A year of promise

A very happy new year to all Calderonia’s subscribers and viewers! Thank you for staying with us through 2021, which was our eighth calendar year, and I can promise you at least another year of  posts from me and my guests on things directly, tangentially and not even remotely connected with George Calderon, the source of the blog and subject of my 2018 biography (see Advertisement at end of this post). Keep the Comments coming, please, whether positive or negative!

Of course, what we all hope is that successful vaccination programmes and increasing understanding of the Covid-19 virus promise an end in 2022 to the worst epidemic Britain has suffered since the so-called Spanish Flu of 1918-19.

For Sam&Sam, the Anglo-Russian publisher that Sergei Bychkov and I founded in Moscow in 1974, the new year promises reaching more readers through our first public appearance in the U.K. — a stall at the annual conference of the British Association for Slavonic and East European Studies, 8-10 April at Robinson College, Cambridge.

As well as the cracking Russian- and English-language books already on our website, the first two months of 2022 will see the appearance there of a new book by Sergei about the ‘dissident’ priest Gleb Yakunin (1934-2014), and on 29 January (Chekhov’s birthday) the Sam&Sam edition of my biography of Anton will become available from Amazon:

Sam2 (U.K.) has done a brilliant job designing and typesetting a book in a format that is new for us. To quote from the blurb, Anton Chekhov: A Short Life ‘draws on all available material about Chekhov’s life, including his complete published correspondence, but offers a manageable reference biography for students and the general reader’. It comes in at 121 pages, with a detailed index, and I have added over 2000 words on subjects that readers asked me to expand on or that are dear to me, e.g. Chekhov’s view of a writer’s tasks, his sexuality, religion, humour. It is better than the first edition…I promise!

                                                                                                                     Patrick Miles

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

 

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Guest post by Jim Miles: ‘DONG!’

The most striking aspect of Japan, right from the moment I arrived, was how different from the UK it wasn’t. People talk about culture shock and in particular how Japan ‘just does things differently’ (often with an almost-patronising ‘isn’t this quaint’ tone) but I was astounded — and greatly reassured — by how at home I felt right from the beginning.

A large part of this was the food. Something like toast and butter with coffee at breakfast (particularly popular in my Japanese ‘home town’ of Toyohashi) or a classic spaghetti bolognese, potato gratin, etc. were not what I thought I’d have easy access to but there they were, on the menus of countless restaurants and making me feel as though I was still in Cambridge!

Walking into a supermarket or convenience store and seeing the same Casillero del Diablo wine and Snickers chocolate bars as in the UK equally set me at ease.

Perhaps it is a matter of perspective. I may have been picking out what felt familiar to me and holding onto those for reassurance rather than focusing on that which was unfamiliar and being unnerved by it. I’m not sure.

I do distinctly remember on my second day in Japan standing at a pedestrian traffic light and noticing those little ‘bobbles’ on the concrete that we also have in the UK and sincerely wondering if I was part of a reality TV show to see how long I would notice that I was actually just still in England and everyone around me was an actor. It felt that something as fundamental as the patterning on concrete was a giveaway in a sense (a clue that no-one had noticed and which would blow the ruse), but of course I was really in Japan and the concrete patterning really was just like back home and this really did reassure me that I was still very much in my comfort zone.

There are many other ways that Japan felt like home, such as the personality of the people I encountered. Something about the etiquette and acknowledgement of others was very similar to how I experienced people treating each other in England. One theory about this is that because both countries (Japan and the UK) are islands, and of similar size, certain alike aspects of human etiquette independently emerge from the proximity of the people living there. I’ve always liked this notion, though I prefer to keep it as a ‘nice idea’ than something rigorously and scientifically true!

Despite these examples, I think that the largest factor for feeling so culturally comfortable in Japan was the incredible family at whose language school I taught. Rie Goto was my boss, hiring me to teach English at her school and she has a husband and three daughters. The family would involve me in their activities as much as possible, but were always sensitive about if I had other things I wanted to do, or was too tired, etc. I lived in a flat just down the road from them so was independent, but always had this support network. It was incredible.

To flip the script on my post so far, it really is quite unreasonable for me to fire off about not feeling culture shock in Japan, and act like it was all down to the availability of Snickers in the supermarket, when the host family and their wonderful level of welcomingness were the true reason!

This picture was taken in my final week in Toyohashi on a night out with the older students. The girl next to me is Emma, who I was training to take over from me at the school, and the two in the middle at the head of the table are Rie and Hiro.

In the second part of this post, but keeping with the same theme, I would like to tell a story about how welcomed and accepted I felt in Toyohashi on a particular occasion at this time of year. I should explain that Christmas itself is celebrated in Japan, but in a unique way. It is observed in a non-religious sense with shops selling Christmas-themed goods, decorations being displayed, and many families ordering a Kentucky Fried Chicken meal on Christmas Day (the long-reaching result of an exceptionally effective marketing campaign by KFC in the 70s). The story I am going to tell is not set at Christmas. It happened at the New Year, which is when Japanese typically have winter holidays. That ‘Shōgatsu’ holiday period is a reasonable equivalent to the time that UK people have away from work around Christmas Day.

It was New Year’s Eve, 2010, and I had planned to go to one of my favourite local restaurants to see the year in. ‘Karubi’ was a Korean barbecue restaurant about 10 minutes walk from my apartment where I would order an enormous plate of various delicious meats and sit at my table for hours barbecuing and eating it, drinking beer, and generally reflecting on things, with my laptop or a book. Often I would come here after work and post-process my lessons — what I had done well, what I could improve, and so on. I enjoyed teaching and felt that analysis in that way was a very important part of the job, so I would relax with it over food after a long day.

However, as I approached the restaurant (at about 11pm) I saw that they were closing up. Although Karubi usually stayed open until 2am, I should have realised that on New Year’s Eve that may not be the case.

It didn’t bother me and I walked back to my flat, thinking that I would pick up some food from a convenience store and have that at home.

‘DONG.’

Was that a bell?

I kept walking, thinking about what I would eat tonight.

‘DONG.’

It’s definitely a bell!

Following this sound seemed much more entertaining than food so I changed course and went north-westwards in the direction from which I could hear it coming.

‘DONG.’

The bell was getting much louder and I knew I was closer and closer to the source.

After about 20 minutes walking from where I had been when I first heard the bell, I came to a familiar temple that I had seen before when exploring the local area. There were huge crowds of people in the temple grounds and a few fires burning.

I moved closer to get a better view and a tiny child called out ‘James! James!’.

It was one of my kindergarten students.

His parents looked slightly confused and the child explained (or did his best to) that I was the English teacher at the kindergarten. I realised that everyone was in a queue for something, so I said to the parents something like ‘koko, ii desu ka?’ (≈ ‘is here okay?’) and joined at the back, a few spaces behind them.

People around us were eating various snacks (not convenience store snacks — these were temple-produced traditional ones!) and the fires were keeping everyone warm.

But I still didn’t know what we were queuing for.

‘DONG.’

The bell kept ringing.

At some point the queue had moved enough that I could see the bell, on a wooden platform, being rung.

I was queuing to ring the bell!

It suddenly occurred to me that a gaijin (foreigner) doing this might not be the most diplomatic thing in the world so I caught the attention of one of the official-looking people and said in somewhat broken Japanese, with a big bell-donging gesture, words to the effect of ‘am I allowed to ring it too?’. The person made it absolutely clear that of course I could, in fact I should!

I can’t quite express how accepted I felt in this moment, standing in a queue with lots of people who I couldn’t really see, but many of whom recognised me as the teacher of their children, or perhaps as a man who came to their shops/restaurants, or maybe even just as that English guy they had seen cycling around Toyohashi. The feeling was that I was one of them, a Toyohashi resident, and I was absolutely going to be joining them in ringing that bell.

‘DONG.’

Time passed and it must have been about 1am that I got to the front of the queue (though it didn’t feel like a long wait) and I was ushered up the wooden stairs. I waited for my instructions, which were in Japanese but I later found out approximate to something like ‘make your new year’s wish as you ring it’ and I hit the big wooden ringer into the very large bell, ringing it just like I had heard from across town near Karubi.

The bell I rang was similar to this one.

I stepped down from the platform and was given a traditional snack by one of the officials (possibly they were monks).

I walked home eating the snack, then went straight to bed, reflecting on the most unique new year’s celebration I had ever experienced.

We wish all Calderonia readers a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

 

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Sensei Pulvers’ miraculous year

Click the cover to find this book on amazon.

A friend of Jim’s in Japan brought Roger Pulvers and me together three years ago. The friend referred to Pulvers in the most natural way as ‘Sensei Pulvers’. And this is totally appropriate. Anyone whose children have attended karate classes will know that there ‘sensei’ means ‘martial arts instructor’, but actually in Japanese it approximates to Teacher, Mentor and almost Philosopher.

