I’ve been equally fascinated with the funny contortions that Science and the excessively logical-minded must do to explain it. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The prose-poem sequence turned into the opening of a short story. All the characters were there at the beginning, except the Rimbaud scholar, Raoul. The short story seemed unfinished somehow, so I thought I’d expand it a bit more, turn it into a novella. The more I worked on it, the more I encountered odd surprises that propelled me further, deeper, and I just kept following the trail of crumbs.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">So the mystery of the fish was the initial question - the initial koan - that appeared, and I took a whole novel to ‘answer’ that question. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Your family travelled a lot, including to Belgium, where the novel is set. How much of the novel is an account of your own experiences, and how much is imaginative invention? Do any of the events have a basis in reality?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Between the ages of 10 to 15 I lived in Obourg, a cement factory town in Southern Belgium, somewhat like the town of Villon</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">. </span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Years later, as a young adult, I walked across Southern France, and then lived for a month in the municipal campground in Mons, which is near Obourg. Many strange things had happened to me on the journey and I needed a familiar and comforting place to let it all sink in. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">While I was in Mons, I wandered out to Obourg and saw posters all over the town announcing: “Obourg...poubelle d’Europe.” Obourg...rubbish bin of Europe. I asked around and found out that the cement factory was to lease their empty quarries as toxic dumps for waste that would be imported from all over Europe – and there was a movement to stop it. Similar issues are still ongoing in that area, if I’m not mistaken. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I hesitate to go into more detail about what was my own experience and what is imaginative invention because a couple of the most ridiculous and illusory scenes really happened. It’s a truism to say that life is stranger than fiction. Fish do </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">indeed </span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">fall from the sky.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">A Fish...</span></span></i></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> is set in an area of Belgium heavily touched by industrialism, near to an enormous quarry and a cement factory. Did you find any inspiration for the setting in Wales’ industrial past, and your time living in Swansea?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Oddly enough I wrote the book in the Central Valley of California, in Davis and Sacramento. The only similarity I found in California to southern Belgium was the smog. As a kid, though, the broken landscape and rain of cement dust was all I knew. Because my father didn’t work at the factory, I had an economic distance from it: I saw it as both a great evil monolith – especially when one of my sisters developed breathing problems - </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">and</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> as a mysterious and sometimes beautiful thing. There’s nothing like a sunset through plumes of cement dust. It’s only when I started working in factories around Philadelphia that my deep rage at industry’s enormous waste began. Many people live far away from the factories that make their lives possible. They don’t see the incredible cost – to the earth, to individual lives. The factories are invisible to them. In the novel, the cement factory is almost as consistent an image as the mysterious fish. It is mysterious only because it is so big, dominant... and yet invisible.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Living in Swansea, with the steel works of Port Talbot a constant vision on the east side of the bay, has triggered memories of the various industrial and industrially ‘forsaken’ places where I have lived. Still, on clear nights the flames from the flare stacks are beautiful, a match to the eye. But I see it from a distance. A tourist’s view. Factories like that make Mumbles and Swansea possible. Yet who is clocking the cost? <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The novel takes illusion as one of its main themes, and I wondered if you see the writing of a novel, and indeed poetry, as a fundamentally illusory process?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">There’s a bit of the magic trick about novel writing. You want the devices and tricks you use to be transparent, unobserved, so the reader can sink into the dream of the story. So, yes, there’s a bit of distraction involved; a bit of talking your way through the trick, keeping the audience focused on the monologue, so no one notices how the egg or the coin actually disappeared. There’s nothing worse for me when I’m reading a story than constantly ‘seeing’ how it was put together. I want be unaware of the devices and techniques used. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I definitely see writing as a trickster activity. Far in the background of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Fish</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, there is the figure of Til Eulenspeigel - the itinerant vagrant of the Middle Ages who plays the fool in order to expose vice and greed and hypocrisy. At the time I wrote </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Fish</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> I was also steeped in North American Coyote tales. And Zen Buddhism has a bit of the brain-breaking trickster aspect about it, too. The beauty is that the trick, the illusion, reveals a truth that sometimes cannot be told any other way. What’s the Picasso line about art? “Lies that tell the truth.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Many have commented on the seeming ease with which poets can turn their skills to the practice of fiction (Joe Dunthorne and Anne Michaels for example). Do you feel that your background as a poet prepared you for the challenge of writing the novel? Did you discover any surprising difficulties?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Although I’ve written many prose-poems that seem to have a narrative line, quite a bit of the poetry I write and read has no conventional narrative. Most of my poetry makes connections by juxtaposition or in the flow of the overall pattern, and I think poets with more of a narrative bent are more likely to ‘get’ the tools of fiction.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Having said that, as a poet I think I picked up description and dialogue fairly quickly. It was for a big demon like Plot that my poetic background had not prepared me at all. What it did do, though, was give me license to do anything I felt like doing. I didn’t know enough to care about ‘how’ a novel was supposed to be structured. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">If I knew then what I know now, I probably never would have attempted the same interweave of six characters for my first novel. I was basically learning about fiction as I wrote the book. I think there’s something to be said for that sort of naiveté, though – you aren’t aware of what you </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">can’t </span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">do, so you just keep going, whistling in the dark. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">What’s funny is that Ondaatje’s novel </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">In the Skin of a Lion </span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">was</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">one of the models I used for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Fish</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, and that he is also a poet as well as novelist. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The novel is clearly concerned with the great variety of voices that each of its characters uses and inhabits. For instance Marie, the Seer, who experiences in each object she touches the impressions left by its previous owners, or Father Leo, the Lover, who sees everything he experiences as a variation on the mantric theme of the fish. Even the epistolary Seeker is affected by his narrative voice, which we experience through his letters. If we think of the narrative voice as a device that allows us to approach something particular in each character’s nature, what were your considerations in choosing their voice – which techniques did you most enjoy, which were the most yielding?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I think of each narrative voice as a melody played by a jazz musician. Soon enough, the musician moves very far from the melody, taking it apart, reassembling it in different ways, but no matter how far out they go they always return to the melody. It grounds the entire performance. So, in the case of Marie, once I wrote the section where she tries on a dress in Casimir’s house for the first time and inhabits the story of the person who previously wore the dress, I knew her melody. I could go anywhere with her and always have something to return to. With Father Leo, whenever I was stuck I would return to his internal fish chant and that would unlock the next sequence. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I didn’t consciously choose those devices, though. These narrative voices, for the most part, appeared in an unconscious way. All but Raoul. His letters are, to a certain extent, an intentional conscious choice meant to fill in any gaps left in Guy and Chiqui’s discussions about illusion. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Marie was the surprise of the book, the easiest to write. She came seemingly out of nowhere, and yet she immediately seemed the most familiar character of all, as if I’d known her all my life. Guy was the hardest, simply because his illusion problem had to be explained without dabbling too much with Buddhist terminology.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Maybe Guy and Marie are my favourites because they are the key to the book for me – Marie’s experience of mystery as ineffable, juxtaposed with Guy’s more negative belief that because everything is impermanent, then all is illusion, and thus pointless. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Your book was taken on by Parthian, the independent Welsh publisher, and published in June 2011. Many people nowadays seem to be of the opinion that the major publishing houses play too safe with their acquisitions of new authors, and are too shy of risking large overheads on first-time writers of literary fiction. Do you feel that the independent scene, at least in the UK, finds itself better placed than the big houses to publish literary fiction?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">From what I’ve read since I’ve been in the UK, I think the larger publishers in London are a bit more open than those in New York. Not by much, but there’s still good, interesting literary novelists who slip through into the UK mainstream. Most mid-list literary authors in the States have to find smaller publishers. I’ve also noticed that some small press American novelists are being published by larger houses here. And I mean the very same books.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">But, on the whole, it’s been the same story for years in the larger publishing houses – marketing departments are the ones in charge. The decision to take on an author is no longer in the hands of editors. With </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Fish, </span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">three editors in three houses in NY wanted the book but each time</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">their marketing departments said no - because they didn’t know how to market it. Parthian, on the other hand, took the book because they thought it was a good book and should be read. I don’t think their first question was ‘how can we monetize this?’ <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">So yes, the smaller presses are, for the most part, publishing the most interesting work at the moment. But that’s always been the case, especially with writers working in more experimental ways. Since the collapse of the publishing industry in 2008, small presses have become THE place for most novelists to send their work, bringing publishing back to a human scale. You don’t necessarily have to deal with agents and marketing departments to see your work into print. That should lower the blood pressure of a large percentage of writers... it lowered mine. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I enjoyed your dystopian short story </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The Feed</span></span></i></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, published in the winter edition of </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">New Welsh Review</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">, out next week</span></span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">. It seemed to share some themes with </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">A Fish...</span></span></i></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> – namely society’s voyeuristic tendencies, and an unending appetite for entertainment and illusion. What do you think are the concerns that most strongly permeate your writing?<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The question of what is and is not illusion still permeates my recent work. When dealing with illusion, I’m necessarily also dealing with the question ‘so, what’s reality, then?’ I don’t see it as a tricky, philosophical postmodern question, though. My own understanding of illusion comes somewhat from a Buddhist perspective – that our concepts, expectations, desires, ideas of what life is and how we want it to be, are all blocking us from experiencing what is right there in front of us. So, for me, it’s pretty basic - about finding a true grounding. Discovering </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">what is</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Illusion and Mystery (with a big M) will probably always be a part of anything I write. Illusion (especially the illusions created by the satanic-mill-factory-financial system currently in place) eats us. Mystery feeds us. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Do you think your imminent return to the States will change your writing?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I have a feeling that when I get back to the States I’ll write more about Wales. That’s how it seems to work for me. I wrote about Belgium in California, I’ve written a bit about the South-western US while living in Swansea, and I’ll probably write about south Wales once I get back to the States. It takes a good long while for any experience to alchemize inside my body before it re-surfaces as a story. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Lastly, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s next for Christien Gholson? Another novel, another burst of poetry? </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">For the past two years I’ve been writing a long poem tentatively entitled </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Tidal Flats</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> (echoing Buntings’ </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Briggflatts</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">). The poem’s central focus is Swansea Bay (I’ve basically spent the last two years hanging around the bay). It weaves together the sensual foundations of language, the evolutionary dependence of human cognition on the environment, current climate change catastrophes, and my rage (and sorrow) over the massive wave of extinctions going on throughout the world. The usual. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Hopefully I can get the first draft done by the time I leave Wales – then look at the incredible mess I’ve made and see what’s salvageable. It might end up being quite a bit shorter than it is now. It probably should be. Then maybe someone other than my wife will read it.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">As to fiction, I’m working on a group of speculative short stories in the same vein as </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The Feed</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> (these spec stories take place in the same world as my second novel, a dystopian work called </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Among the Angels’ Hierarchies). </span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I also just started working on my third novel, but the less said about it the better. I’m superstitious about these things.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">NIA DAVIES ASKS: </span></span></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></span></span></b></span></p><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;color:red;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">The poems in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">On the Side of the Crow</span></i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;color:red;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> seem to be ekphrastic riffs that stem from<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">artworks which may or may not be real - pieces such as a 'Collage made from refuse found on a movie theatre floor' or 'Patterns burnt by an atomic flash onto desert stone.' Were these visual pieces starting points or end points?</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">The beginning image that started the poem didn’t usually end up being the central focus. If you look at “Portrait of Leo’, the one about someone listening in on an arms dealer’s conversation, that started with an image of a blind, albino fish in a cave pool. So - don’t know where they come from, don’t know where they’re going to go...</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Can you describe something of movement between visual/kinetic into language that takes place in your poem-making?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">I find image rides the language and language rides image. They’re usually<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">inseparable.</span></b></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;color:red;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">So... what states best trigger these kinds of poems for you - darkness or bright<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;color:red;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">light? Noise or silence (etc)?</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:Georgia;mso-ansi-language:EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"> I write the initial lines of most poems outside, so I’m a big proponent of silence (i.e., non-human noise). Most poems I’m interested in weave their way between both noise and silence.</span></b></span><!--EndFragment--> </span></span></span></b></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal; color: rgb(21, 34, 44); line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"></span></span></b></span></p><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US;font-family:Times-Roman;"><b><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">NWR gets new writers noticed, and gets published writers new readers. Support writers by </span></span><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); text-decoration: none; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">subscribing</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">!</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;color:#15222C;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; font-size: -webkit-xxx-large;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; font-size:medium;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></b></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(21, 34, 44); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; font-size:medium;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Next interview coming soon: Matthew Francis</span></b></span></span></p></b></span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7806753190007257060.post-91064086582723140482011-11-21T15:40:00.004+00:002011-11-21T16:08:19.209+00:00Slate and alabaster, inside out<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoBodyText"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">On Thursday, Alan Llwyd’s biography, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><a href="http://www.ylolfa.com/dangos.php?lang=en&ISBN=%209781847713933">Kate: Cofiant Kate Roberts 1891-1985</a></span></i><span style="font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, was published, and its claim that our respectable grande dame of Welsh fiction was bisexual, aired last night in an S4C documentary </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><a href="http://www.s4c.co.uk/clic/c_level2.shtml?programme_id=501477753">Kate, Y Cofiant</a></span></i><span style="font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">. In both book and documentary, Alan Llwyd presents correspondence between Roberts and her husband Morris T Williams before and after their marriage to back up his assertion. One letter in particular, describing an encounter with ‘the butcher’s wife’ (and her ‘alabaster skin’), Llwyd cites as evidence that Roberts was sexually attracted to women. He interprets this letter as a coded message to Williams signalling that she knew of his homosexuality and that their future partnership might work to both their advantages, not only as a decoy in a prejudiced age but also by creating a sphere of mutual tolerance and understanding based on compromise.