Codex Melitensis by Alex Vella Gregory

 

Codex Melitensis

by Alex Vella Gregory

The Northern Silence: Journeys in Nordic Music & Culture by Andrew Mellor

 

The Northern Silence 

Journeys in Nordic Music and Culture

by Andrew Mellor 

Verklärte Nacht - a short story in Maltese

Verklärte Nacht

I occasionally feature on this blog some of my writings in Maltese... such as this short story. Verklärte Nacht was first published on the Facebook page of the literary organisation Għaqda tal-Malti - Universita' after a Valentine's Day call for writings on the theme of love.  It is a ghost story of sorts, whose protagonist is haunted by the spirit of his ex-lover who, in a departure from the tropes of the genre, is still very much alive…  The illustration is by Pascal Campion whose  contemporary pop-inspired works I really love.

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The Great Passion by James Runcie

 

The Great Passion

by James Runcie

La Bellezza della Nuova Musica by Emanuele Arciuli

 

La Bellezza della Nuova Musica

by Emanuele Arciuli

"Jien - Noti - Jien : Ħsejjes u Stejjer" by Immanuel Mifsud and Toni Sant

Jien - Noti - Jien : Ħsejjes u Stejjer

by Immanuel Mifsud and Toni Sant

Black Drop by Leonora Nattrass

Black Drop

by Leonora Nattrass

A book review

The Piano: A History in 100 Pieces by Susan Tomes

The Piano : A History in 100 Pieces
by Susan Tomes

"The Life of Music: New Adventures in the Western Classical Tradition" by Nicholas Kenyon

The Life of Music: 
New Adventures in the Western Classical Tradition

by Nicholas Kenyon

"La Quinta Sinfonia di Beethoven Recensita da E.T.A. Hoffmann" by Benedetta Saglietti

La Quinta Sinfonia di Beethoven Recensita da E.T.A. Hoffmann: 

Nel Regno dell'Infinito

by Benedetta Saglietti

A review

"Wagner's Parsifal: The Music of Redemption" by Roger Scruton

Wagner's Parsifal: 

The Music of Redemption

by Roger Scruton

An illustrated review

Country Music: A review of "The Lark Ascending" by Richard King

The Lark Ascending: The Music of the British Landscape  

by Richard King

A review

Christmas Carol

With Christmas around the corner, here’s a post which will hopefully put you in good cheer – a “Christmas special”, if you will. 

It has been a tradition of mine to write a yearly poem or carol to send to friends far and near.  Unfortunately, all inspiration seems to have dried up this year,  and so I am sharing one of my older poems.  It is inspired by medieval carols, and particularly their curious mix of the sacred and profane.    There follows a review of a work of non-fiction published earlier this year on Vintage, in which Alison Weir and Siobhan Clarke reveal interesting and, sometimes obscure, details about Christmas in Tudor times.  It’s a lovely book which would make for a great stocking filler.

***

Christmas Carol

It is that time of year

when thinning calendars

shed their leaves,

like trees coyly undressing

in the snowlit glare.

These are the days which taste

of hot mince pies and wine,

which bear

the scent of incense,

of cinnamon and pine.

Come, hold my hand,

your touch as warm as winter fires.

Let us make haste

to see the Holy Child

swaddled in a blaze of light,

whilst angel choirs,

voices bright

as solstice bells

announce in all the land...

Make we joy now in this fest

In quo Christus natus est.

***

"A Tudor Christmas" by Alison Weir and Siobhan Clarke  

A book review

Up to some years ago, I used to keep to an annual Christmas ritual. Come end September, or at the latest, early October, as soon as the first rains announced the end of a gloriously long Mediterranean summer, I would uncover my collection of festive CDs and start giving them an airing. Growing older, I’ve lost some of my enthusiasm, but I still love Christmas. And so it didn’t seem strange at all for me to be reading “A Tudor Christmas” three months before December.

