Let the trumpet sound!

My guide/anthology on Romania is now ready – number four on my website - its called “Mapping Romania – notes from an unfinished journey” and can actually be accessed directly on the link embedded in the title

As far as I’m aware, it’s a unique guide and not only for Romania! I’m actually not aware of any other E-book which tries to penetrate a country’s soul (as it were) by giving such immediate access (through hyperlinks – 400 of them) to books, blogs, paintings, music, photographs, for example.

Not that I’m an expert on E-books – in fact, truth be told, I;ve never even looked at one!! Up until now I thought they were just (rather bad) substitutes for the real thing – but I can now see their potential…

To complete the guide in time for my daughter’s arrival I had to leave unread about 30 books which had arrived since I started the work some 4 weeks ago. One of the first I picked up at the weekend was Paddy Leigh-Fermour’s The Broken Road - the last part of the famous trilogy of a walk through Germany, Austria, Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria in the early 1930s which was, however, transcribed into two books in the 1970s and 1980s and finished posthumously just a year or so ago. I had waited for the paperback version to be published and eagerly picked it up from Bucharest's English Bookshop in April.

Yesterday I reached his chapter on Bucharest – so moving to see the city and some of the characters he bumps into painted in such a vivid manner 80 years later – but as fresh as he had just written it (which in a sense he had!). By coincidence, the New York Review of Books arrived in my (electronic) mail this very morning and with an article assessing Paddy’s writings as a whole and posing the question whether he is our greatest travel writer.

Overnight I had realised that I had forgotten to put Nick Hunt’s occasional blogposts during his journey following in Paddy’s footprints  into the list of “goodies” which I had given recently as a “taster” for the guide. 

I have noticed, however, that this hyperlink does not appear to be working in the pdf file. My apologies – I clearly need to check them all – and put a final version online – in a few weeks!

In the meantime Nick Hunt’s After the Woods and Water blogposts can be read here. Obviously someone who is walking several thousand kilometres is not hugging a laptop with him but, somehow, he was able to post a few thoughts. Only one, however, in Romania - and that in the Retezat mountain peaks

The German connection

Almost a month ago I had been so impressed by the opening story of a book devoted to stories of Anglo-German friendships and loves that I used it in a post I called “remembering”. With all the work I’ve been doing on the little guide to Romania, it’s only now that I’ve finished what tuned out to be a fascinating book with the intriguing title - Noble Endeavours – the Life of Two Countries, England and Germany, in Many Stories by Miranda Seymour whose blog also gives background on some of their characters as well as explaining what brought her to write the book. 

I’ve reached the stage of my life when stories about individuals have become more important to me than narratives about historical events. Perhaps the book’s author focuses a tad much for contemporary tastes on the higher social echelons, but the stories she tells of Germans in England and Angles in Germany are nonetheless important – particularly with the appearance of German emigres after the abortive 1848 revolutions. But the most shocking stories appear at the end of the book when it reaches the 1930s and recounts how various Germans and Angles reacted to Hitler. For once the former are the goodies and the latter the baddies – with the various warnings being actively sidelined by the Foreign Office  – including those of British spies with excellent connections

And I was delighted to see Tisa Schulenburg appear in the story. Somewhere in Germany, in 1990, I happened to wander in from the street to an exhibition of wonderful sketches of coalminers. They turned out to be Durham miners in the 1930s and executed by "Tisa" Schulenburg - a very graceful lady in her 80s who was kind enough to chat with me and (a few weeks later) send me reproductions of her work and a couple of her books. I knew nothing about her and discovered her full story only later - as I recounted in a blogpost

"Tisa" Schulenburg's life was by any standard remarkable. Having grown up among the Prussian nobility and witnessed the trauma of Germany's defeat in the Great War, she frequented the salons of Weimar Berlin, shocked her family by marrying a Jewish divorce in the 1930s, fled Nazi Germany for England, worked as an artist with the Durham coal miners, and spent her later years in a convent in the Ruhr.Her experience of the darker moments of the 20th century was reflected in her sculpture and drawing, in which the subject of human suffering and hardship was a constant theme - whether in the form of Nazi terror or the back-breaking grind of manual labour at the coal face.

 When she heard that I was a politician from Strathclyde Region - with its mining traditions in Lanarkshire and Ayrshire - she presented me with a signed portfolio of her 1930s drawings of the NE English miners and their families (some embedded in text) for onward donation to the Scottish miners.She died more than a decade later at the age of 97 – having lived the most amazing life……

I have copies of them - from which these are selections

The two books she sent are the small "Meine Dunklen Brueder" - which recounts her stay in the North-East villages and contains many of the sketches; and the more substantial "Ich Hab's Gewagt - Bildhauerin und Ordensfrau - ein unkonventionelles Leben" - her autobiography which she has signed in large, clear script, with an address sticker for the St Ursula Convent in Dorsten where she was then living.

I prize the books - and will now work my way through her autobiography.....I notice that the second book had run into 8 editions by the time she sent it to me – with the last imprint being in 1990.

