Exsiles (J. Joyce) – James (P. Everett) – Il regno fragile (Tiziana Prezzo) – 68 – Ce n’est qu’un debut… (Paolo Brogi) – Storie di sport e poltica (A. Molinari, G. Toni) – A Year in Provence (P. Mayle) – Soprannome Dreamer (G. Luppi)
James by Percival EverettMy rating: 3 of 5 stars
Rewriting, updating or extending the classics has always been a suspicious business as far as I am concerned. Does ‘James’ make an exception? Probably yes. It tells the same story as ‘Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’ from the slave’s point of view, with all its sufferings, violence and inhumanity, tragic facts, well known today, that were implied in the original version.
As the NYT writes, “Everett does not reprint the famous [paradoxica]l warning that greets the reader at the start of ‘Adventures of Huckleberry Finn’: ‘Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.’ Motives, morals and plot are here in abundance, of course”. Being ‘Huck Finn’ the most subversive book in American fiction – Huck decides to go to hell instead of betraying Jim –, ‘James’ aims at being as subversive as the original text by shifting the first-person narrator, the point of view and partly the plot. ‘Huck Finn’’s original story is soon abandoned and consequently Huck’s role and presence fade. It is still a story of friendship and father-son relationship, but the focus on Afro-American life wipes away most of the motives that had the book banned for decades. It is indeed a tale of extreme physical and psychological violence that makes you still angry after all these years, a reminder of what the ‘land of freedom’ has been able to do to its non-WASP inhabitants, either black or red-skinned.
“James offers page-turning excitement but also off-kilter philosophical picaresque – Jim enters into dream dialogue with Enlightenment thinkers Voltaire and John Locke to coolly skewer their narrow view of human rights – before finally shifting gear into gun-toting revenge narrative when Jim’s view of white people as his “enemy” (not “oppressor”, which “supposes a victim”) sharpens with every atrocity witnessed en route” The Guardian writes. And the NYT adds that “Everett’s James is indeed a warrior, of a humane, frazzled and reluctant sort. By the time this novel is finished, he will have killed men and freed fellow slaves and set fire to a particularly dismal plantation. He will be whispered about, a legend. What’s more, Everett has rendered him an ambitious reader, one who instantly grasps, for example, that the Bible is a tool of his oppressors”.
Jim/James in fact all of a sudden shifts from man of action to philosophical thinker to avenger. His dialogues with the thinkers of the times are digressions too detached to fit the narrative and the character. Presented as a (very fictional) self-educated slave, the language is the other problem of the book. ‘Huck Finn’ ’s literary Southern made-up lingo is the other key element to portray the quintessential rebel to bourgeois values. ‘James’ ’s language shifts from fake ‘nigger’ uneducated speech to learned English. The ‘niggers’ ’ jargon is a coherent trick to fool the whites, all right, but, on the other hand, the learned English of the narration (actually a diary) seems almost as false.
In conclusion, I read the novel with pleasure, but do not expect the vibrations the original still gives you 150 years later.
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The only extant play by the great Irish novelist, Exiles is of interest both for its autobiographical content and for formal reasons. In the characters and their circumstances details of Joyce’s life are evident. The main character, Richard Rowan, the moody, tormented writer who is at odds with both his wife and the parochial Irish society around him, is clearly a portrait of Joyce himself. The character of Rowan’s wife, Bertha, is certainly influenced by Joyce’s lover and later wife, Nora Barnacle, with whom he left Ireland and lived a seminomadic existence in Zurich, Rome, Trieste, and Paris. As in real life, the play depicts the couple with a young son and, like Joyce, Rowan has returned to Ireland because of his mother’s illness and subsequent death.
One can also detect hints of Joyce’s interest in Nietzsche in Rowan’s flawed pursuit of total individual freedom despite the stifling morals of Irish society. Though wrestling with guilt over his own infidelities, Rowan insists on this personal liberty, not only for himself but for his wife as well, who he knows is tempted by his cousin’s amorous overtures.
Joyce’s decision to express himself in the form of a play no doubt reflects his long admiration of the Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen. In the tense dialogue, the largely interior drama focused on the characters’ relationships, the undertones of guilt, and the longing for freedom one sees similarities with Ibsen’s themes. Also the spare, understated writing style – so unlike Joyce’s exuberant, playful, and experimental use of language in his novels – shows the influence of Ibsen’s “naked drama” (as Joyce described Ibsen’s style in a published review). Above all, Joyce emulated the Scandinavian master in making the central issue of his drama the conflict between individual freedom and a demanding, judgmental society. In Exiles the protagonists struggle with the choice between living in defiance of the rigid conventions of Irish society or exile from their homeland.
Though lesser-known, Exiles, written after Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and while Joyce was working on Ulysses, provides interesting insights into the development of the creative gifts of a literary genius.
Exiles is Joyce’s only extant play. It was written in Trieste during 1914 and 1915, and first published by Grant Richards in London and by B. W. Huebsch in New York on May 25, 1918. Joyce purposely waited to publish the play until after A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man appeared in book form in 1916. In many ways the structure of Exiles resembles those in the plays of Ibsen that Joyce had so admired a decade earlier. The play also reflects an autobiographical projection of what life might have been like for Joyce and his family had they returned to Ireland around this time.
SYNOPSIS
The action opens in a suburban Dublin sitting room in Merrion (a fictitious location that seems to correspond with the Sandymount area) with an encounter between Beatrice Justice and Richard Rowan, the play’s protagonist. Their conversation touches upon a series of increasingly personal topics: his writing, their eight-year correspondence while Richard was living in Rome with Bertha (his common-law wife) and Archie (Richard and Bertha’s child), Beatrice’s love for Robert Hand (Richard’s long-time friend and Beatrice’s cousin), and the attitude of Richard’s mother—who had died three months earlier—toward Richard’s relationship with Bertha.
Richard breaks off the conversation and leaves the room to avoid meeting Robert, who subsequently enters with a large bunch of red roses for Bertha. The awkward exchange that follows between Beatrice and Robert lasts only a few minutes before she goes off to give Archie a piano lesson, but the feeling of distance and the tone of embarrassment that dominates their conversation clearly signal their changed relationship. Robert and Bertha on the other hand seem to enjoy a much more intimate bond. When the others have left them alone, they talk of their affection for one another, hold hands, embrace, and kiss. The scene is intentionally ambiguous. Robert appears consumed by his passion for Bertha. She, on the other hand, neither encourages nor discourages his advances. This ambivalent attitude will emerge as the central issue of the play. Robert also mentions that he will encourage Richard to take a position at the university in order to ensure Bertha’s stay at Merrion. Just before Richard returns, Bertha consents to go later to Robert’s home at Ranelagh.
In the scene that unfolds after Robert has left, the conflicted sexual relationships of the central characters come to the foreground. It becomes clear that Richard is fully aware of Robert’s attempts at seduction. Bertha and Richard discuss her conversation with Robert in detail. Bertha’s own feelings are by no means clear, and she accuses Richard of doing the work of the devil by trying to turn Robert against her, as, she claims, he had tried to turn Archie against her. In addition, Bertha, who knew of the correspondence between Richard and Beatrice, accuses Richard of being in love with Beatrice and also of trying to manipulate Robert’s relationship with Bertha. By the end of the act, when Bertha asks Richard to forbid her to go to Robert’s home, the inability or unwillingness of the characters to act independently has become a dominant and oppressive condition. Although Richard says that she must decide for herself, it remains clear to the audience that he has manipulated the situation by, at the very least, allowing it to progress without his intervention.
Act 2 opens with Robert in his cottage in Ranelagh (at that time a suburb south of Dublin), waiting for Bertha. However, Richard arrives first, and declares that Bertha has told him everything. The conversation that follows raises, but does nothing to resolve, the questions of fidelity, friendship, and freedom central to the play. When Bertha finally arrives, Robert leaves to wait in the garden. Richard and Bertha then discuss trust and their own relationship before Richard departs. Bertha calls Robert in from the garden. They too talk about freedom, love, and choice, and the act ends ambiguously, giving the audience no clear sense of what, if anything, will transpire between Bertha and Robert.