 
I read this book electronically, but even without its physical feel, it looked beautifully presented, with vintage-style line drawings to set the mood. It is divided into chapters based on each of the “Twelve days of Christmas”, each of which serves as the departure point for an article addressing some particular aspect of the Christmas in Tudor times – whether it be festive recipes, carol-singing, present-giving as well as the changes brought about by the various religious upheavals of the time – be it the Reformation with its banning of “popish” traditions or the more extreme Puritanical banning of Christmas. In actual fact, in order to give context to the central theme of the book (celebrations at the time of the Tudors, chiefly Henry VIII and Elizabeth I), Alison Weir and Siobhan Clarke also include information about earlier periods (such as Medieval traditions which were retained by the Tudors) and later ones (particularly Christmas under the Stuarts). The text is complemented by festive poetry by the likes of Robert Herrick (he of "What Sweeter Music Fame", memorably set to music by John Rutter).

I read the book in a couple of sittings, but its style invites dipping into, perhaps in front of a crackling fire (though there’s little chance of that in my place of the world).

***

My poem “Christmas Carol” is partly inspired by early ‘macaronic’ carols: festive songs which combined Latin text with lyrics in the vernacular.  The most famous example is probably In Dulci Jubilo.   Legend states that it was composed by the mystic Heinrich Seuse in 1328, after he heard angels singing the words and joined them in a celebratory cosmic dance.   The carol now exists in different guises, including full choral arrangements by Michael Praetorius and organ versions by J.S. Bach.  It later became popular in England, especially following its translation by Robert Pearsall.  It is here sung by the King's Singers, in suitably festive attire.

There are, however, other examples of ‘macaronic’ carols, including the medieval English Make we joy now in this fest, which I quote in the very last verse.   Here’s the original medieval version performed by The Sixteen followed by a contemporary setting by composer Steve Martland (1954-2013)

As a soundtrack to “A Tudor Christmas”, the listener is spoilt for choice, as there are several cds – especially of choral music – which explore festive music by Tudor composers.  I suggest two albums.  The first one features the Choir of Christ Church, Oxford.  Christ Church College was founded in 1546 by Henry VIII, one of the protagonists of Weir’s and Clarke’s book.   The other cd was issued in 2010 by one of Britain’s foremost early music choral ensembles – Stile Antico.  Puer Natus Est, Tudor Music for Advent and Christmas, includes music by Tudor greats such as Byrd and Tallis. 

And since we’re speaking of Henry VIII – it’s often stated that he is the composer of Greensleeves, later adapted into a Christmas carol known by the name What Child is This.  He’s (probably) not, but it’s a good excuse to end with the best-known work (not) written by the portly monarch.

 

Feat Gothique : a review of "the first Gothic novel", The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole

The First Gothic Novel 

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole

As Halloween draws nigh, my ghoulish posts continue with a review of Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto, widely considered as the “first Gothic novel”.  But in the matter-of-fact 21st century, should we read it for scares or for laughs?

***

Considered in isolation, this slight novel is, frankly, underwhelming, especially to modern readers. A faux-medieval tale of chivalric derring-do and supernatural goings-on in a dark Italian castle, its convoluted plot is at best unconvincing and at worst bordering on the unintelligible. The characters are disappointingly two-dimensional, the dialogue overly melodramatic. The otherworldly elements are so unsubtle as to come across as grotesque (the novel starts with Conrad, the heir of a noble family, crushed under a giant plumed helmet which has appeared out of thin air) and the novel’s intentionally humorous streak dashes any chance of us feeling any spine-tingling fear just as surely as the “fearful casque” mangles Conrad’s body.

Yet, this 1764 novel deserves respect as (probably) the first Gothic novel, the unlikely instigator of a genre which would give rise to such undoubted masterpieces as, amongst countless others, Frankenstein and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The Gothic is a genre that still lives on modern horror and weird fiction and its influences spread well beyond the confines of literature.