A special salad

At last summer is here in the mountains – for the first time at the end of last week I was able to leave the back and front doors of the upper floor wide open to allow the air to flood the house; and to bathe on the outside terrace which so quickly becomes so hot - with the wooden timbers reflecting back…

Today was the first day I didn’t even need to put the small radiators on for even a few minutes to take the chill off at 06.00….

With all the recent dampness, the grass has been growing high and the sound of sharpening scythes will soon be added to those of the cicadas; the starlings/thrushes which are whirling around in interesting clouds at ground level; and the wooden clappers which precede the village church bells here…. I took my scythe down to old Viciu last week and he just laughed at me because more rain is expected and the cut grass would therefore not be able to dry properly for the cattle…..

I’m glad to contribute in my own small way to the renewal of the earth by the scything I commission at the back of our plot which extends up to the border; and also by allowing the neighbours to graze their cattle there when they want.

Have just finished preparing one of my glorious Balkan salads – based on a shopska but with some delicacies added. So here’s my special and unique salad -

To the radish, cucumber, red onion, spring garlic, tomatoes, olives, egg and lettuce I add a few sprinkles of apple/honey vinegar, pumpkin oil and a touch of lemon juice plus well-toasted bread whose crusts I have scraped with heads of garlic and finish it off with shredded village cheese (ideally from the goats on the ridge)! Balsamic vinegar is too strong!

A taster

I promised a few days ago to extract some tantalising goodies from the 130 pages and 400 hyperlinks which make up my little guide to Romania. It will be online in a few days – my daughter’s pending arrival being a useful deadline to force me to stop adding new discoveries eg the writing of Panait Istrati  whom the French traveler Dominique Fernandez enthuses about in his The Romanian Rhapsody; an overlooked corner of Europe;  (2000) - a delightful mix of passionate text and evocative black and white photographs by F Ferranti.

Fernandez (now all of 90 I think)  made four visits to Romania in the early-mid 1990s and a typical section at the start contrasts the images the west has of the country with its beauty and then says

“And the moral force of the people, their endurance, their courage and good heart, which fifty years of tyranny have not brought down, where books are still prized as much as food and medicine, where you will find more passion for matters that relate to the soul, more true culture , more intellectual curiosity than in the West where everything is easy and everything is commercial”

In the subsequent 20 years the changes have, sadly, not all been for the better – which is why almost half of those polled express nostalgia for the communist period.

So, as a curtain-raiser to next week’s full-scale production, I offer first two introductory freebies-

•       “A Cultural Journey” with stunning photographs of Romanian monuments and useful material on prominent Romanians
•         Romania, Bucharest and Beyond – City Compass 2013 a well-produced and useful booklet (of more than 200 pages) for those visiting the country.

 Three celebrations of photography

•        The Color of Hay by Katherine McLaughlin (2003) is a photographic account of a two-year stay in the Maramures area
•       Transylvania  by writer Bronwen Riley and photographer Dan Dinescu 2007).
•       Photo archives from the first half of the 20th century - Costica Acsinte Archive 

 A flavour of local writing – both Romanian and foreign – in

•        BucharestTales (2011) It contains both poems and prose - all of which can be viewed at the hyperlink in the title with the additional bonus of photographs adorning every page!
•        Corridors of Mirrors: The Spirit of Europe in Contemporary British and .Romanian Fiction by Pia Brinziu (2000) 

 Two blogposts about Romanian music with great hyperlinks – the first on the classical greats  the second on folk music

These excerpts from The Mountains of Romania give a good sense of the area – the Piatra Craiaului is a dramatic range which I view from my rear terrace.

Two of Lucian Boia (Romania’s greatest contemporary historian)’s key books can be read in full and in English online –

·      Romania; borderland of Europe (2001); and

·      History and myth in Romanian Consciousness (published in Romanian in 2001)

And a powerful record of life in Romania is The Eighties in Bucharest published by Martor

And if you really must visit cities (rather than villages) and don’t know which (apart from Brasov) then have a look at these mini-guides   

That’s just the hors d’oeuvre – now the meal starts!!

On not getting under the skin

I find it odd that so few writers or academics seem to have asked the question which has been bothering me this last year – how does one get to know a country or get under its skin

I have fairly wide interests, skim the book reviews, follow the serendipidous leads while surfing the net – so might reasonably be regarded as well-read and not boxed in by over-specialisation. I am therefore reasonably confident when I say that I have not heard many people raising this question.

I can’t be the lack of writers with experience of living in several countries - look at the scale in the 1920s and 1930s of migration of the most talented Russian, central European and German writers – whether to other European countries or North America. If ever there was a period when you could expect interest in exploring the multiple dimensions of a nation’s soul, that was surely it. But how many real studies of this sort have been attempted? Of the depth, for example, of de Tocqueville’s “Democracy in America”?. And remember, of course, that that book was the result of a visit of only some 9 months – not the work of an émigré.

Writers like Joseph Roth, Arthur Koestler and Czeslaw Milosz had intensive experience of various countries in their adult life but I don’t know of any works from them which deal with this question.

Perhaps it requires a butterfly mind like mine to be interested…..in exploring, for example, the 16 or 17 different ways there seem to be of “getting to know a country”. Perhaps indeed only outsiders (such as ex-pats) who don’t get sucked into the life of a country have and retain the distance which is perhaps needed for the search? Recent times have seen the development of a large cadre of travel writers - but how many of them can seriously be said to have tried to get under the skin of a country?

And, of course, we often remark on the difficulty of knowing even our most intimate of friends – so how is it possible to do justice to the complexity of a country – with its variety of regions, classes, generations?

Clearly some have tried. – for example Germany; unravelling an enigma which is one of the Interact Series of books from Barnes and Noble devoted to cultural analysis.

But while I find the book interesting for its take on cultural patterns (eg communications) and how they underpin post-war German commercial practices, in no real sense does the book try to understand Germany and its cultural features. 

I thought Dinner with Persephone; travels in Greece by poet Patricia Storace was quite brilliant in capturing Greek mores and thought processes but – and here’s the rub – who am I to judge the veracity of the portrayal? If there are few who can do justice to a country, there are even fewer who can assess fairly how well it has been done. 

I have just received a copy of Jose Saramagos 1979 Journey to Portugal which, as you would expect from a Nobel [prize-winner, seem beautifully written. But it appears that most of the book focuses on churches! 

I am left with Theodor Zeldin's The French as the only book I can immediately think of which gets seriously under the skin of a nation.....

I will continue this search...... 

Maps as metaphors

Almost a decade ago I was asked, amongst other things, to design a Road Map for the development of municipalities in Kyrgyzstan. It was probably my best work (apart from getting a new Civil Service Agency off the ground in Azerbaijan – but that’s another story!).

The story of the Roadmap – and the lessons I learned is told here but the key part showed the usefulness of taking the metaphor embodied in the word apart -

 We did not initially understand the significance of the concept of a “Roadmap”– and it is one also which our beneficiaries also had some initial problems with. But, as I put it in the introduction to the readers of the document, “A road map does not suggest a route – YOU choose the route. A roadmap simply locates the key features (mountains, rivers and swamps) you need to be aware of when trying to travel from the A to the B of your choice. So this is not an attempt to force foreign models on the local situation. Another point about a road map is that it cannot cover every changing detail nor tell you how you should approach certain situations – sometimes a large bump in the road or impatience can have fatal consequences. So a road map is only a guide - local knowledge, judgment and skills are needed to get you to your destination! And, like a map, you don’t have to read it all – only the sections which are relevant for your journey!”

I actually developed a game during one Conference for the municipalities – putting up on the walls (a) the various elements critical to driving a car successfully from point A to B – the various parts of a car (engine; wheels; fuel, driving wheel; driver etc); the road network (structure and maintenance); licensing and control (eg police); garage network etc - then (b) listed the key actors in the municipal system (mayors, citizens, tax, Ministries, President, Parliament. Laws etc - and then invited the participants to link an actor with one of the road system’s elements (eg laws =wheels?)

What I was trying to do was to use the power of metaphor to get them to think creatively. It was fun anyway…..The results are at the end of this paper 

It’s the same with this question of exploring a country – I said there were at least 16 different ways of getting to know a country, depending on which sense you used. 
And also, I’ve realized, depending on what sort of map you use! 

Recently I bought two maps of this area for my daughter’s use – one the “panorama” of southern Transylvania which heads the recent post about Roadmaps; the other map is a walker’s map of the smaller are around our village which takes in the superb Piatra Craiului mountain range just behind the house.

What bit of the country we see depends on which map we choose……

Desperado

I have been reading “The Long Shadows” (1997) which is almost a book within several books as it alternates between three if not four narratives – that of the English biographer of a writer whose last work was a novel about a young Romanian woman who visits England in the 1980s. Her character is clearly that of the young translator who was assigned to the writer when he visited Romania in the 1980s on a British Council scheme. A good atmosphere of the place and period is established.

After completing I googled author Alan Brownjohn’s name since this is the first thing I have read of his  - and discover that the most substantial material on him has been written – at book length - by ……….a Romanian Professor of English whose elegant, downloadable and highly readable book has the marvelous title - Alan Brownjohn and the Desperado Age. Her commentary on The Long Shadows is at pp67-88

And the book is only part of a much wider “British Desperado” project which has yielded two other titles from the Contemporary Literature Press of the University of Bucharest - first The Desperado Age – British literature at the start of the new millenium - another downloadable book (with more than 300 pages) which explains her term “desperado”, locates it in the literary constellation and then assesses the work of 15 writers

and then, the third title, Desperado Interviews is 400 pages long and consists of interviews with about 50 writers from different countries. Highly appropriate given the focus of the previous post!!

A real treasure trove of reading! Just the thing as the carpathian mist continues to envelope the house.......

Good questions.

Good questions get brownie points. from me....I always appreciate good questions.....they are a spur to creative thinking....they take us out of the groove.....In fact I got into the habit latterly, when taking classes of central Asian civil servants, of starting each session by inviting the participants to pose questions about the subject of the "lecture" to which I then responded ex tempore. I then wrote the lecture up afterwards in the light of what followed....I learned a lot!!!

This post starts with the questions an Englishwoman called Lynn Barber has apparently been asking of famous people in British newspapers for more than thirty years - and then moves on to compare with other good interviewers I've noted in my life. The best, for me, has to be the psychiatrist Anthony Clare whose famous interviews of the 80s and 90s on BBC are, I have just discovered, now being rerun

“What do you spend your money on? Do you like buying stuff for others, or yourself? Do you resent paying income tax? What’s the most you’ve ever spent on a dress?

Who were you closest to as a child? 
How often do you phone your mum? 
What would you normally be doing at this moment, if you weren’t doing this? 
What do you do on your own in a hotel room? Why?”

Questions like this are what Lynn Barber uses to open up her celebrity interviews, and I think you can see why. They’re simple, direct, upfront and conversational, but also come at you from an angle. The article which drew my attention is a review of the book Barber has written but is unfortunately behind behind a pay-wall at the London Review of Books

Her questions are inquisitive and extrovert, bold and clever. The ensuing write-ups are stylish and often surprising, gossipy on the surface, precise and controlled underneath. Precise, controlled, and of course ‘unsparing’ – her own word:
‘If anyone else tells me what a lovely lad Rafa Nadal is I shall scream.’
‘Don’t ever make the mistake of underestimating Hilary Mantel.’ ‘I don’t want to give a cool appraisal of Jeremy Irons … I just want to boil him in oil.’
Richard Harris at the Savoy in 1990, ‘playing pocket billiards’ through his tracksuit bottoms.
Rafael Nadal in Rome in 2011, ‘lying on a massage table with his flies undone, affording me a good view of his Armani underpants – Armani being one of his many sponsors, natch.’

If this is what good interviewing is now about, beam me up Scottie! I want the 70s back – give me Oriana Fallaci any day. Chris Hitchens bade Fallaci a fond and eloquent farewell in 2006

With Oriana Fallaci's demise at 77 from a host of cancers, in September, in her beloved Florence, there also died something of the art of the interview. Her absolutely heroic period was that of the 1970s, probably the last chance we had of staving off the complete triumph of celebrity culture. Throughout that decade, she scoured the globe, badgering the famous and the powerful and the self-important until they agreed to talk with her, and then reducing them to human scale. Facing Colonel Qaddafi in Libya, she bluntly asked him, "Do you know you are so unloved and unliked?" And she didn't spare figures who enjoyed more general approval, either.

As a warm-up with Lech Walesa, she put Poland's leading anti-Communist at his ease by inquiring, "Has anyone ever told you that you resemble Stalin? I mean physically. Yes, same nose, same profile, same features, same moustache. And same height, I believe, same size."

People began to sneer and gossip, saying that Oriana was just a confrontational bitch who used her femininity to get results, and who goaded men into saying incriminating things. I remember having it whispered to me that she would leave the transcript of the answers untouched but rephrase her original questions so that they seemed more penetrating than they had really been. As it happens, I found an opportunity to check that last rumour. During her interview with President Makarios, of Cyprus, who was also a Greek Orthodox patriarch, she had asked him straight-out if he was over-fond of women, and more or less got him to admit that his silence in response to her direct questioning was a confession. 

Many Greek Cypriots of my acquaintance were scandalized, and quite certain that their beloved leader would never have spoken that way. I knew the old boy slightly, and took the chance to ask him if he had read the relevant chapter. "Oh yes," he said, with perfect gravity. "It is just as I remember it."

Occasionally, Oriana's interviews actually influenced history, or at the least the pace and rhythm of events. Interviewing Pakistan's leader Zulfikar Ali Bhutto just after the war with India over Bangladesh, she induced him to say what he really thought of his opposite number in India, Mrs. Indira Gandhi ("a diligent drudge of a schoolgirl, a woman devoid of initiative and imagination.… She should have half her father's talent!"). Demanding a full copy of the text, Mrs. Gandhi thereupon declined to attend the proposed signing of a peace agreement with Pakistan.
Bhutto had to pursue Oriana, through a diplomatic envoy, all the way to Addis Ababa, to which she had journeyed to interview Emperor Haile Selassie. Bhutto's ambassador begged her to disown the Gandhi parts, and hysterically claimed that the lives of 600 million people were at stake if she did not. One of the hardest things to resist, for reporters and journalists, is the appeal to the world-shaking importance of their work and the need for them to be "responsible." Oriana declined to oblige, and Mr. Bhutto duly had to eat his plate of crow. Future "access" to the powerful meant absolutely nothing to her: she acted as if she had one chance to make the record and so did they.

Perhaps only one Western journalist ever managed to interview Ayatollah Khomeini twice. And from those long discussions we learned an enormous amount about the nature of the adamant theocracy that he was bent upon instituting. The second session was an achievement in itself, since Oriana had terminated the first one by wrenching off the all-enveloping chador she had been compelled to wear and calling it a "stupid, medieval rag."

