Tag Archives: literature

Life-Writing Lunch: Mark Thompson on ‘Birth Certificate: The Story of Danilo Kis’

The final OCLW event of the year saw its audience captivated by Mark Thompson’s talk about the life and work of Yugoslavian author Danilo Kiš and the problems he faced writing his critically acclaimed biography Birth Certificate: The Story of Danilo Kiš.

Kiš is an author who is little known in the Anglophone world, so Thompson began by giving the audience an insight into the man himself and the driving forces behind his work.  He was born in 1935 in a small town in Northern Yugoslavia, his mother a member of the Eastern Orthodox faith from Montenegro, and his father a Hungarian Jew.  Kiš described himself as an ‘ethnografic rarity’ which was very important to him, he saw it as his destiny.  His first language was the now ostensibly extinct Serbo-Croatian.  He was raised in Vojvodena and baptised into the Orthodox Church, along with his sister.  It was seen as a safety measure, as his parents could already see the way in which things were moving in Europe.

When war broke out the family were living in Novi Sad, a city on the banks of the River Danube.  They stayed in the city until January 1942 when a pogrom was carried out by Hungarian troops. Kiš’ father was rounded up but was given a reprieve. Consequently the family moved to his father’s home village in Hungary as it was felt it would be safer, which it was, until the deportation of the Hungarian Jews in 1944.  Kiš father was taken on one of the last trains to Auschwitz.  As a result of cultural relaxation in 1954, Kiš was part of the first year to study a new degree in World Literature that looked at works from the Bible to Kafka.  It was intended to be anti-nationalist and discreetly anti-communist and had a significant effect on Kiš’s future life.

Kiš was to spend long periods of time in France, teaching students to understand Serbo-Croatian, living a bohemian existence, although this philosophy did not apply to his writing.  This continued until the 1970s when he suffered two crises, professional and personal.  After the publication of A Tomb for Boris Davidovich, he was troubled by plagiarism accusations and found himself being coerced by the police into leaving the country.  His marriage also broke down during this time and so he emigrated to Paris in 1979 to live with his mistress, a former student of his.  He died from lung cancer in 1989 at the age of 54, the same age at which his father was deported to Auschwitz.

Thompson described Kiš as a modernist author who could not write in his surrounding literary tradition.  He was not interested in celebrating Yugoslav national culture, that of folk tales told to generations.  He was influenced by Kafka, Proust and above all Joyce, Kiš drew heavily on Ulysses when writing about his own father.  He believed in ‘art for my sake, art to find out who I am’ and used his work to recreated his identity through fictional explorations.  By the 1960s the distance from his childhood freed him from constraint and allowed him to write Hourglass, a novel about his father.  Thompson likened Kiš to Orwell and Camus.  He incarnated certain values, such as individualism and a refusal to bow down to institutional dominance and ideology.

In the final part of his presentation, Thompson described the difficulties he faced when writing his biography.  Firstly he encountered the issue that biography in South Eastern Europe means something very different.  As a discipline it is much weaker and it has the potential to be very dangerous.  Other key Yugoslavian literary figures had rather shady wartime pasts that they were eager to keep hidden.  This made Kiš family and friends wary of what Thompson was trying to do.  Sometimes people were trusting, but often they were not.  The form the biography would take presented a problem, as Thompson felt he could not use a linear narrative and this was a form that Kiš himself distrusted and would never have used.  Thompson also lacked what he described as the ‘dense tissue of information’ that is the backbone of many literary biographies.  Finally, in the 90s, Kiš became iconic to Serbian intellectuals who hated what was happening to their country.  Many were looking for positive examples of their culture and used him as proof that Serbian culture could produce something universal.  So how do you write about a saint?  The key was provided by a Montenegrin journalist who knew Kiš best in the last years of his life.  He pointed out that Kiš was not a liberal hero in the grain of Vaclav Havel, but simply an impassioned and often desperate artist, who gained his cosmopolitanism from hard fought experience.

The discussion painted Kiš as an émigré author who remained outside of the already established group in Paris, uninterested in being a part of the culture and lifestyle. He was not interested in promoting non-literary views, although he thought the worst about the Communist regime.  Thompson described him as politically naïve, Kiš lent his support to a Serbian poet who would become a great supporter of the Milosevic regime.  In conclusion Thompson showed Kiš as man of conflicting aspects, with many conflicting statements surrounding him proving to be true.

 

  

Lyndall Gordon: Seminar on ‘Writing Family Memoir’, 19th May 2014

On a sunny afternoon last week Lyndall Gordon presented to OCLW the first ever reading for her forthcoming memoir, Divided Lives: Dreams of a Mother and Daughter (Virago hardback 2014; paperback: spring 2015).

Gordon’s talk dealt with the motivations for and creation of her latest memoir, which is primarily about the relationship between herself and her mother. Gordon grew up in South Africa, from a young age acting as a partial caretaker for her mother. Gordon’s mother suffered from a psychological illness which was not discussed in the family, but for which she eventually took medication. Her mother’s illness and reclusiveness was somewhat like Emily Dickinson’s in that it was bound up in the writing and reading of poems and greatly influenced Gordon’s love of literature.

Gordon summed up one of the major issues in family memoir: ‘To write about family is to take as subjects people who most intimately shape our lives’. Gordon opens the memoir with a passage about being four years old and feeling the privilege of being with her mother when she is ill. Illness and the ill mother is a powerful theme for a writer. Gordon quoted from Virginia Woolf’s essay, ‘On Being Ill’, in which Woolf exclaims, ‘what ancient and obdurate oaks are uprooted in us by the act of sickness’. Katherine Mansfield said of her own illness that it opened her eyes to her writing. In Gordon’s memoir, illness transforms their relationship, for the mother and daughter are alike as dreamers: the mother is a visionary – the daughter is to go on to explore what it means to be a woman.

Gordon’s generation explored women’s lib which she explained was a divergent path from the one her mother wished her to follow: to live in Israel. Gordon remembers being at Columbia University for her PhD and hearing Lionel Trilling speak about literature as being about the “hum and buzz of implication” just under the platform of history. This leads Gordon to question whether family narratives are predetermined – are they chosen from an array of narratives, a generated story familiar to history? A memoirist must attempt to avoid predetermined stories and challenge these popular narratives by plunging the subjects into a testing moment.

However, in writing a family memoir, Gordon warned us, family secrets arise, and it is these hidden things that are at the core of creativity (of the memoir and of the life). Each written life has a unique form – dictated by the life or the art. With memoir, we ask the question, might there be an underlying pattern to each life? This may be more obvious in great lives, but the practice of biography compels biographers to consider their own lives. It is important for the memoirist to distinguish between what is lively detail and what is digression. But the record itself still matters; we do need to know who we are. One secret Gordon discovered was a passionate but unconsummated affair between her mother and a charismatic Zionist man who inspired her mother’s wish that her daughter would go to live in Israel. This also regenerated the story of Gordon’s ancestors who had been Eastern European Jews who migrated to South Africa. This kind of information needs to be remembered and documented, Gordon said. This is only possible with access to family records, papers and letters which are so crucial to the family memoirist.

Continuing along these lines, Gordon asked, how do we turn papers and letters into the coherent narrative of memoir? Gordon’s answer reiterated her earlier thoughts about diverging from predetermined narratives to figure out which story you want to tell. Gordon found that writing the story of the mother and daughter’s shared love of literature was a wonderful experience but writing about the divide was difficult. She had to manage balancing truth from her own point of view alongside empathy for her mother’s.

Gordon has found her life is bound up with her mother’s even as it is and was divided. In a sense, both women’s stories are about thinking about migration and feminism. In her mother’s dedication to the unseen life, to being a poet as well as a mother, she paved the way for Gordon’s love of stories. Both women shared a commitment to literature, which led Gordon to the path of writing lives.