Seen in this light, The Castle of Otranto starts to reveal merits which might not be immediately obvious. The obsession with the supernatural, the OTT dramatic language, the neo-medievalisms were striking and innovative at the time when the novel was written. What might now seem “facile cliches” (crumbling castles, subterranean passages, chivalric ideals) would only become “Gothic tropes” after other authors jumped on the Walpole bandwagon. The uncomfortable mix of horror and humour was a peculiarly English trait with roots in Chaucer and Shakespeare. And, underneath the novel’s self-indulgent trappings, there was also an element of radical social critique – the heads of the family come across as abusive, scheming and manipulative; the female characters are not as submissive as (18th century) society might have wanted them to be (Isabella is promised in marriage to the weak Conrad but openly admires other more beautiful knights; Princess Matilda, also pressed into marriage, resists these suggestions and first entertains thoughts of taking the veil then falls in love with a travelling peasant). 

Walpole's novel might, in our day and age, be entertaining for all the wrong reasons, but one cannot deny its incredibly far-reaching cultural impact.

***

For further reading, I suggest this review by writer and critic Ted Gioa.  This was originally posted as part of his Year of Horrible Reading, which saw Gioa reading through an impressive list of Gothic and horror titles.  I also refer to The Castle of Otranto in a blog post of my own about the Gothic in classical music.   I had built a playlist of classical music to accompany the article.  I wish you hours of (un)easy listening.

London Incognita : The Eden Book Society presents D.A. Northwood's "Judderman"

D.A Northwood's Judderman

The Eden Book Society lives again

Judderman is the second book in the "Eden Book Society" series published by Dead Ink Press.   I was toying with the idea of playing along with the meta-fictional premise of the series and providing a biography of its author D.A Northwood, the obscure writer who “disappeared from his Tottenham flat in 1981, at the age of 38”. Frankly, however, I think it does greater justice to the project to actually explain the 'conceit' which underpins it. Here it is, in brief.

 
The (fictional) "Eden Book Society" was set up in 1919, publishing horror novellas for a private list of subscribers. Eden books were elusive things - written under a pseudonym, available only to a select few, occasionally turning up in jumble sales or unexpected locations. Dead Ink Press, the publishing house behind this literary experiment, purportedly acquired the back catalogue of the Society, and will reprint the novellas sequentially, starting from 1972. In actual fact, the books are penned by a group of specially commissioned writers. The list sounds like a roll-call of leading contemporary British horror writers: Andrew Michael Hurley, Alison Moore, Aliya Whiteley, Jenn Ashworth and Richard V Hirst, Sam Mills, Gary Budden. 

The brilliance of this project lies in the fact that the very concept behind it creates an aura of mystery and suspense. And then there's that meta-literary playfulness which is typical of classic Gothic. With the novels purportedly originally issued in 1972, the authors have to succeed in an ambitious double-act :  evoking the style of 70s horror whilst taking us back to the atmosphere of that decade. It's a sort of historical scary fiction. 

Where Holt House, the first instalment in the series, combined folk and existential horror,  Judderman falls squarely within the "urban weird" genre and, more specifically, the sub-category of London Gothic. The story revolves around brothers Gary and Daniel Eider, who are trying to catalogue a 'peripheral' city, one rich in urban myth and esoterism, a shadowy place they refer to as "London Incognita".  Amongst the dying embers of a decadent society, a new ghoul-like figure is sighted. It's the Judderman, a malevolent figure which seems to be made out of the evil which is gripping the city. Daniel follows this monster into oblivion. He goes missing, leaving Gary to roam in London’s occult underworld in a bid to solve the mystery of his brother's disappearance.

 
My first impression upon reading the novella (most appropriately, on a flight to London), was that this could have been a joint effort of Peter Ackroyd and Iain Sinclair, after a night smoking marijuana and listening to early Pink Floyd. "Judderman" is, like the work of these authors, strongly rooted in 'psychogeography', the quasi-mystical idea that urban spaces hold and summon a collective historical memory. Indeed, Daniel and Gary's feverish visions often involve images of old, ancient and even prehistoric London. Interestingly, the novella manages to combine the very real horrors which gripped the 70s (unemployment, drugs, racial and sectarian violence, IRA bombings) with imagined ones stemming from urban myth (such as monsters living in unused Underground stations) - a hellish marriage of London Cognita and Incognita. And to add more flavour to the meta-mix, there are extracts from lost diaries, stories within stories, quotes from fictional authors.