There can be few non-Japanese in the world as well qualified to teach the rest of us about Japan, to induct us into its life and culture, as Roger Pulvers. In 2019 Alison and I attended the UK premiere of Pulvers’ film STAR SAND, set in post-war Japan, and were overwhelmed by its truthfulness and beauty. His books The Dream of Lafcadio Hearn and The Unmaking of an American carry you straight into the mind of modern Japan. I cannot wait to read also his My Japan: A Cultural Memoir, the 2020 English-language edition of an earlier book in Japanese entitled If There Were No Japan.

Pulvers’ energy is staggering. He spent much of 2020 in lockdown at his home in Sydney, Australia. This unfortunately meant that he had to postpone shooting his next film, which was all set up to go, but instead he produced a 195-page selection of Sergei Esenin‘s verse in his own translation (Pulvers was a Russianist before he went to Japan), wrote the play and lyrics in English and Japanese for the musical of Miyazawa Kenji‘s novel Night on the Milky Way Train, and published a 200-page book of all the other poems that he had translated from three languages and himself written in lockdown, not to mention performing his translations every few days on YouTube!

Anyone interested in Russian literature but who does not know Russian should read Wholly Esenin, which has been well received over here. Not only has Pulvers snappily and accurately translated a wide selection of Esenin’s verse, his extremely informed commentary amounts to a short biography of the ‘blonde angel’.

But my personal choice from Pulvers’ annus mirabilis is Poems 2020, whose cover I feature above. A third of its contents are translations of Japanese poems that I did not know before. Again, Pulvers’ notes are as readable and enjoyable as his English versions. Inevitably, perhaps, I am drawn to ‘new’ haiku by one of my favourite Japanese poets, Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902). Here are two, with commentaries:

Autumn fly
The swatters are all full
Of holes

This is an intriguing image. The swatter [fly swat] has been used so much that holes have opened up in it. This indicates that the autumn fly’s life may be saved thanks to the sacrifices made by its predecessors. (p. 171)

The snail is enticing
Rain clouds
With its antennae

This haiku employs one of the key elements seen in the genre, that of contrasting scale. We can see the snail’s antennae, the sky and the whole space in between at once. Haiku often make you look elsewhere in order to see something central. In other words — and this can be said for much of Japanese aesthetics — things on the periphery of or quite a distance away from something may call attention to that thing much more vividly than the thing itself. It is a kind of poetic entanglement. (p. 173)

You may think Pulvers uses ‘entanglement’ here in its ordinary English sense…but you can be sure that he is also referring to the EPR Effect of quantum physics, i.e. ‘measurement on particle 1 produces instantaneous change at particle 2 […] some counterintuitive togetherness-in-separation between 1 and 2’ (John Polkinghorne, Quantum Theory: A Very Short Introduction, p. 79). You can be sure, because Roger Pulvers is almost as much a polymath as George Calderon — Pulvers is the uomo universale of the Antipodes!

With its direct, unrhymed versions of Pushkin, Tiutchev, Gumilev, Pasternak, Akhmatova, Mandel’shtam, Tsvetaeva, Mickiewicz, Borowski and other Russian and Polish classics, accompanying those of twelve Japanese poets, Sensei Pulvers’ Poems 2020 is fantastic value.

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

 

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‘These magnificent metal beasts’

Click the cover to find this book in Tim Easley’s online store.

Sam2 gave me this book last Christmas and it’s been a source of endless delight ever since. At 8.5 x 12.0 inches and beautifully produced, it may seem like a coffee table book, but it is much more. I have read it several times in full, but I also love just opening it at random, studying every detail of the superb images by award-wining designer and photographer Tim Easley, and savouring his captions. I feel that the amazing diversity of the (sometimes outsize) vending machines shown, and their background settings, can tell me something about Japan if only I can ‘read’ them properly. I am still ‘reading’ them.

The shadows on this one, the little overhanging branch, the soft wood on the right, and the Perspex background oddly reminiscent of bamboo, suggest the lingering presence of an older, ‘poetic’ Japan. The box’s proportions and its entirely unnecessary curved red roof are positively classical. Every item on the face of this machine has been positioned with care to achieve an intriguing interaction with empty space (is this effect perhaps what Japanese aesthetics call mo, which has been translated as ‘dreaming space’?), and the tiles for the consumables themselves seem almost secondary. Other machines in the book are more in your face, even brutal, garish and occasionally distressed with graffiti and stickers.

As Easley discovered on his first visit to Japan, vending machines are a way of life there. (5.5 million of them, or one to every 23 people in the country, he tells us in his useful section ‘Factoids’.) They sell everything from ice cream, T-shirts, cigarettes and souvenirs to every hot and cold drink imaginable. I conclude that the Japanese believe in convenience. In Japan he found

Vending machines that actually worked. Anywhere you went, whether it was up a mountain or in a train, you could buy a cold drink, they were reasonably priced, and they were always fully stocked.

But he also discovered their infinite variety. He may call them ‘robots’, ‘guys’, ‘a gang’, ‘lonely machines’, ‘magnificent metal beasts’, but he knows that they are more than the latest word in Japanese technology. With their whimsical cartoon figures, floating Japanese characters, weird English, ‘mix of American and pastels’, sheer wit and clean design, they amount to ‘pieces of art’ — a modern, original, Japanese art.

Tim Easley can be found on Twitter at @TimEasley, and his books/work including Vend can be purchased from his site.

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

 

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Guest post by Alison Miles: Some geographical aspects of a visit to Japan in 2013

I visited Japan in autumn 2013 and my main reason was to see Jim, who lived there for several years. It was about six months after I retired so a wonderful opportunity to take a long-haul flight (my first ever) to somewhere on the other side of the world. Everyone knows about the spring cherry blossom in Japan and how much it is celebrated. I had considered a spring visit, but October/November was more convenient. So I was delighted to discover that the autumn colours in Japan are also fantastic. As the two weeks of my holiday progressed the maples and other trees and shrubs intensified in colour, to bright reds and oranges.

But it wasn’t just the autumn colours that amazed me. There were so many other aspects of the country that were fascinating including the cities I visited — Tokyo, Kyoto, Nagoya and Toyahashi. It was also wonderful, in all senses of the word, to experience features associated with active vulcanicity particularly in the area around Hakone, where I stayed with friends who have a house there.

Wherever I go, I rarely switch off from my background as a geographer (to the amusement, or maybe irritation, of my companions!). So my Japan holiday was a perfect way to observe aspects of the country that really interested me — and have led to the title of this guest post.

My two geographical themes are ‘Urban structures’ and ‘Earthquakes and volcanoes’.

Urban structures

From the mid 1960s I have been very much aware of urban structure, including some of the models that originated in North America in the first half of the 20th century, starting with Burgess’s concentric rings model, first proposed in the late 1920s based on land use in Chicago. It demonstrates correlation between economic status and distance from the centre (where the central business district, CBD, is located). As you would expect this very simple model has its limitations and in real life the situation is far more complicated. However, it provides a starting point for looking at urban structure. The key to the colours for both the models drawn below uses the word ‘class’ to help describe the nature of each zone, for example ‘low class’ – small residential properties occupied by factory workers, ‘medium class’ – larger properties and more open space, and ‘high class’ – larger still with plenty of space, sometimes known as the commuter zone.

It was soon evident that a more complex model would be better and by 1939 the sector (or Hoyt) model was proposed.

Although these two early models of urban land use are based on American cities almost 100 years ago, I find they give me a pattern to think about. Inevitably they are massive oversimplifications of reality. It is, however, possible to find some aspects of even the oldest models that help when it comes to making sense of the layout and functions of a European city.

For UK towns and cities I find it relatively easy to identify the different ages of properties, the uses of buildings and the way the urban areas have grown. There are reasons for this, the most obvious being my own experience of living in the country over many years as well as a tendency to try and make sense of what I am seeing. So the UK city/town centre of narrow streets and old properties replaced further out by residential ribbon development then late 20th century estates, interspersed with commercial sites, is totally familiar to me.

In Japan I was essentially a tourist, sightseeing rather than doing geographical fieldwork, but I am interested in my surroundings. The Japanese cities that I visited were fascinating. There was a mix of high rise and single/two-storey residential buildings, retail parks, open spaces (sports fields and urban parks) and all the usual trappings of modern transport whether rail (train and tram) or road. But I had difficulty identifying actual patterns of different land uses and could not answer questions such as: Is there a retail area? Where are offices concentrated? What evidence is there of residential expansion? The cities that I visited are huge — the smallest, Toyohashi, has a population of over 350,000 — which partly explains why structure did not jump out at me. Most of the buildings look very modern:

A view of Toyohashi that I took looking north from the station area

Although I could not identify old city core areas, I visited two areas of old-style properties (now tourist attractions) in Tokyo and Kyoto, Asakusa and Gion respectively. Japan-Guide (https://www.japan-guide.com/e/e3004.html, and https://www.japan-guide.com/e/e3004.html ) says: ‘Asakusa is the centre of Tokyo‘s shitamachi (literally “low city”), where an atmosphere of the Tokyo of past decades survives. Gion is Kyoto‘s most famous geisha district and attracts tourists with its high concentration of traditional wooden machiya merchant houses. Due to the fact that property taxes were formerly based upon street frontage, the houses were built with narrow facades only five to six meters wide, but extend up to twenty meters in from the street’.