She told me that after this moment of drama she had been taken aside by Khomeini's son, who confided in her that it had been the only time in his life that he had seen his father laugh. 

Do you really remember any recent interview with a major politician? Usually, the only thing that stands out in the mind is some stupid gaffe or piece of rambling incoherence. And if you go and check the original, it generally turns out that this was prompted by a dull or rambling question. Try reading the next transcript of a presidential "news conference," and see which makes you whimper more: the chief executive's train-wreck syntax or the lame and contrived promptings from the press.
 Oriana's questions were tautly phrased and persistent. She researched her subjects minutely before going to see them, and each one of her published transcripts was preceded by an essay of several pages in length concerning the politics and the mentality of the interviewee. She proceeded, as Jeeves used to phrase it, from an appreciation of "the psychology of the individual."

Thus, a provocative or impudent question from her would not be a vulgar attempt to shock but a well-timed challenge, usually after a lot of listening, and often taking the form of a statement. (To Yasser Arafat: "Conclusion: you don't at all want the peace that everyone is hoping for.") The commonest and easiest way of explaining the decay of interviewing is to attribute it to the short-term and showbiz values of TV. But there's no innate reason why this should be true.

At the dawn of the television age, John Freeman—a former cabinet minister and diplomat, and editor of the New Statesman—established an inquisitorial style probably borrowed in part from Ed Murrow, and provided astonishing glimpses of hitherto reclusive public figures like Evelyn Waugh.

Television allows points to be pressed and repeated: the BBC's Jeremy Paxman once put the same question a dozen times to a Tory politician who was being evasive. It also brought us the huge advantage of the close-up, which did immense damage to shifty types like Richard Nixon.

Roadmaps

These weeks I should have been working on my “Scottish home thoughts from abroad” – clearing my mind, with the help of the dozen or so new books I’ve acquired, on the Scottish independence issue.

But, as usual, I have been distracted - this time by the work I have been doing on my little Romanian Guide/anthology  - sparked off by the pending visit of one of my daughters and building on the series of ten or so posts I did at the turn of the year..

I’ve reached the final haul – my compendium stretches now to 125 pages and about 400 hyperlinks. It’s been quite an intensive effort and I’m now trying to draw my thoughts together for the final, summary section.

I have tried to act as a modest guide – identifying what’s available and giving hyperlinks to other people’s text (in some cases entire books), images and music.

Even if I say so myself, I don’t know of any other such effort – in the depth and breadth of the references and pointers given. I’ve found a lot of misuse of the concept of a “Roadmap” in political circles in the past couple of decades but I think I can say that this is the best “Roadmap of Romania” I’ve seen!!

Even if I wanted to, I could not really sum this country up. I have known it for 23 years; it has become my home-base – at least, in the past five years, for half of the time.

When you read the older material which can be accessed – text and photographs – you do get a profound sense of the richness of Romanian society between 1880 and 1940 – rich in both possessions and characters. The architecture gives a clear sense of it – grand in the cities and individualistic if not eccentric in the towns and villages. 

Romania has lost a lot since – so many of its writers lost to either persecution or migration; so many of the more recent younger generation seeking their professional rewards abroad….

Despite the almost American nature of the spirit which is evident in the Bucharest streets, on commercial television and in the fixation with flashy cars and speed, the past is still clearly evident – in both good and bad forms.

All countries which were in the area of Soviet influence experienced suffered deprivations and repression – in one degree or another. It would be a bit invidious to encourage a league table of suffering although Ceaucescu’s invasion of women’s intimacy and the scale of (illegal) abortions that led to must rank as one of the worst measures in post-war Europe – along with the digging of the Danube canal and wanton destruction of villages in the 1980s.

Equally, however, more of us who were lucky enough not to experience the post-war communist repression should have the honesty to recognize the undoubted improvements to social life which such regimes generally brought to the life of peasants and workers and, in particular, their children - the parents of the present generation.

I have learned a lot about the richness of Romanian culture in the few weeks I have been drafting what was originally about 10 pages of blogposts. 
In a future post I will give some recommendations for best “freebie” reads and other goodies.

The map which heads the post is a marvellous panorama  of Southern Transylvania issued by a German company - it superbly shows my range from the northern angle. Most original!
I'm up in the  verytop left

A window to Romania's past

I’m at the fine-tuning stage of the guide – giving me the freedom to surf some of the links I had added to the text which lead to others I had not had the chance to explore. For example some of the book references in a discussion thread about Romanian literature .

But it was the back issues of the francophone bimonthly Regard which led me via an interview to what seems (probably wrongly) to be a typically surreal bit of recent writing by a young historian Choosing your Ancestors - an imaginary genealogical journey to Romanian Boyars.(2013) If you scroll further down the link(and have automatic translate) you will see that the launch (last August) was kicked off by Romania’s two greatest historians - Lucian Boia (whose family name google automatic magnificently and variously translates as “pulveriser” or “paprika”!) and Neagu Djuvara

It was author Filip Lucian-Iorga’s well-connected website which led to me the tremendous photo archives Costica Acsinte Archive celebrating the work of a man born in 1897 who was a war photographer in the First World War and then set up shop in the town of Slobozia about 70 kms east of Bucharest.

