July 2015
Showing posts with label Levy (Deborah). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Levy (Deborah). Show all posts
Thursday, 2 June 2016
'Black Vodka' by Deborah Levy
Like icebergs people collide, adhere and part first beneath the surface of consciousness, and often become aware of these occurrences, if at all, in unexpected ways. Levy’s stories present characters who are worn, damaged, stressed, eczematous, emotionally misshapen through past (usually unspecified) experiences and have them touch and part in subtle, melancholy, hopeful and surprising ways. Full of wry observation and attuned to the opportunities that could be made possible only by unhappiness, these stories show how people’s lonelinesses can be deformed and reformed by the proximity of each other’s magnetic field in ways other than the ways they touch.
Wednesday, 1 June 2016
'Things I Don’t Want to Know' by Deborah Levy
In 1946 George Orwell wrote an essay ‘Why I Write’, in which he described some events that marked his development towards becoming a writer and outlined what he saw were the four main motives for writing: ‘Sheer egoism’, ‘Aesthetic enthusiasm’, ‘Historical impulse’ and ‘Political purpose’. He explained that he would not naturally have become a political writer had circumstances not demanded it. Responding to this essay but contrasting the bluntness of its assertions with a subtler and less direct approach, Deborah Levy, who re-emerged from undeserved obscurity when she was shortlisted for the 2011 Booker Prize for Swimming Home (now shelved beside 1989’s Beautiful Mutants at home), takes Orwell’s four ‘motives’ as titles for pieces of memoir: of her childhood in South Africa (where her father was imprisoned for five years as a member of the ANC); of her teenage years in England, wishing to ‘belong’; and of a time she spent in the off-season at a small mountain hotel in Majorca, despondent, wondering how to deal with things she didn’t want to think about and doubting her ability to get her writing out into the world. As she talks with a Chinese shopkeeper, another displaced character, over dinner, she comes to some resolve: “To become a writer I had to learn to interrupt, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and then louder, and then to just speak in my own voice which is not loud at all”.
(August 2014)
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