Who's behind this unsettling literary concoction? Perhaps the choice of Gary as one of the protagonist's names is a clue. But one can never be too sure. This is the Eden Book Society after all...

***

If I had to choose an album to accompany the novella, it would be Portishead’s self-titled album.  Yes, yes, I know that the band’s brand of trip-hop is primarily associated with Bristol, not London.  Yet, there’s so much about Portishead which reminds me of this novel.  When issued in 1997, critics noted its “Gothic” and “deadly” atmosphere and the very clear influence of 60s and 70s soundtracks.   And then there are the meta-fictional games : the album’s liner notes refer to samples taken from songs by other bands – in actual fact, most of the samples on the album were created by Portishead and credited to imaginary/invented artists.  For a feel of this “urban Gothic” sound, check out the video of “Only You” with the dark visuals of Chris Cunningham. 

The long, hard road to vengeance... The Sheriff's Catch by James Vella-Bardon

The Sheriff's Catch by James Vella-Bardon

Of thrillers and historical fiction

I recently had the pleasure of attending the Maltese book launch (and book-signing session) of James Vella-Bardon’s The Sheriff’s Catch, the first volume of a projected “historical thriller” pentalogy.  The author himself spoke about the inspiration for his novel and this led me to consider it from a new perspective.  Here is a revisited and revised version of my review, originally posted on Goodreads

***

Historical fiction has seen such a rise in popularity over the past decades, that it's easy to forget that it is, in fact, a long-established and venerable genre. One could say that some of the earliest literature (including, say, the Iliad) is "historical", being based on actual facts which had happened in the past. The genre as we know it became particularly popular in Europe in the 19th Century, through the works of such authors as Scott, Balzac and Hugo. The historical novel was often the vehicle for Romantic ideals, and sometimes helped forge national identities in young newly-formed states (one thinks of Manzoni's I Promessi Sposi).

What contemporary writers have at their disposal, in contrast to their predecessors, is a freedom to mould the genre to their own ends. Thus, I recently enjoyed Amy Sackville's Painter to the King, a re- imagining of the life of Velazquez rendered in modernist, stream-of-consciousness narration. On the other hand, "neo-Victorian" novels by the likes of Sarah Waters and Alison Littlewood are not only set in the 19th century, but also borrow tropes from genres of the time (including the Gothic and the sensation novel).

With The Sheriff's Catch, Maltese-born and Australia-based James Vella-Bardon, adds his name to historical novelists to look out for. His novel introduces us to our 16th century protagonist, sharpshooter Abel de Santiago who, after an orphan's upbringing in Malta, ends up joining the Spanish army and campaigning in the Netherlands. When his supposed friends kill his young, pregnant wife, ‘Santi’ deserts the army and embarks on a mission of revenge which leads him through several ordeals, not least a stint as a galley slave with the Spanish Armada. It is no spoiler to reveal (since it is stated on the back-cover blurb) that by the conclusion of the book, Santi will arrive in Ireland, at a time when the country is being terrorised by the marauding English troops - or "Sassenachs", as the natives refer to them.

Author James Vella-Bardon

Vella-Bardon's book takes us back more than four hundred years, but like the historical novels of Arturo Perez-Reverte, its models are the epic, swashbuckling 19th Century classics by authors such as Dumas. As was often the case with its literary forebears, The Sheriff's Catch was adapted for serialization prior to being published in book-form, and one can feel it in the thrust of the plot. There are continuous twists and end-of-chapter cliffhangers, which ensure that the reader is hooked from one passage of the novel to the next. Indeed, the constant sense of danger and Santi's reckless, death-wish attitude tend to make the narrative rather breathless, although there are passages when the reader is allowed to take a step back and delve deeper into the protagonist's character. This could be felt particularly in the final chapters, where the introduction of a female figure (possibly/hopefully an important character in forthcoming volumes?!) seems to give a different, yet no less enjoyable perspective to the book.

