Saturday, October 1, 2011
It appears that strange synchronicities happened around Leonora all the time. In the spring of 2010 I was walking down a busy road in London and spotted a rare exhibition catalogue of her works in a second-hand shop window. I went inside and bought it right away. While I was talking with the person behind the counter, a young woman who just happened to walk by me overheard me mention the name of Leonora Carrington. She turned out to be an artist, and an admirer of Leonora's work like myself. We chatted for a few minutes and noted down each other's email addresses. Nothing more came of that, but end of last year she suddenly sent me an email to remind me of a rare exhibition of Leonora Carrington and her friend Remedios Varo, in Norwich, England. It was going into its last week, and on the spur of the moment I decided to buy a plane ticket and go see it. Marta Rocamora - that's her name - came to the exhibition too, and we had coffee - far too briefly, unfortunately, for I had to leave to catch my plane back home. The exhibition was impressive. One thing that has stuck in my mind is a scene from a video of an interview with the artist. The interviewer wanted her to explain the meaning of some of her imagery, and Leonora got really upset: "Don't rationalize it! It's a visual world. Do you get it? It's a visual world!"
And so it is. This week, I received another email from Marta, who appeared to have missed the news of Leonora's death earlier this year. It had inspired her to make this drawing, which I copy here with her permission. It's called "What are you up to today miss?", and it really catches the spirit of Leonora Carrington (if that spirit is catcheable at all). I won't give any comments or interpretations: it's a visual world. But I'm sure that whatever she is up to these days, miss Carrington must be doing it with both her eyes wide open.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Anyway, the book is finished, and now it's time for this owl to start flying again. Recently I read a novel that left me deeply impressed. It's written by a British writer, Lindsay Clarke, and is called The Chymical Wedding. Clarke has an extraordinary gift for writing, and his beautiful english alone makes the book a pleasure to read. But there is much more. Clarke's books are deeply informed by alchemical and other kinds of esoteric literature - the very title of the novel refers to a famous Rosicrucian allegorical novel published in 1616 - and does so in a particularly profound manner that never, even for a moment, risks becoming stereotypical or kitchy. I won't give away the plot, but it cannot harm (especially since one can read it all on the back cover) to mention that the novel tells two parallel stories, each with one female and two male protagonists. In the 1980s, a young man who has just gotten divorced meets an unusual couple, an old man and a young woman who are busy researching a forgotten history that happened in the mid-nineteenth century: at that time, a young woman and her father during the Victorian era were involved in deep studies of the Hermetic philosophy, and got acquainted with the newly arrived vicar of their village. Two triangles; two couples of an older man and a younger woman; and twice an additional male factor who turns out to be essential to the complex process that is going on underneath the surface. As could be expected in a book with such a title, the alchemical "coniunctio" or union of opposites will prove to be essential to everything that is going on.
One of the two narratives is loosely based on a real model: the story of Mary Ann Atwood (née South) and her father. The latter was planning to write a large poem on the Hermetic mystery, but never managed to finish it. His daughter did publish its equivalent in prose (A Suggestive Inquiry into the Hermetic Mystery, 1850), but after it had come out, she and her father were overcome by panic at the idea of having "revealed too much". So they tried to buy back all the copies and burned them! Some did survive, however, and the book remains in print.
Why did the novel impress me so much? Most of all because Clarke's uncanny ability to convey powerful but subtle shifts or alterations of consciousness. As you will find out for yourself when you read it, precisely those shifts or alterations are essential to everything that the novel is about, but few things are so difficult to evoke in prose without the result becoming artificial or shallow. Lindsay Clarke succeeds in making the reader experience events which take place in a liminal twilight reality that is "neither here nor there": not just dreams or fantasies, not just ordinary prosaic reality, but some third realm that refuses to accept such an either/or choice.
One final point that both novels have in common is that, at some level, these liminal events or altered states are always charged with erotic energy. Some kind of erotic tension involving male and female polarities seems to be required in order for the protagonists to be pushed through the barrier that separates normal prosaic reality from that other state. I don't think that Clarke and Murakami know anything about each other, and their novels could not be more different, but somehow they are parallel and arrive at similar conclusions.