Il-Ħrejjef ta’ Barraminnhaw’ by Ġużè Ellul Mercer

Il-Ħrejjef ta’ Barraminnhaw’ 

by Ġużè Ellul Mercer

Ġużè Ellul Mercer (1897 - 1961) is one of the key figures in 20^th Century Maltese literature.  His masterpiece is the 1938 novel Leli ta’ Ħaż Żgħir (available in an English translation by Godwin Ellul as “Shadows of the Truth”), a novel which, in a first for Malta, combines social realism with strong elements of psychological fiction.  Ellul Mercer’s output is best appreciated in the context of his political convictions.  A practically lifelong member of the Labour Party, he served as Deputy Leader of the party as well as Minister for Public Works and Deputy Prime Minister.  Ellul Mercer formed part of the Executive Committee interdicted by Archbishop Mikiel Gonzi in March 1961. For readers unfamiliar with Maltese history, the interdett was a divisive episode which saw the Maltese Church excluding exponents of the Malta Labour Party from the sacraments, based on a concern that the party harboured anti-clericals and closet communists.  Apart from the actual interdetti, all those who voted for the party or read the party newspapers were deemed guilty of mortal sin.  This was a painful event, not least because despite the anti-clerical elements within the party, the majority of its supporters were churchgoers, some coming from deeply religious families, leading to tough choices and acrimonious divisions whose ripple effects can still be felt decades later.  Some additional reading can be found here, here and here.

The interdett would be eventually be lifted in 1964 – but Ellul Mercer died in the meantime and was buried in unconsecrated ground.  This was hardly the first brush Ellul Mercer had with the ecclesiastical authorities.  As a young author, he had penned three stories, entitled Il-Ħrejjef ta’ Barraminnhaw’ (“The Tales of the Fiend” – Barraminnhaw’ or “out of the world” being a common euphemism for devil).  The stories were issued in instalments in the socialist satirical newspaper Il-Ħmar (“The Donkey”) between October and November 1928, before the series was abruptly brought to an end after protests from the Church and court proceedings for obscenity against the editor and publisher of the newspaper.  The court case was won on appeal, but the series never continued as the editors were not keen on drawing the wrath of the Archbishop.

To be clear, the Church’s complaints had nothing to do with the references to the devil or the occult.  After all the “demon” who is the protagonist of Ellul Mercer’s stories is a cartoonish figure, a dwarfish being, lame and funny, who hovers above the narrator’s shoulder and whispers observations about society which are devilish only for being candid and frank and for casting doubt on the bourgeois morality which held sway in conservative Malta.   So, what drew the Church’s ire?  Before the series was stopped in its tracks, Il-Ħmar had featured a brief introduction (Ħrejjef tax-Xitan, or “Tales of the Devil”), and three stories, each of which is characterised by biting satire.  Il-Mara tal-Galbu (“The Gentlewoman”) speaks of a middle-aged spinster who is highly critical of the permissiveness of the younger generations, but is revealed to be jealous, sexually repressed and voyeuristic.  Sirena (“Siren”) echoes Flaubert and Maupassant in its depiction of a high-class, attractive woman, who is jilted by her adulterous husband, pushing her into a scandalous extra-marital relationship. The story starts with an uncomfortable scene by contemporary standards in which the woman, in a swimsuit at the beach, attracts the lascivious attention of all the men in the vicinity, including the narrator. This might sound misogynistic, but the story itself could be considered proto-feminist, highlighting the unfairness of the fact that the women is condemned for her infidelity, unlike her husband who is the real rogue.  The straw which broke the proverbial camel’s back, however, was Bniedem (“A Person”).  Ellul Mercer tells the story of a highly-regarded man, a pillar of society, who must therefore remain unnamed (the “person” of the title”), and whose acts of charity are merely an excuse to abuse the weak.  This “person” uses a young mother’s dependence on his help to obtain sexual favours from her, turning his attention to her daughter as soon as she comes of age.  The sexual undertones of these “tales”, and their unmasking of the hypocrisy of seemingly honest or even religious individuals, prompted the criminal proceedings which brought the series to a premature end.

Previously unpublished, Il-Ħrejjef ta’ Barraminnhaw’ have now been issued in one volume by Sensiela Kotba Soċjalisti. They are worth reading not only for their instrinsic worth, but also for their historical interest as (censored) early works of a major Maltese author.  The stories are accompanied by a series of essays.  Mark Vella contributes an introduction which places the stories in their historical and social context. Evarist Bartolo provides an essay about Ellul Mercer’s political views, and how these are reflected in the three stories Immanuel Mifsud writes about the Devil in literature – while this is rather tangential to the stories (given the playful/comedic nature of the mingħul or fiend who appears in them), I found this contribution intriguing especially its references to the role of the devil in the Book of Job.   The volume is complemented by facsimiles of the original newspaper pages featuring the stories, and illustrations of the period.  This is, all in all, a particularly well-presented and interesting volume which should appeal to enthusiasts of both literature and history.