Apart from reconstructed areas built in the traditional style, buildings did not look old but there were many areas where streets were narrow, properties very tightly packed and often high rise, suggesting high land values that are often typical of commercial sectors.

A photo that I took of a narrow street in Tokyo

In contrast, other areas had wider streets, longer frontages, fewer storeys and some open spaces. Then there were mixtures – single or two-storey properties mixed with higher ones.

A final contrast

It was easy to travel between Japanese cities:

Shinkansen (bullet train), a photo that I took at Toyohashi station in October 2013

In the UK, I was used to more old-fashioned trains:

This photo of an intercity diesel train was posted on Taunton Trains blog in 2012

Earthquakes and volcanoes

Japan lies on the western edge of the Pacific Ocean, part of the ‘Pacific Ring of Fire’. This phrase refers to the incidence of volcanic activity round the Pacific Rim, where crustal plates move towards each other. Japan lies along the boundary of the Pacific plate as it moves westwards converging with and sliding beneath the Eurasian and Philippine plates. This leads to instability that results in volcanoes and earthquakes.

Over the years there have been devastating earthquakes in Japan.

One of the most recent was in 2011, the Tohoku earthquake, the strongest recorded in Japan, affecting the north-east coast of Honshu. The earthquake triggered a tsunami that flooded the Fukoshima nuclear power plant and killed nearly 20,000 people. I remember visiting the Kaetsu Educational and Cultural Centre in Cambridge (sadly now closed but its website still exists for archive purposes: http://www.kaetsu.co.uk/ ) where they were raising money for the people in the devastated area. The displays and presentations gave me some understanding of the problems for displaced residents, starting with homelessness and lack of occupation/employment.

The 1923 Great Kanto earthquake caused huge damage to Tokyo and over 100,000 deaths. Asakusa, mentioned above, was devastated by fire. It happened at lunchtime as people were cooking, leading to massive fires across the city that took days to control. Following that disaster there was a review of building structures to reduce risk in future earthquakes.

One very interesting aspect of my visit to Japan was the technology area in the Okumura Corporation Commemorative Museum in Nara, south of Kyoto (https://www.okumuragumi.co.jp/en/commemorative/ ):

I took this photo to show how the building sits on a seismic isolation system. The ‘ground’ floor houses an area with interactive displays that demonstrate the effects of technologies designed to reduce earthquake impacts.

As well as earthquakes, I saw an abundance of evidence of volcanic activity starting with Mount Fuji, the cultural icon of Japan, and incidentally a good example of a composite cone, or strato-volcano.

When I visited the Hakone volcanic area the weather was good enough to see Mount Fuji so I was lucky to take this photo. In the foreground are signs of the smoky sulphurous area of the Owakudani valley.

The Owakudani valley was created around 3,000 years ago when the Hakone volcano exploded. At the same time Lake Ashi (Ashinoko) was formed in the caldera of the volcano, and it is one of the many tourist attractions of the region.

I took this photo from a ‘pirate ship’ that provided trips across the lake – popular with everyone, particularly Chinese tourists on the day I visited.

The pirate ship berthed at the end of the Hakone ropeway which gave access to the Owukudani valley. The valley is very spectacular with vents (fumaroles) emitting sulphurous fumes and steam. At the time, 2013, the warning sign below and a few closed paths were the only restrictions to visitors but in 2015 the site was closed because of increased volcanic activity. It was partially reopened in 2016 with warnings that ‘high volcanic activity’ made it unsuitable for ‘people with asthma, bronchitis, heart disease, heart pacemakers, and pregnant women’.

In the Hakone residential area there was plenty of evidence of natural hot water, for example the ditches along the roadsides were steaming (and, incidentally, plants in the verges included the dreaded Japanese knotweed — no problem as the ecosystem has natural controls including insects and fungi).

This brief account highlights a couple of themes that particularly interested me when I visited Japan. There is a huge amount more that I would like to see and do – maybe one day!

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

 

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Hayashi Fumiko’s nuclear winter

Click the cover to find this book on Amazon.

Japan’s genocidal war crimes do not go away. They constantly feature in our media and I for one will never forget them, as my uncle died in Japanese captivity in 1945. A recent article in The Spectator was headed ‘Not prosecuting Hirohito was a mistake’. We all know what ended the war with Japan, and the controversy still surrounding that end. We know the facts about Japan’s war…but I have to say I never knew how it affected ‘ordinary Japanese’, particularly the working class, until I recently read this book.

Selected, translated and published by the American Japanologist J.D. Wisgo, most of these nine stories are set in wartime/immediately post-War Japan, particularly Tokyo. Although Hiroshima and Nagasaki are never mentioned, the March 1945 bombing of Tokyo that virtually destroyed it forms the background to the stories: one of such devastation of life and property as to approximate, I think, to a picture of nuclear winter. They are tales of extreme poverty, starvation, death and personal tragedy; bleakness unforgettably evoked.

At their core is usually a woman-man relationship which is explored fully, with impressive knowledge and confidence. I put the relationship that way round, as the Japanese women portrayed here are stronger, less crushed, more active and emotionally complex than the men, who are often deeply traumatised by the war and its destruction of their families. Stereotypic western ideas about Japanese women go out of the window. A seventeen-year-old daughter saves her doting widowed father from a post-War marriage whilst deftly leaving the family home to live with her older lover (‘The Master of the Wanderer’s Tavern’). A young woman runs away from the country to the ruins of Tokyo, works as a dancer, becomes pregnant, but is determined to have the child and is supported by an older woman and a homosexual (‘Downfall’). A male medical student is torn between a chubby housemaid infatuated with him and an impossibly beautiful woman he meets one night in the communal bathroom where he has gone ‘as usual to wash his two pairs of underwear’ (the hilarious ‘Tale of the Seishūkan Guest House’). Most moving of all, perhaps, a penniless married couple whose clothes shop has failed and who decide they must separate for economic reasons and because the woman believes they are incompatible, at the very last minute rediscover gentleness and love (‘Days and Nights’). Truly, in Fumiko’s stories life begins the other side of despair.

However, from the point of view of educating oneself about Japan the most valuable thing about them, I think, is their ‘strangeness’, i.e. their sheer cultural difference; what some readers might consider weirdness. There are constant references to the dimensions of rooms in metres. Suicide is an accepted choice. The idea of ghosts has a strong hold on people. Chronology keeps being broken, so that the total effect of the story is more compositional than linear. Similes are startling: ‘a suited salesman stood smoking absent-mindedly with a head of hair glistening like the eyes of a dragonfly’ (p. 95), a woman brushes a man’s hand ‘roughly off like an eagle cleaning its feathers’ (p. 104). ‘A girl with black earlobes served him tea’ (p. 100), and a man suddenly grabs his wife’s fingers and starts to ‘bite her fingernails, one at a time — pointer finger, middle finger, and pinky’ (p. 117). ‘Black earlobes?’ one exclaims; ‘bite her fingernails?’ Why? The translator has perhaps prudently decided not to explain these things to us in notes, for once started where could he end? Fumiko takes them all for granted, of course, and that is what one needs as a foreigner if one is going to engage with a raw, unfiltered Japan.

‘Strangest’, most ‘unrecognisable’ of all in these stories is the world of feelings and the sudden explosions of violence. The heroine of ‘Employment’ doesn’t herself understand why she is so angry, but screams as she throws pebbles at the sea, then ‘fell down abruptly onto the sandy ground, rolling around and kicking up bits of dry sand like a dog, thrashing about’ (p. 57), whilst the amiable hero of ‘The Tale of the Seishūkan Guest House’ rages ‘violently like a tiger’, repeatedly throws a surgical knife into a wall, and cuts his books ‘to shreds’ (p. 36) — and the passionate biting of a woman’s fingernails has already been mentioned. I certainly didn’t understand why many of the characters of these stories behave the way they do; but that is exactly what you would expect of a totally different culture and your task is to grapple with it if you are going one day to understand it. For instance, it was a complete revelation to realise that several of the Japanese women in these stories are emotionally upset, silently weep, or are stressed out, because of what they perceive (or foresee) as the emotional consequences for their men of the men’s own actions; in other words the women are not suffering from the direct impact of actions on themselves, but from the violent effects of empathy and pity for the other. I don’t know that this is a very common English phenomenon.

In case you are wondering what the word ‘pinky’ means in my quotation above, it is the American for little finger. These are translations by J.D. Wisgo into his native American, and I think this is a very good thing for two reasons. First, it enhances for the U.K. reader the sense of strangeness that is vital to the experience of reading another culture’s literature. Second, as a consequence of that terrible war American is Japan’s other language. I for one am immensely grateful to Wisgo for initiating me through Fumiko’s stories into the post-war world of Japan. I have never recommended a book to a reading group before, but I do recommend this one as the experience is bound to provoke widely differing responses, discussion and even argument. I have read the book three times, feel I have understood more about Japanese values and culture each time, and will surely read it again.

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SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

 

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‘Deep North’…and far out?

This was only the second ‘Japanese’ book that I ever read after The Penguin Book of Japanese Verse, and of course there was a connection: I won’t say that Bashō (1644-94) is my favourite Japanese haiku-writer, but he’s surely the greatest. I wanted to know more about him and, particularly, his art. Where the latter is concerned, I immediately learned something fundamental about the haiku: note after note by Nobuyuki Yuasa at the back of his Penguin Classics translation revealed to me that Bashō’s haiku (originally ‘hokka’) are very often of ‘irregular form’, i.e. not 5-7-5 syllables!

That was in 1976. I have read this slim book many times since, including three times in the past six weeks, and I know I will always come back to it. It actually contains five travelogues. The first four are between six and twenty pages long, ‘The Narrow Road to the Deep North’ itself is forty-seven pages, each has a character and beauty of its own, but ‘Narrow Road’ is the masterpiece. I always read it with a rush of fresh perceptions, probably because its very keynote is variety: variety of places, landscapes, weathers, people, events (present and long past), phenomena, facts, moods, plants…

All this passes before you at what always seems exactly the right pace; never too quick or too slow. It’s utterly mysterious how he has managed it so that you always feel you are on the move with him, there is always an excitement about what is going to happen next, experience after experience is contemplated yet you always know that the journey must keep going, that it has a purpose and a unity greater than its multitude of parts. It is a journey to shrines and sites of deep Japanese historical significance, but also to phenomena of the natural world (a thousand-year-old pine, ancient cherry trees, a famous willow, rocks), and they are described with great wit (sometimes he does not find the famous pond reflections, irises or rock pattern that he has come to see). The effect is overwhelmingly aesthetic: you feel you have been initiated into the artistic way of seeing of an incredibly sophisticated civilisation.

All our journeys are personal journeys (e.g. George Calderon’s Tahiti), but not every journey is a spiritual one. ‘Narrow Road to the Deep North’ is. Bashō is so modest that on a first reading it is easy to overlook that the journey is grounded on danger, in existential terms it is a ‘boundary situation’. When Bashō sets out in 1689, he sells his house as he does not expect to come back from penetrating what was regarded as unexplored territory. When he reaches the ‘barrier-gate’ to the North, the gate-keepers are ‘extremely suspicious, for very few travellers dared to pass this difficult road under normal circumstances’ (p. 120). He teeters over abysses, he literally has to crawl on all fours up a mountain, he forces his way through bamboo thickets, he negotiates a swollen river in a cockleshell boat, he is laid low by illness. The backbone of this travelogue, then, is existential risk and angst. It forces Bashō to question the value and meaning of his life, of all human life, of the universe’s life. (He often weeps.) He says that when he got home after nearly three years, ‘everybody was overjoyed to see me as if I had returned unexpectedly from the dead’ (p. 142). In a sense, he had. His self had been far out.

However, no encounter with a different culture can be without difficulty, and there was something that profoundly worried me about this book when I first read it. On the second page of the first travelogue, ‘The Records of a Weather-exposed Skeleton’, Bashō comes upon ‘a small child, hardly three years of age, crying pitifully on the river bank, obviously abandoned by his parents’. The child was ‘so pitiful that I gave him what little food I had’, but then Bashō philosophises about the causes of the child’s ‘great misery’, concluding:

Alas, it seems to me that this child’s undeserved suffering has been caused by something far greater and more massive [than his parents] — by what one might call the irresistible will of heaven. If it is so, child, you must raise your voice to heaven, and I must pass on, leaving you behind. (p. 52)

Outrageous humbug, I thought, surely he could have rescued the child? In fact the abandonment of children by their parents, of old parents by their children, and of other humans by Bashō himself, is a theme that runs throughout ‘The Narrow Road’. This would be understandable enough as mere truthful reporting, but it always seems to be accepted as a fact of life, never deplored or acted upon. I began to think there was a moral vacuum at the heart of the book, even at the heart of Japanese life at that historical time, and that the source of it was the ‘fatalism’ and ‘resignation’ of Bashō’s Zen Buddhism. The latter profoundly imbues his haiku, and there are those who consequently believe you cannot write haiku unless you believe in Zen. I don’t accept that, and I’m very unsettled by the feeling ‘The Narrow Road’ leaves me with sometimes, that its world is amorally ‘aesthetic’ and ‘philosophical’, and that Bashō is an entirely self-centred artist.

On more recent readings, I have come to interpret the above scene, and Bashō’s moralising rejection of the tearful concubines in ‘Narrow Road’ (p. 132) as Zen symbols, not necessarily reportage at all, since parts of the narration, I gather, are as fictive as some aspects of George’s Tahiti. I must admit, as symbols they are sublime. On the other hand, I also find myself wondering whether Bashō’s passing by on the other side (although he is always full of pity) is not an early example of the Japanese phrase taigan no kaji, which Roger Pulvers explains in his autobiography means a fire that burns on someone else’s riverbank, so although you can see it, ‘you can be indifferent to its cause or effect’.

Yet an equally strong impression from ‘The Narrow Road’ is that of sociability, of human contact, collaboration, interaction, people being aware they can contribute something to other people; dialogue, in fact. A simple example would be the ‘disciples’ and strangers who at every point volunteer to accompany, guide and help Bashō on his journey. He is rarely alone. My impression at the moment is that Japanese life is as sociable and collaborative as that today. I shall have to wait and see. But one can hardly accuse Bashō of being an ‘entirely self-centred artist’ when so many of the haiku in this book are contributed by his companions and he is so complimentary about them!

I cannot begin to do justice to ‘The Narrow Road to the Deep North’ in a blog post that is already over-long. Bashō’s journey is a world classic that everyone should read.

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

 

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‘Another culture’ (A series of seven posts)

Sam2, aka our son James Miles, worked in Japan as a teacher from 2011 to 2014 (his first job when he got back to England was to set up Calderonia!). My wife Alison visited Jim in Japan in 2013. Jim has been urging me to visit Japan myself, and our current plan is to go there together in 2023. Although apprehensive about the long plane journey, I do want to go. I have been ‘engaging’ with Japan through English-language books ever since I bought The Penguin Book of Japanese Verse in 1970; I would like to experience the reality.

‘Japan’

So, the sequence of haiku and senryu above (click on it to enlarge) is literary shots of Japan from the West — that is why the title is in inverted commas. It’s how Japan has affected me without my knowing Japan in the flesh. ‘Wasabi’, by the way, is that green paste made from the Mountain Hollyhock that you have with sushi and takes the roof off your mouth. In the next six posts, which will take us up to Christmas, I shall look at some other glimpses I have gained of Japan through books, and both Jim and Alison will talk about their own experience of the country in separate posts.

I should acknowledge that three of the above poems were published in HQ Poetry Magazine and Blithe Spirit, 2019, but written many years before.

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

 

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A new photograph of George Calderon

Whilst sorting his family papers, Mr John Pym recently found the photograph below, which undoubtedly shows George Calderon on the right. It is a contact print of a photograph, obviously not in sharp focus, which Mr Pym and I believe was probably taken by his grandmother, Violet Pym (1881-1927), who was a keen photographer.

The back is inscribed as follows in the hand of either Violet’s husband Charles Evelyn Pym (1879-1971) or their son John Pym (1908-93): K. & G. Calderon about 1905. However, the woman sitting next to George is older, much fuller in the face, and less fashionably dressed than Kittie in another photo of 1905, reproduced on page 204 of my biography. Who, then, might this person be, and the lady on the far left?

The previously unknown photograph, c. 1905

John Pym believes that the seat is one from Foxwold that he now owns, but that the massive trunk behind it is not one of a tree at Foxwold; rather, perhaps, that of a cedar planted by Frederic Lubbock (1844-1927) at nearby Emmetts.  The seat may originally have been at Emmetts, therefore, and the photograph taken there.

We know from Foxwold’s Visitors Book that there was only one occasion when George and Kittie stayed at Foxwold in 1905, and that was on 27 December in the company of an old friend of the Pyms, the humorous writer Anstey Guthrie. It would be perfectly normal for the Foxwold party to visit Emmetts on that occasion, as Charles Evelyn Pym had married Frederic and Catherine Lubbock’s daughter Violet earlier that year (although the couple were living in Sussex). The person to the left of George might therefore be the then-resident of Foxwold, C.E. Pym’s stepmother Jane Hannah Backhouse Pym (1852-1912). The person to the left of her bears some resembance to Catherine Lubbock (1850-1934).

All this is speculation, however, as the inscription says only ‘about 1905’, there looks to be more foliage on the trees than one would expect on 27 December, and surely it would be odd for George to be wearing a boater in winter? On the other hand, he does look slightly crumpled, and this would accord with his state of health at the time (see pages 202-7 of the biography). On 28 December 1905 Nina Corbet’s son Jim wrote to Kittie that he hoped ‘Uncle George’s’ health was better for having had a Christmas holiday. The alternative date for 1905 is 21 May, when George’s signature appears in the Foxwold Weigh-in Book, but not in the Visitors Book.

I am touched and immensely grateful to John Pym that he has added this photograph to his already generous donations to the Calderon archive. Together with other items of Calderoniana that I have bought or been given since 2019, it will eventually join George and Kittie’s papers at the Houghton Library, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

 

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‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’: Fragments of a response

When I read the novel for the first time, I was bemused by the in-your-face tone of the narrator, who is even given to exclamatory comments: ‘But that is how men are!’ — ‘But Emma said No!’ — ‘Yes, she sat there!’ — ‘More violent sobs — self-conscious!’ Could one expect anything very profound from such a story teller? But Lawrence knew what he was doing. The tone clears the air and increasingly identifies with Lady C.’s own untrammelled responses to her environment. And as she ceases to be ‘Constance’ and becomes ‘Connie’, so the narrator calms down into that affection, compassion, empathy and understanding of her that are so moving.

*               *               *

Is it likely that mine owner, ‘first lieutenant in a smart regiment’ and ruling class bastard Clifford Chatterley could become a successful writer of short stories? Well, no; there is nothing in the pre-novel of chapter 1 that suggests he has any interest in or talent for creative writing whatsoever. Lawrence can make it happen before our eyes, however, because he understood so well what made a fashionable writer of his time: ‘That slightly humorous analysis of people and motives which leaves everything in bits at the end’, as Connie sees it, and ‘a display, a display, a display!’ The only examples of Chatterley’s writing that Lawrence gives are letters. ‘He wrote very good letters: they might have been printed in a book.’ Ouch! There is a brilliant example of Chatterley’s literary phoniness, when he writes that ‘sometimes the soul shoots like a kittiwake into the light, with ecstasy’. The kittiwake, poor bird, is used for mere display.

Kittiwake in flight: a beautiful bird, but a flashy image.
(BBC news)

*               *               *

The depth of Lawrence’s self-belief and seriousness of intent in this novel is borne out by the fact that he forgets to check whether his words could have a farcical meaning. ‘He [Michaelis] couldn’t keep anything up’, or ‘He [Mellors] was a thousand years older in experience, starting from the bottom’, are likely to be construed within the novel’s central context of sexuality rather than the particular context Lawrence intends. In other words, Lawrence has laid himself open to appearing humourless.

 *               *               *

In 1982 I was reading and helping to order the residual papers of the novelist William Gerhardie (1895-1977) acquired by Cambridge University Library. I was particularly interested in any unpublished manuscripts of his relating to Chekhov, about whom he had written the first book in English (1923).

I came across a typescript of his account of visiting D.H. Lawrence at home in 1925 and was incredulous to read that Lawrence had told him he, Lawrence, was incapable of ‘satisfying’ a woman as he suffered from premature ejaculation. What? The foremost writer about heterosexual sex in the English language? Could this possibly be?

Gerhardie omitted the ‘fact’ from his Memoirs of a Polyglot (1931), but in God’s Fifth Column: A Biography of the Age, 1890-1940 (1981) he set it on record and related Lawrence’s condition to the excruciating, almost Expressionist episode in The Rainbow when Ursula attempts to obtain ‘consummation’ from Skrebensky as she lies in the sand hills ‘motionless, with wide-open eyes looking at the moon’.

William Gerhardie, c.1930

I gather it is now accepted that Lawrence suffered from premature ejaculation and could not ‘satisfy’ a woman that way. It would explain his obsession with simultaneous orgasm in Lady Chatterley’s Lover — an odd obsession in today’s world, surely — but also Mellors’s somewhat basic technique. One cannot help hypothesising that Lawrence suffered from p.e. because he saw sex as a sacramental, almost religious act of ecstasy that couldn’t come fast enough, so to speak, once he had embarked on it. The Lawrentian (purely male) conception of sexual climax as sacramental/religious (i.e. virtually spiritual rather than physical) might explain why Skrebensky, Michaelis and Mellors are bitter about their partners not achieving it, rather than blaming themselves (the men).

Mellors’s attention to Connie’s body is wonderful (she herself thinks: ‘he was kind to the female in her, which no man had ever been’). But does Lawrence intend Mellors’s very juicy use of the ‘c’ and ‘f’ words, and the gamekeeper’s penchant for ‘tail’, to imply there is something superior about Mellors’s ‘Anglo-Saxon’ brand of sex?

‘He [Mellors] hated mouth-kisses.’ Why? Nothing, it seems, changes more quickly and is more personal than sexual mores; and this makes the novel peculiarly ‘dated’, or historical, and difficult to discuss today. (It’s a sex and gender minefield!)

*               *               *

Doris Lessing’s introduction (2006) to the current Penguin edition of Lady Chatterley’s Lover is challenging and in my view superb. She relates how she came to see it as ‘one of the most powerful anti-war novels ever written’:

It is not that once having seen how war overshadows this tale, threatens these lovers, the love story loses its poignancy, but for me it is no longer the central theme, despite what Lawrence intended. Two defenceless people, their lives already wounded by war, fly into each other’s arms, fugitives from such horrors, trying to find a little safe place, like small animals fleeing from a forest fire, the wings of flame already close behind them [i.e. of the Second World War].

I admit that, unlike Women in Love, whose narrative ends before 4 August 1914, the First World War is responsible for much of the state of things in Lady Chatterley’s Lover: Clifford’s injury, Mellors’s restlessness and extreme alienation, the terrible debasement of values and words apprehended by Connie in the passage quoted first in Damian Grant’s preceding post. Lawrence’s own description and diagnosis of PTSD is masterly. But I don’t agree that the war is the central theme. We are explicitly informed at the end of chapter 1 that Clifford Chatterley had been ‘virgin when he married [unlike Connie]: and the sex part did not mean much to him’, nor had Connie’s sexuality been awoken by her experiences with German men. This was all true of them before the War, and is the crux of the problem. The central theme remains the new, or as Lawrence expressed it, ‘phallic’ marriage that the novel actually celebrates. ‘Where there is real sex, there is the underlying passion for fidelity’ (A Propos of ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’).

 *               *               *

I have now read the novel twice in swift succession and am struck by the parallels with Women in Love: Clifford Chatterley becomes as ruthless a mine-moderniser as Gerald Critch; Mellors is as anti-establishment, and as big a talker, as Rupert Birkin; the let-out for the lovers, as in Women in Love, is a trust fund that will give them a private income; at the close of Lady Chatterley’s Lover a phoney artist is exposed by Mellors in a way reminiscent of Ursula’s argument with Loerke in the earlier novel. In broad terms, Connie’s and Mellors’s love follows a similar curve to Birkin’s and Ursula’s, and is even described in similar language. When Connie achieves her perfect sexual fulfilment with Mellors, ‘it was the sons of god with the daughters of men’. In Women in Love ‘it was the daughters of men coming back to the sons of God’. One wonders what had happened in the meantime for Lawrence to demote ‘God’ to ‘god’.

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

Posted in Personal commentary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Guest post by Damian Grant: ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ and ‘The Winter’s Tale’

This nineteenth-century engraving of Florizel and Perdita does indeed make them look — to use Lady Chatterley/Connie’s dismissive phrase about the Elizabethans — somewhat ‘upholstered’.

In all the excitement — which has never quite subsided — about the sexual explicitness of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, it has often been overlooked that it is a very literary novel: a product deeply implicated in the high culture it makes a point of traducing. (And the fact that the narrative visits Berlin, London, Paris and Venice makes it almost as cosmopolitan as Eliot’s The Waste Land, published six years previously.) One aspect of this literariness is not even paradoxical, when we realize that Lawrence systematically uses modern culture — especially in its literary aspect — as a sounding-board against which to play out the (re)discovery of sexual reality and fulfilment by Connie and Mellors in the wood. Sir Clifford himself writes commercially successful short stories; Connie’s first lover at Wragby, Michaelis, is a well-received playwright; and conversation among the guests is inevitably intellectual. Lawrence’s narrator even uses other novelists as a kind of shorthand: Mrs Bolton’s conversation is described at one point as being ‘more than gossip. It was Mrs Gaskell and George Eliot and Miss Mitford all rolled in one, with a great deal more, that these women left out’ (third version of the novel, edited by Michael Squires, Penguin Classics, 1994, p. 100).

It is the first sign of her liberation from this world that Connie starts to react against what she sees as the deadness of this culture, which has atrophied language: words themselves.

Connie went slowly home to Wragby. ‘Home!’ it was a warm word to use for that great weary warren. But then it was a word that had had its day. It was, somehow, cancelled. All the great words, it seemed to Connie, were cancelled for her generation: love, joy, happiness, home, mother, father, husband, all these great dynamic words were half-dead now, and dying from day to day […] As for sex, the last of the great words, it was just a cocktail term for an excitement that bucked you up for a while, then left you more raggy than ever. (62)

Part of this logic makes gamekeeper Mellors, though perfectly able to speak in the educated language of the time, prefer to use dialect with her; especially in their most intimate moments. And so the symbolic scheme seems to be simple: Wragby = writing, high culture = degeneracy, death; the woodland = nature, spontaneity, in the service of life itself.

But closer reading proves that the system as it works in the novel is not simple at all. The cultural alignment turns out to be far more interesting, far more complex and contradictory. What we have to conclude is that Lawrence the practised writer and passionate apologist manages to have his cake and eat it. It is thanks to Shakespeare, and especially The Winter’s Tale, that the woodland — backdrop to sexual fulfilment — enjoys a win-win situation, as the best of culture comes to the aid of the best of nature, in a convenient realignment.

In chapter 8 of the novel the wood first comes alive for Lady Chatterley, or she herself becomes alive: ‘Connie was strangely excited in the wood, and the colour flew in her cheeks and burned blue in her eyes’ (86). Interestingly, she first has to evade — as it were, to sidestep — two literary quotations, negative contradicting impressions from both Milton and Swinburne (85). But then more positive Biblical references take over (‘Ye must be born again — I believe in the resurrection of the body!’) before Lawrence offers this reassuring summary: ‘In the wind of March, endless phrases swept through her consciousness’ (85). Words are already playing a double game, some shutting out and others leading on. Connie is entranced by the ‘first violets’ in the wood and the daffodils, ‘so bright and alive […] So strong in their frailty’, and she enthuses to Clifford about these on her return to the house, ‘to Wragby and its walls’ (86); walls also made of words, as we have previously seen.

She goes to the wood again next day, and it is on this occasion that she follows the narrow track leading to the clearing and the gamekeeper’s hut, where she meets and talks briefly to a surprised and slightly resentful Mellors (87-90). Another conversation with Clifford ensues, in which as she is putting the violets she has gathered into a vase he exclaims: ‘Sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes.’

Connie reacts negatively to this: ‘I don’t see a bit of connection, with the actual violets’ (91), also showing that she knows her Shakespeare: ‘The Elizabethans are rather upholstered’ (91). Next day, when Clifford himself ventures with her into the wood in his bath-chair, there is another negative reaction to verbal culture when as she gives him some wood-anemones she has picked, he quotes Keats (from the ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’), ‘Thou still unravished bride of quietness’.

She was angry with him, turning everything into words. Violets were Juno’s eyelids and windflowers were unravished brides. How she hated words, always coming between her and life! (93)

The following day, on her third visit to the wood, she sits at the hut and inwardly rejects the word ‘ravished’ and all the ideas it stands for. ‘Ravished! How ravished one could be without being touched! Ravished by dead words become obscene, and dead ideas become obsessions’ (94). This before an edgy conversation with Mellors, who comes upon her there, which sends her home at the end of the chapter ‘in a confusion, not knowing what she thought or felt’ (96).

Here one must pause to point out that of course Lawrence knew his Shakespeare too, and had remembered Perdita’s celebrated speech to Florizel in Act IV, scene iv of The Winter’s Tale; remembered it at the roots of him, rather like the poems that are ‘woven into a man’s consciousness,’ and ‘which after all give the ultimate shape to one’s life’ (‘Hymns in a Man’s Life’, Phoenix II edited by Warren Roberts and Harry T. Moore, London, Heinemann, 1968, p. 597). If we turn back to this speech ourselves, we will recognize that something interesting has been happening in this eighth chapter of Lawrence’s own pastoral romance. Perdita addresses Florizel and the young girls:

                                                Now, my fair’st friend,
I would I had some flowers o’th’spring that might
Become your time of day; and yours and yours,
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing: O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that frighted thou let’st fall
From Dis’s waggon! Daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets, (dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes
Or Cytherea’s breath); pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength […] (lines 112-24).

Proserpina (as Persephone), the winds of March, the daffodils, the violets, the pale primroses, the breath of Cytherea (Aphrodite): all of these are reproduced within one page at the start of this chapter, where Lawrence is working to establish Connie’s intimacy with the wood and all it represents. What we can observe here, then, is the intriguing example of Lawrence rejecting the cultural with one hand — Clifford’s ill-judged quotation from Shakespeare — and embracing it with the other, in the author’s probably unconscious use of the very same passage to convey Connie’s palpably physical experience of the wood. The ‘endless phrases’ that ‘sweep through her consciousness’ in ‘the winds of March’ are as much a part of that experience as the sense impressions themselves — and the only way that Lawrence can convey these to us. In effect, Perdita’s speech acts as a kind of spell, an incantation, to allow Connie’s entry to the wood.

One could even argue that this passage permeates the novel more extensively. The first paragraph of chapter 12 (165) repeats the incantation, when Connie goes to the wood hoping to meet Mellors. ‘It was really a lovely day, the first dandelions making suns, the first daisies so white’; hazel catkins and crowds of yellow celandines greet her, with ‘the triumphant powerful yellow of early summer’. Then we have this sentence: ‘And primroses were broad and full of pale abandon, thick-clustered primroses no longer shy.’ Lawrence’s idea here can only be understood as in dialogue with Perdita’s ‘pale primroses, / That die unmarried’, to emphasize by contrast Connie’s own imminent ecstatic coupling with ‘Bright Phoebus in his strength’. This spell-like, motif-laden paragraph also contains the image ‘The lush dark green of hyacinths [bluebell leaves] was a sea’, which anticipates the powerful sea imagery used a few pages later to describe Connie’s full orgasmic experience (‘it seemed she was like a sea, nothing but dark waves rising and heaving’ (174)), and it is impossible not to relate this motif, again, to the same passage in the play, when Florizel replies to Perdita ‘when you do dance, I wish you / A wave o’th’sea’ (ll. 140-1). The sea returns a third time — like the tide — in the sentence that ends the chapter: ‘As she ran home in the twilight the world seemed a dream; the trees in the park seemed bulging and surging at anchor on a tide, and the heave of the slope to the house was alive’ (178).

We may conclude that the passage from The Winter’s Tale is used by Lawrence in contradictory ways, like a Janus face. At one level in direct quotation, to let Connie make a negative statement about language and culture; but at another more pervasive level it filters back to the water-table of Lawrence’s verbal imagination to inform and generate his own profoundly felt formulations. We can identify two contrary currents, poetic invocation running under rhetorical positioning.

More generally, one needs hardly to be reminded of the extended passage in chapter 15 where Connie and Mellors decorate each other’s pubic hair with flowers (pp. 220-229) to realize that flower imagery is central to the novel: with the creative fragility of the flower, like sexual life itself, perceived in contrast to the death-dealing mechanization all around. Here, the ground-note is sounded by the moving image from Shakespeare’s sonnet 65: ‘How with this rage shall beauty find a plea, / Whose action is no stronger than a flower?’ And is it too fanciful to suggest that the concluding couplet (‘O none, unless this miracle have might, / That in black ink my love may still shine bright’) could have prompted the image that concludes the novel, when Mellors writes to Connie that if he ‘could sleep with my arm round you, the ink could stay in the bottle’ (301)? Though admittedly the ink has a different function in each case.

Top row, left to right: wood forget-me-not, columbine. Bottom row, left to right: red campion, creeping jenny. The lovers wind them and other wild flowers onto each other’s bodies.

What we have in this novel is the most substantial and developed instance of a paradox we find underlying much of Lawrence’s work, which reacts against mental activity on behalf of the body — but in a medium which is inevitably the finest product of the mind. Consider the poem ‘Snake’, where Lawrence repents in one line for his action in throwing a log at the snake — ‘I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education’ — and makes the gesture as of a deference to nature in the next: ‘I thought of the albatross’ (Poems, edited by Keith Sagar, Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1986, p. 137). But of course the albatross is Coleridge’s albatross, is Baudelaire’s albatross; is a cultivated bird no less than Keats’s nightingale, one of Audubon’s famous prints, or even Yeats’s bird of changeless metal from ‘Byzantium’.

I am not suggesting that the wood in Lady Chatterley’s Lover isn’t a wood, any more than the Forest of Arden isn’t a forest. It is (they are), with all the reality that may be conferred by verbal representation. But we have to acknowledge that it is a magic wood; and part of the magic is, that it also provides a roof-top protest on the prison-house of language.

© Damian Grant, 2021

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

Posted in Edwardian character, Edwardian marriage, Heroism and Adventure, Personal commentary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Lady with little dog/Gamekeeper with spaniel

 

Our guest posts on Women in Love opened an admirable exchange of Comments about all sorts of aspects of Lawrence’s work. I think there was a feeling, however, that we were left with an elephant in the room: Lady Chatterley’s Lover… (I had not even read it.)

Shortly afterwards, veteran Calderonia-contributor Damian Grant kindly showed me a paper that he had written in the 1980s, delivered at a meeting of the D.H. Lawrence Society, but not published. It took up Clifford Chatterley’s quotation from The Winter’s Tale in chapter 8 of the novel and related it to wider issues. It seemed to me an excellent way into a discussion of Lady Chatterley’s Lover, and I am delighted to say that it will appear on Calderonia in slightly expanded form on 1 August.