The third act begins early on the morning of the following day at Richard Rowan’s home, with Bertha seated alone in the drawing room. Beatrice Justice enters, ostensibly to bring a copy of the morning newspaper which contains a leading article (i.e., an editorial) on Richard’s life written by Robert. In fact, however, Bertha and Beatrice quickly confront one another on the issues of Richard’s return to Ireland and his writing. Although the central concerns remain unresolved, before Beatrice leaves Bertha offers her friendship.
At this point Richard comes into the drawing room, and he and Bertha begin a conversation in which they attempt to resolve the conflict in their attitudes toward freedom and fidelity. Robert Hand enters the room but not before Richard leaves for his study. Bertha chides Robert for planning to leave the country without a word to her. She also seeks to bring about a reconciliation between Richard and Robert. She calls Richard back from his study, and Robert confesses his failure to him. After Robert has left, however, it becomes apparent that he has given Richard little consolation. Richard speaks of the “wound of doubt” in his soul, and the play ends with Bertha, speaking softly, asking him to return as a lover to her once again.
COMMENTARY
By NASRULLAH MAMBROL on •
While critics continue to debate whether Exiles stands as a substantial work in its own right, few would disagree with the view that it remains an important transitional piece between A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses. Whatever one thinks of its dramaturgy, the play clearly highlights themes crucial throughout Joyce’s creative process: exile, friendship, love, freedom, betrayal, and doubt…
Analysis of James Joyce’s Exiles
’68 – Ce n’est qu’un debut…
Quest’anno è il cinquantesimo del ’68. Io allora frequentavo le scuole medie e guardavo gli studenti del liceo di fronte alla mia scuola scendere in strada per manifestare. Non capivo perché lo facessero, perché non andassero in classe a studiare. Lo avrei capito poco dopo, quando io stesso frequentai quella scuola e mi unii a quella protesta. Quello è stato il momento cruciale della mia formazione, sono stato quello che sono stato, ho fatto quello che ho fatto, sono così ora grazie a quell’esperienza irripetibile. Anche nel tradimento: pensavamo che che ‘un mondo diverso fosse possibile’ ma la direzione che il mondo ha preso rispetto ai nostri sogni è quella opposta. A ben vedere, però, molti diritti civili ed emancipazioni sociali sono eredità di quella stagione, anche se oggi cantare We Shall Overcome ai sit-in è un po’ fuori tempo massimo. Ma, come canta il boss, Never Give Up On a Dream.
This year is the fiftieth anniversary of the so-called ’68. I then attended middle school and watched the high school students on the other side of the street go down the street to demonstrate. I couldn’t understand why they did it, why they did not go back to class to study. I would have understood it soon after, when I myself attended that school and joined that protest. That was the crucial moment of my growing up: I have been what I have been, and I have done what I have done so far, thanks to that unique experience. Even in betrayal: we believed that ‘a different world was possible’ but the world has taken the opposite direction from our dreams. Nonetheless, to look more carefully, many civil rights of today and, in general, social emancipation are legacies of that season, even if today singing We Shall Overcome at sit-ins is a bit out of time. But, as the Boss sings, Never Give up a Dream.
Il libro ’68 – C’est ne pu’ un dèbut… storie di un mondo in rivolta del giornalista Paolo Brogi (Imprimatur, 2018) è una cronaca di quell’anno irripetibile, in Italia, in Francia, negli USA, nel mondo. Messi insieme, questi episodi mostrano un ribellismo e una volontà di lottare che oggi sembra preistoria, nel nostro mondo sedato da politica trash e tecnologia strizzacervelli. Non cercate in questo saggio le motivazioni del ’68, questo non è un libro di storia, ma un resoconto quasi giornalistico.