The site is a unique record of life in those times – and encourages readers to write stories around particular photos!!

Mutuality

Amazing how silent it is when the mist is shrouding the valley….neither birds, cars, planes nor cicadas make any noise in this damp, dreich weather. Even the dog barks are faint!

My neighbour’s new pig is ailing – so had the vet on Saturday. His 2 new lambs are already attached to him and squawk at the gate for attention.

Maritsa has once again to go to hospital on Wednesday – a 100 km round trip – for some more checks. She has not been sleeping or eating well this past couple of years. She will be 81 in a month. Viciu is hale and hearty  and will be 88 on 22 June.

Apart from Daniela - and Vlad in Bucharest’s English bookshop -  they are my only link with Romania. Little wonder that some people wonder why I am here…..Not easy to explain what meaning a special house and special valley can give a life!

Here I am totally myself – devoting almost every minute to contemplation. 

I don’t want to sound religious  - but the books, music  and views do invite deep thought - and the scribbles which, for me, go with that. 

I generally walk into my neighbours’ uninvited and sometimes catch them reading the bible….. Earlier today my old next-door neighbor came with a couple of eggs for me – in return I give her coffee and the mobile to talk to Daniela with.  She then selects whatever delicacies appeal to her – today it was a couple of kiwis. But I had a surprise package of small ocean fish for her – which is her favourite.

Of such is mutuality made

Fantasy

If I were asked about an unfulfilled dream – it would probably be a radio station on which I could play my choice of music (a specific blend of mid-East and classic); read from texts which have caught my eye; pay tribute to those who in different ways have inspired me; have conversations…. A much more modest version of Clive James’ famous site

Only trouble is that I would have to erect a radio mast – my Vodafone internet stick hardly allows me enough capacity for routine uploading and downloading….

I loved the measured tones in which Alistair Cooke delivered his Letter from America (I always used to scurry to the radio when I heard his piece begin); the maverick selections of John Peel's midnight jazz; and the global reach and elegance of BBC From Our Own Correspondents… 

A radio station, of course, does not allow images – perhaps just as well given how we are swamped by visuals in our everyday lives….But it means that I couldn’t really share my love of Bulgarian paintings or the caricatures I’m so fond of

For the past 24 hours the house has been fog-bound – remember I’m 1,400 metres up! And it’s only 4 degrees out on the verandah!

It’s been a dreich May and I’ve just been consulting the local records – they seem to confirm my feeling with temperature yesterday being just half that of 31 May 2011. But then I look at rainfall and am amazed at what I see. Contrary to what I had imagined, the wettest month for this part of the Carpathian mountains is apparently……July! ( 68mm); then June with 54; May and October tie for 3^rd wettest (43). The driest months are actually November and February (13) and January (17)!!

Meanwhile....

A busy week down in the plains – rather book-focused with an initial compulsory pit-stop at the English bookshop where Vlad was able to take a few minutes off to talk with us over coffee. I left with 2-3 ordered books and several recommendations. The Brecht biography (beautiful edition); what looks a masterly Journey to Portugal published in 1979 by Nobel prize-winner Jose Saramago; and Daunderlust –dispatches from Unreported Scotland were in the former category – The Hall of Uselessness – collected essays by one, Simon Leys from Belgium/Australia/China looks very much my sort of book; Ahmet Hamdi Tanpinar’s The Time Regulation Institute;  and a book on Ghenhis Khan were three casual purchases recommended by Vlad.

I had been busy the previous week with my short, smart guide to Romania which has, at the moment, the title “Encountering Romania” and can be read (hopefully) on the link in its present form – and duly printed it out to see what is looks like in that form. Always a test!

The remaindered bookshop yielded a couple of superb productions about William Morris and Tiffany – to inspire Daniela in her glass painting.

Mid-week gave the opportunity to visit the 2014 Bookfest. The opening day was quiet – and yielded only 2 books – a nice edition of Deletant’s "Ceaucesu and the Securitate" for 4 euros and a doorstopper of a book which I bought (for 6 euros) simply for what it might reveal about the Romanian intellectual mind – "The Destiny of Europe" is just an extensive series of booknotes masquerading as a book by Andrei Marga whose 10 page CV should carry a health warning. "Nonsense on stilts" the best review.....

William McIlvanney joins the Olympians

Today sees my highest monthly viewing figure ever – and there’s still another full week to go before the end of the month. I’ve been rather focused on Romania and Scotland in the last month – so I’m grateful to those readers who don’t necessarily share these interests for their patience.

You can see the 7 top posts for this month (from hits) at the right-hand side – 1 about Europe; 4 about Scotland, 1 on travel – those 6 are all recent. But top billing is still this strange “backbone” one – more than 3 years old – whose title refers to an EC document about aid assistance which I was critiquing then. I have tried to suggest to readers that there are better things to read – but people just keep on punching that button. I don’t understand why!