There is plenty to admire in this first instalment of the Pentalogy. It is clear that much research has gone into the novel, evident for instance, in the minute descriptions of the weapons and paraphernalia of war. Yet, this knowledge is lightly worn, and Vella-Bardon avoids the common mistake of suspending the flow to provide us with an encyclopaedic entry on the era portrayed.

The first-person narration, together with the graphic, and sometimes garish, evocation of the historical setting (smells and bodily fluids included), help provide a sense of total immersion into the period without making the reader feel spoon-fed. The sense of authenticity can also be felt in the dialogue - just to give an example, the style of the language changes to reflect the characters' switching from one language to another, with the use of a more archaic syntax and vocabulary when the characters are speaking Latin. It is not easy at all to mark a change in code without changing the language of the narration, but Vella-Bardon manages it nicely.

Until we meet again, Santi...

Paperback, 336 pages

Published March 15th 2018 by Unbound

***

In his talk at the book-launch James Vella-Bardon explained that he chose 16th century Europe as the stage for his tale since this was an exciting century, a time of unprecedented upheaval. It also gave him the opportunity to pit against each other three very different cultures. 

The novel's hero Santiago was raised in Malta, which was then ruled as a fiefdom by the Knights Hospitallers, who paid a yearly tribute of a Maltese falcon to the King of Spain.     Most of us Maltese are immersed in Anglo-centric literature, and because of that we sometimes fail to appreciate what a great cultural and military power Spain was.  Vella-Bardon’s novel is a corrective in this regard.  At the time of the events portrayed, Spain was living its Siglo de Oro, a “Golden Century” (actually, longer) which started with the great voyages of exploration and ended with the death of Pedro Calderon de la Barca in 1682.   

One of the greatest Spanish composers of the period was Cristobal de Morales (1550-1553).  Here’s his Parce Mihi Domine, performed by the Consort of Melbourne, with piano improvisations by pianist Gemma Turvey.  This mixture of “old” and “new” fits Vella-Bardon’s novel very well.

De Morales is known for his sacred works.  The wordlier Santi might have been more used to sprightlier instrumental dances.  Here’s a ricercada by Diego Ortiz (1510-1570) a Spanish composer and music theorist in service to the Spanish viceroy of Naples and later to Philip II of Spain. 

And if you want a musical taste of 16th Century battles, here’s Clément Janequin: La bataille.  it precedes the Armada by a few decades, but it is a colourful evocation of war.  This performance by Jordi Savall and his Hesperion XXI is one of my favourites:

 

Elizabeth I not only promoted her kingdom’s military aspirations, but also sought to support artists and musicians, quite ironically relying on various Italian musicians to bring new musical trends to her shores.  It was Golden Age for English music, one which would eventually come to an end with the death of Henry Purcell.   An idea of the wide range of composers working at the time is given by the Triumphs of Oriana a collection of 25 madrigals by different composers published in 1601, most likely in honour of the Virgin Queen:

 

The music of William Byrd, a Catholic tolerated at the Protestant Court in view of his immense talent, sometimes reveals a dark strain, obliquely referring to the religious upheavals going on in Reformation England.  Ne irasciris is a good example. 

 

For some Elizabethan instrumental fare, here’s “Mal Sims” by Giles Farnaby (1563-1640):

In the final chapters of the book, the action moves to Ireland.  As Vella-Bardon explained, the country was then in its “late medieval” period.  This however in no way implies a “regressive” culture.  On the contrary, the Celtic way of life was extremely sophisticated, with its own traditions, art and complex legal system. 

 

Turlough o Carolan, a blind Celtic harper, composer and singer, lived between 1670 and 1738.  However, his music has its roots in ancient Irish traditions. 

 

 

The Irish context is also a good excuse for the author to introduce an element of Tolkien-inspired epic fantasy, here represented musically by Steve Hackett and  Italian pianist-organist Marco Lo Muscio.

 

 

I'll leave you with the novel's tantalising book trailer: