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Y Lôn Wen/The White Lane
A Welsh-language autobiographical classic by Kate Roberts, adapted by the National Poet of Wales, Gillian Clarke. In the tradition of the Welsh hunangofiant (autobiography), Kate Roberts introduces us to a community, rather than an individual. This parallel Welsh-English text will be a delight for readers in Wales and beyond.
"The White Lane both is, and is not, autobiography. It is non-linear, non-chronological; a collection of family stories, childhood memories, individual portraits, and personal musings on community and society; a flow of thoughts and images conveyed in inimitable style by one of the twentieth century’s greatest Welsh prose writers. The White Lane is authentic story-telling, rooted deeply in reality. It is Roberts returning to her source. Sometimes so pragmatic and down-to-earth; at others, utterly fanciful. Always arresting." Suzy Ceulan Hughes
"Roberts' bright, fragmentary memories of early infancy – haymaking, the funeral of a quarryman – have the intensity of poetry." Brandon Robshaw, The Independent
"The White Lane both is, and is not, autobiography. It is non-linear, non-chronological; a collection of family stories, childhood memories, individual portraits, and personal musings on community and society; a flow of thoughts and images conveyed in inimitable style by one of the twentieth century’s greatest Welsh prose writers. The White Lane is authentic story-telling, rooted deeply in reality. It is Roberts returning to her source. Sometimes so pragmatic and down-to-earth; at others, utterly fanciful. Always arresting." Suzy Ceulan Hughes
"Roberts' bright, fragmentary memories of early infancy – haymaking, the funeral of a quarryman – have the intensity of poetry." Brandon Robshaw, The Independent
- GenresNonfiction
320 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1960
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
June 16, 2011
The White Lane is Kate Roberts' autobiography. This edition has a facing translation from the Welsh, written by Gillian Clarke. The translation is clear and easy to read, and it's interesting to peek at the Welsh and see what I know -- a surprising amount of single words, it turns out.
The first chapter was a little odd, but appropriately so -- it consisted of short fragments of memory from when Kate Roberts was quite young. Like her novels, her autobiography focuses on the world she knew, the world around her in Wales.
It felt a bit didactic, really, having things explained to the reader. It makes me wonder who she meant it for. Welsh-speakers, evidently, but then who? Younger people, I suppose, who didn't know the world she'd grown up in. Keeping people in touch with their roots.
The first chapter was a little odd, but appropriately so -- it consisted of short fragments of memory from when Kate Roberts was quite young. Like her novels, her autobiography focuses on the world she knew, the world around her in Wales.
It felt a bit didactic, really, having things explained to the reader. It makes me wonder who she meant it for. Welsh-speakers, evidently, but then who? Younger people, I suppose, who didn't know the world she'd grown up in. Keeping people in touch with their roots.
February 17, 2012
This is not so much an autobiography as a chronicle of a lost generation and a collection of remembered memories and anecdotes about a past way of life. I first read this over thirty years ago when I was studying Kate Roberts for my Welsh A level and even then I remember the frustration that there wasn't much about Kate in the book. Now that I'm older and closer to the age Kate Roberts would have been when she wrote this, I enjoyed it so much more and understand better where she was coming from.
It is an intriguing book, written in different styles. The first chapter gives us fragments of childhood memories, finely drawn and acutely described. The author places herself firmly in each memory and describes sounds, sights, feelings and emotions. The chapters that follow are quite different. It is almost as though the emotional outpouring of the first chapter was too much for her and she has changed tack to a more objective style of writing, like a series of essays giving a historian's view or an anthropological account of life, society, culture, even children's games, in the Welsh speaking community of the quarries in the Lleyn peninsula at the end of the nineteenth century. Woven into these accounts, we get anecdotes that bring the history to life, reminding us that she is telling us about what made her and shaped her writings. Later on, the focus changes from the wider community to closer family networks and descriptions of her parents, grandparents and familiar characters.
There is very little in this book about the author that is directly described but a lot can be inferred. We get to know that she is the child of a second marriage of both parents and has both siblings and half siblings, but aren't told how many of them there were. She mentions a memory of a dangerously ill baby brother but not the outcome. The reader gets an impression that she was a fairly serious and studious child, that her family sacrificed an extra wage by allowing her to go to the County School rather than go into service, that she was precociously intelligent - competing in literary competitions above her age group - but too introverted or maybe just not talented enough to compete in the stage events. There is an overwhelming sense of someone being in control of some very intense emotions and her memories always stop short of telling us the complete story. The story of the death of another brother in the first world war that is widely accepted as having been the trigger to her writing career stops just short of the bereavement itself. Yet there is power, intensity and incredible depth in what she brings us in this book, even if she does sell us short on the "autobiography".
I read the original Welsh version - not the translation - and cannot comment on how well the controlled style of writing and acutely observed dialogue translates. I suspect that some of it would be lost in translation. Anyhow, I loved it, will now re-read her other books that I have sitting on my shelves and plan to read this book again some time.
It is an intriguing book, written in different styles. The first chapter gives us fragments of childhood memories, finely drawn and acutely described. The author places herself firmly in each memory and describes sounds, sights, feelings and emotions. The chapters that follow are quite different. It is almost as though the emotional outpouring of the first chapter was too much for her and she has changed tack to a more objective style of writing, like a series of essays giving a historian's view or an anthropological account of life, society, culture, even children's games, in the Welsh speaking community of the quarries in the Lleyn peninsula at the end of the nineteenth century. Woven into these accounts, we get anecdotes that bring the history to life, reminding us that she is telling us about what made her and shaped her writings. Later on, the focus changes from the wider community to closer family networks and descriptions of her parents, grandparents and familiar characters.
There is very little in this book about the author that is directly described but a lot can be inferred. We get to know that she is the child of a second marriage of both parents and has both siblings and half siblings, but aren't told how many of them there were. She mentions a memory of a dangerously ill baby brother but not the outcome. The reader gets an impression that she was a fairly serious and studious child, that her family sacrificed an extra wage by allowing her to go to the County School rather than go into service, that she was precociously intelligent - competing in literary competitions above her age group - but too introverted or maybe just not talented enough to compete in the stage events. There is an overwhelming sense of someone being in control of some very intense emotions and her memories always stop short of telling us the complete story. The story of the death of another brother in the first world war that is widely accepted as having been the trigger to her writing career stops just short of the bereavement itself. Yet there is power, intensity and incredible depth in what she brings us in this book, even if she does sell us short on the "autobiography".
I read the original Welsh version - not the translation - and cannot comment on how well the controlled style of writing and acutely observed dialogue translates. I suspect that some of it would be lost in translation. Anyhow, I loved it, will now re-read her other books that I have sitting on my shelves and plan to read this book again some time.
July 9, 2025
alistasin järjekordse Walesi klassiku, Kate Roberts on neil 20. sajandi üks kuulsamaid kirjanikke. kuna ei osanud tema lugemisega kuskilt alustada, siis valisin selle memuaarideks nimetatud raamatu, aga nagu juba eessõnas hoiatati, siis ega siit tema enda kohta midagi teada ei saa. mälestusteraamat on see küll, aga juttu on eelkõige sellest, mida ta mäletab oma lapsepõlvest ja mida sellest, mida vanemad-vanavanemad-külarahvas veel varasematest aegadest jutustasid. nii et suures osas ikkagi pigem 19. sajandi Walesi külaelu kirjeldatakse siin, lõpuks jõutakse enamvähem esimese ilmasõjani välja.
elavalt meelde jäi mulle siin kaks kohta: see, kus Kate ütleb, et inimestevahelise sotsiaalse suhtluse totaalse allakäigu põhjuseks on raamatud (no et kui igaüks hakkas omaette kodus lugema, siis nad ei viitsinud enam üksteisele külla minna ja seal lobiseda) ja et tänapäeva noored ei tea vana aja lugudest ja oma esivanematest enam midagi, sest neil on raadio ja sellised asjad. ("tänapäev" oli 1960ndad, kui see kõik kirja pandud sai - Kate arvas siis, et tema elupäevade lõpp on varsti käes, sest piiblis lubatud 70 eluaastat saab kohe täis; tegelikult elas ta veel 25 aastat ja nägi vost raadiost õudsemaidki asju saabumas. sotsiaalmeediat küll päris mitte.)
mu lemmikosa oli algus, mis koosnes väikestest mälupiltidest, nagu need Aino Perviku miniatuurid. ja siis meeldis mulle peatükk laste mängudest (kus muide kirjeldatakse ühte kivikeste loopimise nägu, mis oli ka Harry Jõgisalu "Maaleivas" Kihnu laste repertuaaris ja mida ma oma elus pole iialgi kedagi mängimas näinud, aga hirmsasti tahaks. teised mängud olid ka väga kodused, kiikumine ja keks jne, kuigi keksu mängisid nad veidi teistmoodi kui meie. tundus raskem.)
lõpupoole igasuguste vanaemade ja -tädide ja naabrimeeste jne elulugude juures kippus mu tähelepanu veidi hajuma. aga lõpuks oli see tore lugemine ikka ja nüüd julgen juba Kate'i romaane ka rünnata.
elavalt meelde jäi mulle siin kaks kohta: see, kus Kate ütleb, et inimestevahelise sotsiaalse suhtluse totaalse allakäigu põhjuseks on raamatud (no et kui igaüks hakkas omaette kodus lugema, siis nad ei viitsinud enam üksteisele külla minna ja seal lobiseda) ja et tänapäeva noored ei tea vana aja lugudest ja oma esivanematest enam midagi, sest neil on raadio ja sellised asjad. ("tänapäev" oli 1960ndad, kui see kõik kirja pandud sai - Kate arvas siis, et tema elupäevade lõpp on varsti käes, sest piiblis lubatud 70 eluaastat saab kohe täis; tegelikult elas ta veel 25 aastat ja nägi vost raadiost õudsemaidki asju saabumas. sotsiaalmeediat küll päris mitte.)
mu lemmikosa oli algus, mis koosnes väikestest mälupiltidest, nagu need Aino Perviku miniatuurid. ja siis meeldis mulle peatükk laste mängudest (kus muide kirjeldatakse ühte kivikeste loopimise nägu, mis oli ka Harry Jõgisalu "Maaleivas" Kihnu laste repertuaaris ja mida ma oma elus pole iialgi kedagi mängimas näinud, aga hirmsasti tahaks. teised mängud olid ka väga kodused, kiikumine ja keks jne, kuigi keksu mängisid nad veidi teistmoodi kui meie. tundus raskem.)
lõpupoole igasuguste vanaemade ja -tädide ja naabrimeeste jne elulugude juures kippus mu tähelepanu veidi hajuma. aga lõpuks oli see tore lugemine ikka ja nüüd julgen juba Kate'i romaane ka rünnata.
December 31, 2021
A really interesting insight into some of our local history.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews