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128 pages, Paperback
First published April 3, 2018
‘That deeper meaning is where poetry approaches music, because you cannot put that meaning in words in an intellectually comprehensible way. It’s just there and you know it’s there, and it is the rhythm and the beat, the music of the sound that carries it. This is extremely mysterious and rightly so.’
‘The good interview is like a good badminton rally: you know right away that the two of you can keep that birdie in the air, and all you have to do is watch it fly—The game that is being played there is a game of social class. The trouble is that people who aren’t taught grammar very well in school fall for—statements from—pundits, delivered with vast authority from above. I’m fighting that. It took the women’s movement to bring it back to English literature. And it is important. Because it’s a crossroads between correctness bullying and the moral use of language. If “he” includes “she” but “she” doesn’t include “he,” a big statement is being made, with huge social and moral implications. But we don’t have to use “he” that way—we’ve got “they.” Why not use it?’
‘This difference between grammatical correctness and the ways language engages moral questions : “We can’t restructure society without restructuring the English language.” That the battle is essentially as much at the sentence level as it is in the world.’
‘I realised just how experimental Charles Dickens’s Bleak House was. You discuss it, not necessarily as a text to emulate, but to show some of the radical choices he made both in terms of how he alternates point of view and also how he alternates tense.’
‘If you say that story is about conflict, that plot must be based on conflict, you’re limiting your view of the world severely. And in a sense making a political statement: that life is conflict, so in stories conflict is all that really matters. This is simply untrue. To see life as a battle is a narrow, social-Darwinist view, and a very masculine one. Conflict, of course, is part of life, I’m not saying you should try to keep it out of your stories, just that it’s not their only lifeblood. Stories are about a lot of different things.’
‘I resist putting everything into terms of conflict and immediate violent resolution. I don’t think that existence works that way. I’m trying to remember what Lao Tzu says about conflict. He limits it to the battlefield, where it belongs. To limit all human behavior to conflict is to leave out vast, rich areas of human experience.’
‘At the very end of the book there is a suggestion that if we aren’t forever at war we will be peaceable and boring and dull and not do anything worth doing. All I can say is that’s not my experience of war and peace. I was a kid during the Second World War. All-out war is not a period where creativity gets much play. Coming out of that war was like coming out of a very dark place into an open world where you could think and do something other than war, the war effort, fighting. Where there was room for creation, not just destruction.’
‘Of course, the sentence has its rhythms too. Woolf was intensely aware of that. She has a paragraph about how rhythm is what gives her the book, but, boy, it’s hard to talk about. It’s one of these experiential things that we don’t really have a vocabulary for. I wonder if there is a vocabulary for it. It’s like talking, again, about music. You can only say so much about music and then you simply have to play it. Some person can hear it and get it or not get it.’
‘I have to put Rilke very high. I had MacIntyre’s translation of The Duino Elegies one summer when I needed help. I was in a bad time, and I kind of feel like some of the elegies got me out of it. They carried me through it, anyway. I don’t know German. So, Rilke and Goethe I have to deal with facing translations and then just work my way back and forth and back and forth. Usually I end up trying to make my own crummy translation, so I can work my way into the German words with a dictionary. That is a very laborious way of reading poetry—if you do it word by word, if you don’t know the German nouns and have to look up every single one, and the verbs are mysterious and not in the right place [laughs], by the time you’ve done that, you know the poem. You’ve kind of made your own version of it in English, and that’s why I love translating from languages I do know and even from languages I don’t, like with Lao Tzu.’
‘Actually The Book of Hours is not one of my favorites. I like later Rilke. He’s a very strange poet and a lot of what he says doesn’t mean much to me. But when he says things and it’s the music, even I know. My father was a German speaker, and I heard him speak German, so I know what it sounds like even if I don’t know the language. It’s the music that carries it in reality. A strange rhythm he has.’
‘Whatever may happen to the arts in bad times, the verbal arts, at least, tend to become very important. It’s really important what you say in the bad times. I think about a book that has been so important to me, Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching. That book is the product of a very bad time in China. It was called the Warring States Period. A time of civil war and invasion. And he was, in fact, going into exile. In the mythology about him, that was why he wrote the book. Staying at an inn on the border, before he crossed over into “the outer world,” he took a night or two to write this book—I needed to figure out what I really, really wanted to say.’
‘That “home” isn’t your family, nor is the house where you live. Home is instead imaginary. And by imaginary you don’t mean illusory, but in some respects more real than any other place. You write, “Home, imagined, comes to be. It is real, realer than any other place, but you can’t get to it unless your people show you how to imagine it—whoever your people are.”’
‘And a very large part of knowing who we are is knowing where we came from, where we live now, and if there is a further home to go to, what might it be? Placing yourself among your people within a certain context on the Earth. And it seems to take a lively effort of the imagination to accomplish this, so all myths in a sense are “unrealistic.” And yet they are trying to get to the heart of one’s reality as a human being who is a member of a community. Which is kind of an important job.’
‘The thing is we don’t live with animals as we did—You didn’t used to be able to get away from the animals. They were part of your life, absolutely essential to your well-being as fellow workers in the field, as your food supply, your wool supply, and so on. Now we get all that at an enormous distance. Now there are people who can’t be in a room with an animal. What would they have done a hundred years ago? I really don’t know—Children grow up never touching any living being except another human being. No wonder we are alienated.’
‘We can live in the cities as if there were no other living beings on Earth. No wonder people get indifferent and think it doesn’t matter if you extinguish a species. You have to be in touch and we are not. I think that kids’ stories and animal stories are an imaginative way of at least being in touch. Therefore they are very important. But my opinion is not shared by a lot of literary people. Literary people tend to assume if it is about animals, it is probably sentimental. And sentimentality is the worst possible sin.’
‘I suppose it comes down in some ways to the brute and simple fact that a woman conceives, carries a child, and bears it. Women can perform this enormous natural act that men can’t. So how much of this is male compensation? How much of a lot of human behavior is male compensation, claiming generative power as the only power, and calling any other power or ability inferior? That is a theme that goes through a lot of my writing, because it goes through a lot of our lives.’
‘I cannot forgive Wallace Stegner, who was very well-known, very popular, very much adored by the intelligentsia, who easily could afford to give credit where credit was due. And he didn’t. I do not forgive.’
‘—Naomi Replansky, who is now ninety-nine and lives in New York, whom I got to know as a pen pal—was reading one of Saramago’s novels, Blindness, and told me, “This is great, you’ve got to read this.” So I got a copy, because I obey Naomi, and it scared me to death. I just couldn’t read it. It was so frightening and it was extremely difficult to read because there is no paragraphing and very little punctuation. It is made almost as if to deliberately slow you down. I backed off but I could feel there was something here. So I went and got some more Saramago and put myself through a course on his work. This is all within the last ten or fifteen years, very late in my life. He is not very far ahead of me. He was maybe ten years older than me. He started writing novels very late in his life and he was still writing novels in his seventies and eighties. That’s not only impressive but good news to me. You don’t have to stop.’
‘So I invested a lot in Saramago and it paid off for me. He is not an easy writer, partly because of his idiosyncratic punctuation and paragraphing. You just have to allow him that. I still don’t quite understand why he does it but I have to figure that any artist that good knows why he did it—always against the dictatorship in his home country, Portugal, and always against the heavy hand of the Catholic Church there. A man of extreme moral sensitivity, and terrific sympathy for all kinds of underdogs, including women and dogs. He won my heart is what happened—the Nobel committee made a good choice that time—otherwise I never would have heard of him. Most of us wouldn’t have.’
‘Being Portuguese is damnation as a writer. It takes a lot to get you out of writing in a “minor” language. Because he was always translated into Spanish, immediately, I think, he might have slowly come to notice. But I’m happy they Nobel-ed him.’
‘—Margaret Atwood is far too bright and complicated a person to be motivated by anything—crass. But it does make for a considerable discomfort sometimes in our ongoing conversation as writers who like each other. I just insist that when I write science fiction I know what it is and I know that I’m writing it. And I’m not going to have it called anything else. But that also is true when I’m not writing science fiction. I don’t want it called science fiction just because I’m a “science fiction writer.” These categories are very, very important to me personally. I’m always kind of on thin ice when trying to review Atwood. But it is always interesting.’
‘It was not exactly love at first sight. I didn’t know very much Spanish when I started reading her. My friend Diana Bellessi in Argentina sent me some selected Mistral and said, “You have to read this,” and so I labored into it with my Spanish dictionary and I just fell in love. I never read anything like Mistral. There isn’t anybody like Mistral, she’s very individual, and it’s an awful shame that Neruda—the other Chilean who got the Nobel—gets all the attention. But you know men tend to get the attention and you sort of struggle to keep the women in the eye of the men. Neruda is a very good poet, but Mistral just has a lot more to say to me than he does.’
A Joyce lo canonizaron casi de inmediato; a Woolf o bien la excluyen del canon o, durante décadas, la admitieron solo a regañadientes y con recelo. Se pueden dar muy buenos argumentos para decir que 'Al faro', con sus sutiles y efectivas técnicas y dispositivos narrativos ha tenido mucha más influencia en la novela posterior que el 'Ulises', un monumental punto muerto.