Come si legge nell’introduzione: un anno che ha segnato il mondo intero e che a mezzo secolo di distanza fa ancora parlare di sé, ripercorso in un caleidoscopio di situazioni con la voce dei suoi protagonisti, attraverso una raccolta minuziosa di preziosi frammenti e immagini, con storie inedite e testimonianze di chi c’era. Dai muri alle strade, alle scuole, alle fabbriche, alle piazze, lo scossone che cinquant’anni fa ha cambiato la rotta del mondo abbattendo barriere con allegria, altruismo, effervescenza e generosità. Da Roma a Berlino, passando per New York, Parigi, Tokyo, Milano, Chicago, Trento, Pisa, Torino, Dakar, Rawalpindi, Belgrado, Praga, Varsavia, Istanbul, Rio de Janeiro, Città del Messico, il racconto di quella stagione insuperabile di speranze e rivolta che fu il ’68.
Protagonisti assoluti di quella stagione furono gli studenti che si ribellarono all’istruzione asservita al potere conservatore, che, nell’ambito della scuola, aveva nei presidi i primi baluardi di tale conservazione. Ma a ben guardare c’erano anche capi d’istituto illuminati, come il libro racconta in Presidi illuminati nel ’68: preistoria.
Da non perdere: intrigante, esaustivo, inedito e inaspettato. Una ricerca rigorosa che mette in evidenza i legami stretti ma poco considerati tra sport e politica. Spazza via lo stereotipo dello sport come isola felice, ci riporta ai pugni chiusi delle olimpiadi messicane del ’68, al fallito boicottaggio della finale di Coppa Davis del ’76, al Mundal argentino dei desaparesidos del ’78, alle intriganti analisi ‘sessantottine’ dello sport come arma borghese. E dipinge anche un’Italia provinciale nella quale c’erano però anche teste pensanti in quest’ambito. Il tutto inquadrato storicamente in modo essenziale ed efficace. Lettura piacevole, non un pregio da sottovalutare per un simile saggio.
Il ’68 apre una stagione di conflitti che si riverberano anche nell’universo dello sport, facendo emergere le contraddizioni inscritte in uno dei più importanti fenomeni di massa e mettendo in discussione la sua presunta neutralità e separatezza.
Considerati tradizionalmente luoghi chiusi e pacificati, gli spazi dello sport, investiti da diverse forme di protesta, vengono riconfigurati come spazi aperti e contesi. Nell’intreccio tra sport e politica emerge la crisi di legittimazione delle concezioni e delle istituzioni sportive tradizionali, alle quali vengono contrapposti modelli e pratiche alternative.
For an Englishman, going South to Provence is for sure an amazing experience, just like for an Italian like myself, even if for opposite reasons. The Mediterranean pleasures of Provence – the climate, the sea, the food, the open-hearted people – can be found everywhere in Italy, but the real difference is that the functioning civil society of France is nowhere to be found in my country. It is a fact easy to check: visit Ventimiglia than cross the ex-border to Menton; Ventimiglia if falling to pieces, Menton is a shining pearl.
Like most European artists, Mayle settled down in Provence and wrote this entertaining book just reporting his first year there. Nothing extraordinary happens, but the book is so entertaining because of its language and wit. Drenched in benevolent sarcasm and very British humour, Mayle’s style is easy-going and smooth. The bunch of characters and the minor everyday incidents that make the book catch the feeling and the atmosphere of the place delightfully. The people of Provence are ordinary people, funny and good-hearted: the writer makes them shine because he sees them from a different perspective and finds their attitudes and habits, which are normal for the Mediterranean dwellers, strange and amusing. For example, he complains about bureaucracy and the fact that workers never stick to the planning they make. True, but compared to Spain or Italy, Provence is Swiss-like. And no doubt the combination of Mediterranean pleasures and the French efficient social order makes it one of the best places to live in Europe, the area where the best of Northern and Southern modes meet.
Mi è venuto subito in mente Dubliners di Joyce. Prosa fintamente minimalista, grande attenzione ai personaggi, alle loro sensazioni e sfumature oltre le loro azioni. Piccole storie, anche un po’ surreali, che nell’insieme danno un quadro d’autore, un ritratto di una luogo e di un’epoca (Modena e i seventies), anche se il libro non ha una ambientazione specifica. Gran bella penna sciolta e scorrevole, con uno stile del tutto proprio. Un tardo esordiente da scoprire.