I vividly remember the rush to buy the unexpurgated version of Lady Chatterley’s Lover after Penguin Books won the case to publish it in 1960. All the windows of the rather staid bookshop in my home town displayed copies of it (see cover above left). There was a steady stream of people darting out with something in a brown paper bag. The following year, aged thirteen, I bought a copy myself and disguised it in the carefully excised cover of Penguin’s Mr Midshipman Hornblower. I don’t think I got to page 40. However, a list was circulating at school of the ‘best pages’. My most passionate interest at the time was natural history, so I was bowled over by Lawrence’s descriptions of the wood; what went on there actually revolted me. My copy was stolen by someone and I made no attempt to recover it. Strangely enough, my parents’ copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover also disappeared, and I don’t know anyone who still has their copy from the 1960s. I think the reason is that people were desperately curious to read the nearly banned novel, but were so disappointed that they soon passed it on to others, who passed it on to others.

Nevertheless, I do still have my copy of A Propos of ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ and Other Essays, which the inside cover tells me I read in 1963. I bought it on the recommendation of our English teacher just down from Cambridge. By the age of fifteen I was much more interested in modern painting than botany and this teacher told me there was a very good essay by Lawrence on Cézanne in this volume. He was right, but the title essay had a very strong effect on me, even though I had not read the novel.

By 1970 I still had not read the novel, but the essay by Mark Schorer in A Propos had acquainted me with the three versions of the novel’s ending and I fancy I had picked up some things Leavis said on this subject, too. It all emboldened me, in an undergraduate essay, to compare the ending of Chekhov’s story ‘The Lady with the Little Dog’ with Lawrence’s two rejected endings to Lady Chatterley’s Lover. The comparison was unfavourable to Lawrence, as I felt he had aimed to resolve the ending, to close it, whereas Chekhov’s story is famous for ending with the words ‘they could both see that the end was still a long, long way off and that the most complicated and difficult part was only just beginning’ — the future in Chekhov’s version of the roman adultère is left wide open.

I have recently read Lady Chatterley’s Lover twice (2006 cover top right) and perceive the resemblances between it and ‘The Lady with the Little Dog’ to be profound; far greater than the differences. For a start, Mark Schorer actually wrote back in 1963 that the third, authorised version of the novel (the one I have just read) ‘leaves the end in some uncertainty, which is supremely right’. In other words, it is more Chekhovian; closer to the last sentence of ‘The Lady with the Little Dog’. Above all, in both works the man’s love is based on compassion and tenderness‘There is something pitiful about her’, thinks Gurov after meeting Anna Sergeevna for the first time. ‘He felt compassion towards the life in her, that was so warm and beautiful.’ ‘There was something so mute and forlorn in her’, Lawrence writes of Connie, ‘compassion flamed in his [Mellors’] bowels for her.’ ‘He thought with infinite tenderness of the woman.’ ‘What were they going to do? What[…]? What […]?’ both Mellors and Gurov ask themselves desperately. Both heroines are in their twenties and their lovers at least ten years older. And in both works sex is vital to the relationships that should become a ‘new marriage’. Lawrence famously considered Chekhov ‘a second-rate writer and a Willy wet-leg’, but the first two English translations of ‘The Lady with the Little Dog’ came out in 1917, they were both by people Lawrence knew well, and it’s rather inconceivable that he never read the story.

I am not going to pursue that theme now, or the twenty-three others that I have noted at the back of my copy of this masterpiece (yes, it really is). I will leave Damian to stir up all that in his fine guest post on 1 August, and I sincerely hope followers will pitch in, preferably by Comment, as with Women in Love.

But there is one question that I can’t help asking. Pretty obviously, in both Chekhov’s story and Lawrence’s novel dogs are surrogate human companions for the heroine and hero respectively. Anna Sergeevna’s dog remains at her husband’s home in the grey, grey town of S. In Lady Chatterley’s Lover what became of Mellors’ dog Flossie?

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

Posted in Modern parallels, Personal commentary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

From the diary of a writer-publisher: 15

2 June
I have never known the cow parsley so high in front of my shed…

11 June
We have completed our ‘hardcopy marketing’ for Edna’s Diary. 130 free copies have gone out to stroke clubs, NHS speech and language therapy units, key figures at Stroke Association UK, stroke professionals, popular and specialist publications, and every friend and relation we think would enjoy the book and possibly buy some copies to give as presents. Two recipients of copies promptly made donations to the Stroke Association —  an action we had not foreseen. The ‘hardcopy marketing’ is vital, of course, but the social media marketing which we are doing will probably be more effective. As usual, it is totally impossible to predict the sales graph.

16 June
Walking into the centre of Cambridge, I passed the A[mateur]D[Dramatic]C[lub] Theatre, scene of some disasters and (relative) triumphs of my own in bygone days, and saw this banner hanging outside:

Veteran Calderonia followers will have instantly recalled my post of 1 November 2016…where I mention that the ‘chimney-sweepers’ in Shakespeare’s lines ‘Golden lads and girls all must,/As chimney-sweepers, come to dust’ are now taken to refer to the decline and death of dandelion heads. The banner is an ingenious use of Shakespeare’s  floral image. The only trouble is, the lines come from Cymbeline, not As You Like It. I suppose we must go and see the production to understand the relevance.

18 June
Today is the first night of  a World Premiere at the Shaftesbury Theatre, London — Lady Chatterley’s Lover The Musical. I have to say, the posters do not augur well: Lady C. and Mellors look roughly the same age and curiously proletarian/Grunge. The mind boggles at how justice is going to be done to the sex scenes. The temptation with modern film and stage adaptations of Lady Chatterley’s Lover is to focus on one aspect of it: class, pornography (Sylvia Kristel in the lead role, 1981), British industrial relations, naturism, the long shadow of the First World War, romantic love story… I shall be interested to read the reviews, especially as I am going to run a series of posts about the novel from the middle of July to the end of August. Having recently read the whole novel for the first time, I am now reading it again. The writing is supremely alive. So the claim that this musical will ‘reenergise Lawrence’s sensation for a new audience’ seems, frankly, fatuous. However, it is directed by Sasha Regan, whose all-male Pirates of Penzance was brilliant.

25 June

Click the cover to find this book on Amazon.

Sam2 has persuaded me that our next project should be to publish a new edition of my 113-page biography of Chekhov (Hesperus, 2008) — both in paperback and Kindle. It makes a lot of sense. I wasn’t 100% happy with the editing of the first edition, but it was to be one of the launch volumes of the series ‘Brief Lives’ so I bowed to the urgency. Then just as the marketing should have got going, the credit crunch wrecked it. Hesperus sold just over a thousand copies in a year and I took the copyright back.

How I tackle a second edition, however, is giving me a lot of thought. I will work from my original digital version, of course. There are one or two ‘typos of fact’ that sharp-eyed Chekhovians picked up, i.e. dates and spellings that were accurate in my pencil manuscript but had been misread by me when I typed it up, and they will be corrected. But I have just completed a week’s manual and online searching for Chekhoviana published since 2007, and discover that three more volumes of the day-by-day record of Chekhov’s life have come out in Russia, from May 1891 to September 1898. These are usually about three hundred pages long and I shall have to read them…

As well as the three or four additions I already know I want to make, I must weigh up whether I should write something on the areas of Chekhov’s life that some Chekhovians suggested I had neglected in the first edition. But the book was written to a strict 30,000-word limit and if I add more than 2000 words or so its genre and, dare I say it, ‘charm’, will start to evaporate. I must also avoid generalisations about Chekhov’s ‘character’; or generalisations generally. Facts, specifics, specifics, facts. So those are the constraints. A lunch at ‘Polonia’ is called for, to discuss the way forward.

30 June
The last day of National Aphasia Awareness Month. It has been a privilege and pleasure to be involved, and in particular to work with Melanie Derbyshire, Assistant Director – Aphasia, at Stroke Association UK, who graciously allowed Edna’s Diary to travel on her social media. I’m convinced the awareness campaign has been a success.

During the pandemic, stroke clubs have not been able to meet physically, so the copies we have sent their organisers are only just reaching the hands of club members. Even so, I have had some very positive responses from them, and today a long letter from the Head of Speech and Language Therapy at a major hospital saying that she has circulated copies to her team specialising in stroke rehabilitation, who will discuss making a bulk order.

I’m quite hopeful, after this special month of marketing, that my mother’s book will eventually reach a lot of readers and sell steadily. And I’m particularly grateful to those people who have said what a nice little book it is to handle (thanks to designer Sam2).

Click here to buy the book on Amazon.

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George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

Posted in Personal commentary | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

BEING AWARE OF APHASIA

In the last week of National Aphasia Awareness Month, I am very pleased to post these two images sent to me by the Aphasia Alliance:

P.S. Stroke Association UK’s income has dropped by half during the pandemic. The organisation has moved permanently from its offices into remote working. A staff cost reduction of about 12% has to be made in the coming months. More income from donations is therefore extremely urgent, if the invaluable research and support services of the Association are to continue to meet our national needs. Donate here.

Comment Image


George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

Posted in Personal commentary | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

National Aphasia Awareness Month: A message of hope

Sam&Sam’s contribution to NAAM. Click on the image to order from Amazon.