  

Paul Mason, one of the BBC economics correspondent (all of whom do excellent blogs), ran a lovely Christmas challenge in 2010 – the 50 books which your library has to have. The challenge was apparently first made in 1930 by an American journalist who received a letter from a friend who wrote: 

"I want no more than fifty books. And none of them modern; that is, no novels that are coming off the presses these last ten years. Are there fifty intelligent books in the world? If you have time send along a list of fifty books, I promise to buy them and have them beautifully bound. I am consulting you as I would my lawyer. I have not time to develop a literary consciousness at my age. So if you were cutting your own library down to fifty books, which books would you keep?"

Mason made the challenge more difficult by preventing us from consulting our shelves or the internet – so I just managed to get my suggestions in before the discussion thread closed (It’s number 81). I then took time to reflect more and consult some booklists and then posted on this blog.

A library should be for consulting – the glories of novels, short stories, poetry, essays should be available there but also art and human knowledge. With only 50 books allowed, novels (of any sort) will have to be excluded - which means no “Buddenbrooks” (Thomas Mann) or “Candide” (Voltaire) let alone any of the powerful South Americans (Jorge Amado's "Gabriela, Clove and Cinnamon", Allende’s “Eva Luna”, Marquez’s , “Love in the Time of Cholera” , Llosa ‘s “The War of the End of the World”) or Yehoshuova’s “The Liberated Bride” from Israel.

However, some books come in multi-volume collections eg Lewis Crassic Gibbon’s “Sunset Song”; Lawrence Durrell’s “The Alexandrian Quartet”; Olivia Manning’s “Balkan Trilogy”; and Naguib Mahfouz’s “Children of the Alley” and therefore give good bangs for bucks. Perhaps they might be allowed to stay.
And remember what Nassim Taleb calls Umberto Eco's "antilibrary" concept - that read books are less valuable than unread ones - a library should be a research tool. Collections of essays, poetry and short stories also give much more reading per book (unless it’s War and Peace) - so the collected poetry of Brecht, TS Eliot, Norman McCaig and WS Graham would be the first four books; as well as the Collected Short Stories of Nabokov, William Trevor, Carol Shields, Heinrich Boell and Alice Munro; and the essays of Montaigne.

If allowed, I would also have a few collections of painters eg the Russian Itinerants. Chuck in an Etymology and a couple of overviews of intellectual endeavours of recent times such as Bill Bryson’s “A Short History of Nearly Everything” and Peter Watson’s “A Terrible Beauty” - and I would then have space for 35 individual titles.

About 30 non-fiction titles then followed – interesting that less than 10 were by British writers. Now I would probably question only the inclusion of Taleb..... 

Thanks to cheating (selecting collections), I was actually left with 6 empty spots – which I never got round to filling. 

Obviously, in the light of yesterday’s post about William McIlvanny, least a couple of his titles would go in to fill those empty spots.

MacIntosh Art School in Glasgow on fire

Just as I shot my latest blogpost into the ether, I discovered that the amazing Glasgow School of Art built by Rene MacIntosh more than 100 years ago was on fire. I feel my soul freeze – this is such a place of beauty. 

Pics here.

My eldest daughter had her education here. 

My partner in Romania uses his designs for her glass paintings.... 

I pray for it................. 

And, forgive me, I'm waiting to see who is the first idiot to draw a parallel with the burning of the Reichstag.......such is the state of feeling.....

Sublime writing

These last few days I have been doing something I rarely do – I have been “savouring” a book – word by word as distinct from my usual habit of flicking. …..laughing out loud in delight at the language; marking sections every few pages with a pencil. And this is a novel – not my usual fare! A detective novel to boot – "Strange Loyalties" (1991) - the last of a trilogy. I hinted a few posts back that the technical aspects of the great Scottish debate were decreasingly to my liking - and the rare taste of William McIlvanney – one of the most underrated writers not only of the British Isles but perhaps in the English-speaking world! - perhaps shows how words can better be used. I wrote about him last September. 
I start therefore with a few of the phrases I marked  on this novel of his – 

The thought was my funeral for him. Who needs possessions and career and official achievements? Life was only in the living of it. How you act and what you are and what you do….  are the only substance. They didn’t last either. But while you were here, they made what light there was – the wick that threads the candle-grease of time. His light was out but here I felt I could almost smell the smoke still drifting from its snuffing….(p80). 

It was one of her partners who answered (the phone). When she knew it was me, her voice – always distant – more or less emigrated…..(p112) 

Attractiveness facilitates acquaintance, like a courier predisposing strangers to goodwill, and my mother had acquired early an innocent vanity that let her enjoy being who she was. But the kindness of other people towards her made her as idealistic as my father in her own way. She tended to think the way people treated her was how they treated everybody. She thought the best of them was all there was (p 128). 