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">The notion that Morris T Williams (with whom Roberts ran the press Gwasg Gee) was most likely gay and in a relationship with Kate and Williams’ mutual friend, the poet E Prosser Rhys (published by Gee) is already in the public sphere. But, apart from his sensational interpretation of Kate’s sexuality, what is most refreshing here is Llwyd’s unfailing ability to inhabit her corner of this love triangle. So he views a letter from Williams to Prosser Rhys, embargoed until after his death as indicating a much stronger attachment on Williams’ part to his male friend than to his wife. He ran much greater risks than her in his behaviour, and yet she needed him more than he did her. Tragic stuff!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">No more sensationalist revelations, I fear, in the winter issue of <i>New Welsh Review</i><span style="font-style:normal">. But Kate Roberts’ concerns of ‘enduring virtue… moral realism… [and] her centrality accorded to women characters’ as well as her fictional settings ‘among the agricultural/industrial interface along the northern and western margins of Eryri: sheep country, slate country’ are what unite the books reviewed by Jim Perrin in his essay ‘Slate Country Fictions’. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText" style="tab-stops:355.0pt"><span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">These novels from the past sixty years are by authors based outside Wales: Patrick O’Brian’s <i><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Testimonies-Patrick-OBrian/dp/000647652X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1321890577&sr=8-1">Testimonies</a> </i><span style="font-style:normal">(1952) and John Wain’s </span><i><a href="http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/w/john-wain/winter-in-hills.htm">A Winter in the Hills</a></i><span style="font-style:normal"> of 1970 (‘differently powerful and distinguished’), as well as 2007’s Booker-longlisted, Richard & Judy Bookclub-boosted </span><i>The Welsh Girl</i><span style="font-style:normal">. This novel by Peter Ho Davies, who is of Welsh-Chinese parentage, topped a Bookseller pick of ten this autumn with reported sales of 152,117, beating </span><i>Carrie’s War</i><span style="font-style:normal">, </span><i>Aberystwyth Mon Amour</i><span style="font-style:normal"> and </span><i>A Child’s Christmas in Wales</i><span style="font-style:normal">. Perrin’s judges </span><i>The Welsh Girl</i><span style="font-style:normal"> to contain ‘ignorance, presumption and falsity’; my recollection is that its geography is confused, reflecting a sense of location either lapsed or never properly grasped. In contrast, Perrin praises </span><i>Testimonies</i><span style="font-style:normal"> as a ‘fascinating and accomplished novel’ and attributes its author’s ‘sense of a particular small corner of rural, Calvinist Wales [to] his four-year, post-war sojourn in Cwm Croesor [Llanfrothen].’ As to </span><i>A Winter in the Hills</i><span style="font-style:normal">, ‘for an explanation of the benign, wide-ranging and perceptive vision of Wales afforded… I suspect the answer is… hearth-talk and pillow-talk in Wain’s long, happy and successful second marriage to Eirian James.’<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">While Perrin’s essay is subtitled ‘Outside Views of Wales’, its author would value, as a travel writer, the alternative perspective offered by authors from elsewhere on Welsh subject and setting, just as no one would seek to restrict the horizon of Wales’ authors to slate rooftops. Such ‘outside’ views, however, at least in naturalistic fiction, should at least aim for an accurate basis in history, politics, geography and language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">In Jay Griffiths’ <i><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Wild-Elemental-Journey-Jay-Griffiths/dp/0141006447/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top">Wild, An Elemental Journal</a></i><span style="font-style:normal">, white ‘outsiders’ see only desert where Australia’s aborigines see depth, meaning, songlines (no clichéd comparison of Oz and Welsh citizens intended). And yet ‘outsiders’ may be privileged by their own authentic viewpoint, even while it sets them at odds with others, as Charles Russell shows in his survey of untrained and mentally ill artists, </span><i><a href="http://www.bookdepository.co.uk/Groundwaters-Charles-Russell/9783791344904">Groundwaters, A Century of Art by Self-taught and Outsider Artists</a></i><span style="font-style:normal">. So, three Insider recommendations on ‘outside’ views. ‘Upside down… inside out’: make Diana Ross proud of your Christmas reading list.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText">This is a version of Gwen Davies’ <i>Western Mail</i><span style="font-style:normal"> Insider column published on Saturday 19 November 2011, but contains additional material on Kate Roberts’ life as portrayed in Alan Llwyd’s new biography. Katie Gramich also highlighted the strength of Kate Roberts’ feelings for and interest in women in two news stories in </span><i>Golwg</i><span style="font-style:normal">, autumn 2011, where she confirmed that the author must have known that her husband, Morris T Williams was gay.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">NWR gets new writers noticed, and gets published writers new readers. Support writers by </span><a href="http://www.newwelshreview.com/subscriptions_intro_offer.asp" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); text-decoration: none; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">subscribing</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">!</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(21, 34, 44); font-weight: bold; line-height: 20px; font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">Next blog: guest piece by Barrie Llewelyn on how as a memoirist she found herself recreating her grandmother as a Chicago prostitute</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#15222C;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; font-size:medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#15222C;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; font-size:medium;"><b>Next interviews coming soon: Christien Gholson, Matthew Francis</b></span></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText2"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:14.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Gwen Davieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14321707902091791597noreply@blogger.com0