This is National Aphasia Awareness Month (NAAM), but the campaign is global. Aphasia is a disorder that impairs the expression and understanding of language, as well as reading and writing.  It may be caused by head injury, a brain tumor, infection, or dementia, but the most common cause is a stroke, usually on the left side of the brain. The Aphasia part of the Stroke Association’s website is: www.stroke.org.uk/what-is-aphasia and we have been advised to include the following hashtags in this blog: #Aphasia #AphasiaAwareness #CommunicationAccess.

The thrust of this campaign is both to bring home to us all how common aphasia is and to educate us in how best to interact with people who are affected by it. About 350,000 people currently have aphasia in Britain. Approximately 100,000 people suffer strokes in the UK each year, and almost half of them need speech and language therapy. Stroke Association UK addresses what aphasics need from us here.

But the background to the campaign is incredibly encouraging. The number of deaths from stroke in the U.K. has fallen by 49% in the last fifteen years, thanks to better prevention and great advances in treatment. Above all, attitudes to stroke recovery have changed. Fifty years ago, stroke was seen as an effect of ageing that led inevitably to disability or death; it was treated fatalistically. I witnessed that myself when my grandmother had a bad stroke in 1970. The stroke unit for the elderly was in a workhouse infirmary built in the 1850s. The nurses were caring, but my grandmother had hardly any physiotherapy, no speech and language therapy, and minimal stimulation.  Essentially, such stroke survivors languished; it was not thought possible to improve their condition. (My mother brought my grandmother home as soon as possible and organised her own care package.) Today, as a campaigns director of the Stroke Association has put it, ‘The issue is improving rehabilitation: how do we make sure that a good life after stroke is possible?’

Where overcoming aphasia is concerned, the greatest source of hope in my opinion is the miraculous and mysterious life of the human brain. When my mother called me in to her early one morning and I realised she had had a stroke, she spoke to me in long English sentences that made no sense, but she also uttered sentences in what, as the manager of a translation agency, I realised were Dutch and French. I could not believe it, as she certainly ‘knew’ no Dutch and her French was not fluent. Later, however, I learned that this sort of thing is not unusual. (I have been told of a stroke survivor who could not speak Welsh, but had been evacuated to Wales as a child and after his stroke produced Welsh sentences that it was thought he had overheard in the neighbour’s garden seventy years before.) The brain is so receptive, retentive and self-reordering, that — given motivation, intensive speech and language therapy, and the wholehearted involvement of family and friends — we need never despair of improvement in a stroke survivor’s aphasic condition.

My mother was left with only 20% of her language ability after her stroke, but over two years, with the dedication of everyone involved, she recovered a further 69% of it. My grandmother, eleven years after her stroke and at the age of ninety-one, could articulate only basic formulaic statements, but when she was shown her four-month-old great grandson (bawling his head off), she dumbfounded us by smiling and saying distinctly: ‘I think he is very nice.’ Before I spoke to a certain stroke club in 2013, I was advised that the listener in a wheelchair would understand everything I said, desperately want to say something, but suffered from ‘severe aphasia’ that would prevent him. On the day of my talk, however, his carer told me that recently, almost a year after his stroke, there had been a breakthrough. He had been over-confident with his electric wheelchair, had forgotten there were some steep basement stairs behind him in a public place, and reversed onto them, which caused him to shout ‘F—–g a——-s!’  as he thudded down backwards. Not much, you might think, but it suddenly provided light at the end of the tunnel. Since then, he had made slow, but significant progress with his aphasia. He participated in the discussion after my talk with body language and expressive intonations.

The author’s mother, four years after her stroke, laughing at the author’s hat

Comment Image


George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

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Edna’s Diary: the background

Sometime in 2012 Harvey Pitcher asked me if I would give a talk the following March to Sheringham Stroke Group, of which he was Secretary. It was an attractive invitation, especially as there is a history of Stroke on my mother’s side of the family. However, there was a problem: Harvey wanted me to talk about growing chrysanthemums and bring some blooms along for distribution afterwards, but by March even my Christmas varieties would be over! What to offer as a subject instead?

My mother had died in 2009, I had just finished sorting her papers, and I decided to talk about ‘My Mother the Writer’. As a child, she had wanted to be a writer and she felt she could have become a professional writer. Her aspiration, however, suffered a devastating discouragement at school: she was always looking for original approaches to the essays set but on one occasion the teacher savaged her essay in front of the class, tore it up, and binned it. My mother told me that after that she only wrote ‘to order’, as she was taught and expected to; and she got high marks…

Between the ages of thirty and seventy she had occasional letters and small notices published in the national and local press, but as far as I know she did not write anything else. For instance, she certainly did not keep a diary, never had done, and found the whole idea boring. Things changed radically in 1999 (when she was seventy-nine), because a local history project in her home town of Sandwich encouraged her to compose her memoirs. These were well structured, written with terrific narrative confidence, and as she finished the chapters she sent them on to me in Cambridge, where we read them aloud round the kitchen table and were delighted.

I thought the members of a Stroke Club might be interested by this story, amused and moved by excerpts from my mother’s memoirs, and I could finish by quoting from the article ‘My Hip Operation’ which she wrote in hospital in 2002 and published in the magazine Yours, as well as from the diary she kept for six years after completing eighteen months of language therapy following her stroke at the end of 2002.

I’m glad to say, the Stroke Group audience did enjoy the extracts that I read from my mother’s memoirs — partly, perhaps, because many of them were not much younger than her and their experience of pre-War Britain chimed with hers. We had a good discussion afterwards, during which I got to know all my listeners and the circumstances of their stroke (sometimes assisted by the carer accompanying them). Stroke Clubs, however, are a network, loosely coordinated by Stroke Association UK, and in next to no time I found myself invited to give the talk to six others in East Anglia.

It may be because ‘My Mother the Writer’ ended with very short, humorous extracts from her post-stroke diary, but I began to feel that the passages I read out from my mother’s memoirs were too long for all of my audience to assimilate, and that what she wrote following her 89% recovery from aphasia was of greater interest to them. When I was invited back to four of the clubs, therefore, I decided to give a talk entitled ‘Edna’s Diary: The Story So Far’, based on my reading to date of half of the total 335,000 words. This talk rollicked along. The story of my mother’s fight to recover her communication faculty, involving both an NHS language therapist, Fleur Taylor, twice a week, and her family and friends the rest of the time, was of great immediate interest to Stroke Club members. I perceived that my mother’s post-stroke diary could be an inspiration to others.

In the intervening seven years, I have often thought about how I would publish a short selection from the diary, but it was lockdown that forced my hand. It is awful that despite all my efforts I have been unable to trace Fleur Taylor and invite her to write the preface, as it was she who proposed the diary to my mother and was my mother’s first editor. However, the Stroke Association have supported the project and here we now are: it is on sale through Amazon for £5, all proceeds will go to the Stroke Association, and publication serendipitously precedes National Aphasia Awareness Month (June).

The image above is of the frontispiece to Edna’s Diary. It is the most vibrant photograph of my mother as a young woman that I know, and it has its own story. It was taken by Erich Reisfeld, but I abbreviated his forename because I thought he might be confused with the ‘Eric’ who features in the first entry of the Diary. Erich Reisfeld was a Viennese Jew born in 1917 who just escaped the Reich before war was declared. He spent several months at the Kitchener Camp in Sandwich with 4000 other Jewish men before moving to his desired destination, the United States.  The young people of Sandwich, including my mother, made many friends amongst these refugees. In 1958 Erich Reisfeld returned to Sandwich with his wife, visited his old friends, and took this photograph of my mother (I remember him well). Earlier this year, I discovered on the Web that his papers from 1936-39 are held in the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Archives.

Click the cover to find this book on Amazon.

Comment Image


George Calderon: Edwardian Genius Front Cover

SOME RESPONSES TO GEORGE CALDERON: EDWARDIAN GENIUS 

‘This meticulous yet nimble book is bound to remain the definitive account of Calderon’s life’ Charlotte Jones, The Times Literary Supplement

‘The effort of detection, it must be said, was worth it. The biography is a delight to read.’ Emeritus Professor Laurence Brockliss, The London Magazine

‘It is a masterly synthesis of your own approach with scholarship and very judicious discussion of the evidence.’ Emeritus Professor Catherine Andreyev, historian

‘This comprehensive, meticulously researched and highly readable biography, which the author describes as a “story” rather than an academic biography…’  Michael Pursglove, East-West Review

‘A monumental scholarly masterpiece that gives real insight into how the Edwardians viewed the world.’Arch Tait, Translator of Natalya Rzhevskaya’s Memoirs of a Wartime Interpreter

‘The book is written with great assurance and the reader always feels in safe hands. I liked the idea of it being a story and I read it the same way I would read a novel.’ Harvey Pitcher, writer

‘Presents the Edwardian age, and Calderon in particular, as new and forward-looking.’ Emeritus Professor Michael Alexander, in Trinity College, Oxford, Report 2017-18

A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.

A review by JOHN DEWEY appears on Amazon UK.

Click here to purchase my book.

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