Why do the best of us go to waste while the worst flourish? Maybe I had found a clue….Those who love life take risks, those who don’t take insurance. But that was all right, I decided. Life repays its lovers by letting them spend themselves on it. Those who fail to love it, it cunningly allows very carefully to accrue their own hoarded emptiness. In living, you won by losing big; you lost by winning small (p 134).   

Where I had come into what I took for manhood….meant much to me, not just as a geography but as a landscape of the heart, a quintessential Scotland where good people were my landmarks and the common currency was a mutual caring. Why did it feel so different to me today, a little seedy and withdrawn? p 183 

(Some might have thought her mad). But she wasn’t mad, just too sane to play along with the rest of us. She had awakened from her sleep-walk long enough to recognize the minefield we call normality. She had found a way to admit to herself the prolonged terror of living. Some people never do. p 206 

The invention of truth, no matter how desperately you wish it to be or how sincerely you believe in the benefits it will bring, is the denial of our nature, the first rule of which is the inevitability of doubt. We must doubt not only others but ourselves. (p 210) 

You offer him a vague perception and he takes it from you, cleans off the gunge and gives it back, having shown you how it works. He clarifies you to yourself. (p258)

McIlvanney is still going strong in his mid-70s but generous tribute was paid last year to him by another great Scottish writer - Allan Massie – a writer mainly of historical novels

McIlvanney, born in 1936 in Kilmarnock, Ayrshire, established himself some time ago as the best Scottish novelist of his generation. Docherty (1975), a social-political family novel set in a declining mining community, won the Whitbread award for fiction.

Long before any but a handful of people had heard of Alasdair Gray, and before James Kelman had published anything, McIlvanney was recognised as the man who spoke authentically for the Scottish working class, out of which he had, like so many, been educated, being a graduate of Glasgow University and then a schoolteacher. So perhaps he wasn’t surprised when another teacher, encountered in a Glasgow bar, told him he had disgraced himself by stooping to write a crime novel – namely “Laidlaw”. 
The charge was ridiculous; crime is a serious matter. Of course, most crime fiction is ordinary fare, read for amusement only. It may trivialise what is not, and should not be, trivial. But crime is at the heart of many great novels. Bleak House, which is a crime novel, is not trivial; Simenon’s novels are not trivial or mere entertainment; nor are McIlvanney’s three Laidlaw books.

Their subject is the ruin of the body, the distortion of the soul, and the corruption of society.McIlvanney never allows us to forget that the damage crime does is not merely physical. Murder is always a form of betrayal, a denial of the respect with which we should treat each other. It infects everything around it. 

Laidlaw, an intellectual policeman, is damaged by what he experiences. He believes in communities; interviewing an elderly, loyal, but saddened mother in "Strange Loyalties", he reflects that there is nothing he wouldn’t do for the working-class women of that generation who held families together. But he himself is driven into isolation.

McIlvanney is an existentialist writer, like Camus, whom he admires, has learnt from, and matches.He has never been prolific. If he had taken the advice he was given – to write an annual Laidlaw novel – he might be a rich man in his old age; but he has always gone his own way.
The republication of these novels now will revive interest, and perhaps lead him to write another, as he has sometimes talked of doing. But his reputation, not only as the father of tartan noir, is assured.

 “Docherty”, almost 40 years on, is established as a modern Scottish classic, and I have no doubt that “The Kiln” (1996), which is, in one sense, a two-generations-later sequel, is a masterpiece. It confirmed him, to my mind, as the finest Scottish novelist of our time. It is one of those rare books that does what Ford Madox Ford thought imaginative literature could do better than any other art, making you think and feel at the same time.

The “Kiln” is a novel of a hard-won maturity. Its hero, a novelist lost in the dark wood of middle age, sits, looking out at a cemetery, in a rented flat – in Edinburgh, not Glasgow (a sign of his displacement) – and gazes back on the summer when he was 17, in limbo between school and university, a magic summer which saw his passage to adult life.The evocation of that time is beautiful, but now, behind him, is a broken marriage, memories of erratic social behaviour, and he is perplexed, as we all must sometimes be, by the question of what he has made of his life. He broods on the problem which is perhaps central to all experience: how to reconcile his sense of what he owes to himself with his knowledge of what he owes to others.

There is then a vein of melancholy in the novel, but this is relieved by the often joyous vitality with which that summer is recalled, and enlivened by the acute social observation and darting shafts of wit. It’s a novel that tells you how it is, and therefore enriches your imaginative experience.

As a novelist myself (Allan Massie), I admire its craft. As a reader I can only be grateful. Almost 2,000 years ago, the younger Pliny wrote that “a man’s life contains hidden depths and large secret areas”. The thought is common. In Faust Goethe says: “Die Menschen sind im ganzen Leben blind” – men are blind throughout their life. True enough, but the best novelists offer us a means of opening our eyes, peering into these depths, and exploring these secret places, and they do so whatever their subject. 

William McIlvanney is one of the rare novelists who help us to know both the social world and our innermost selves. He is both moralist and artist, and a writer to be cherished.

There was a great interview with him in a 2010 issue of the Scottish Review of Books