'Bad Words' at Calabash 09

Calabash Vibes: The Underage drinker Drew, The fossil Blinger, Marlon, the proprietor of the world's coolest name, Johnny Temple, the never far from a camera Annabelle, and some writer named Junot Diaz. Photo: courtesy The Fossil Blinger.

WRITER & WIFE: Anthony Winkler and spouse, Cathy, at Calabash (i enjoyed a brief career as Winkler's wife courtesy Tallawah Review. The error has now been corrected).

The Torment of Saint Anthony, reportedly by Michelangelo

Writers are not the most spectacular looking creatures (except for Terese Svoboda who apparently dazzled the Calabash crowd with her silver-sequined mini dress if not her poetry) so i thought i'd lead into my first brief on the literary festival with some unrelated but compelling images from the artworld.



Japanese artist Takashi Murakami poses on top of one of his art works. EFE/Ym Yik.

I'll tell you up front. The main draws for me at Calabash 09 were Patrick French, Junot Diaz and Pico Iyer. Many of the other literary stars i'd already heard read or know personally. I've heard Stacey Ann Chin at least four or five times but was still eager to hear what she might say or read from her memoir. I heard her being interviewed on radio recently and she struck me as more mature and thoughtful than on previous occasions where her rage outran her rapport with the audience.


Stacey Ann Chin flanked by Mr. Seaga and Anthony Winkler.
captions courtesy Peter Dean Rickards

Chin didn't disappoint. Her account of her first encounter with a sanitary pad under the gimlet (if grim) gaze of her aunt played havoc with the Jamaican sensibilities present some of whom shook their heads in disbelief. Stacey Ann proceeded with the frank chronicling of her abused pumpum, followed by Mr. Seaga whose autobiographical account was severe and puritanical in contrast. One of my companions sardonically remarked that he seemed to be reading his resume. Anthony Winkler, who followed, restored the climate of lewdness and profanity that had been set in motion the first night by an ebullient Junot Diaz. Winkler regaled the audience with the story of 'Greasy Legs' a prostitute who initiated generations of Cornwall College students into the slippery secrets of her anatomy.

The session between Paul Holdenberger and Pico Iyer took the festival out of the gutter to spiritual heights as travel writer Pico (whose work i used to read in Time magazine) described the peripatetic trajectory of his existence. A citizen of the Global Commons if ever there was one, Iyer (pronounced the way many locals pronounce 'Higher' but with a Barbadian 'I') personifies the figure of the Nomad, combining contemporary radical chic (he once spent two weeks at LA International Airport as part of the research for his book Global Soul) with a yearning for the timeless, ageless monasticism of ancient Eastern cultures.

The next session of invited readers included Laura Fish from the University of Newcastle whose second novel Strange Music is about Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Fish's father resides at the Greenwood Great House near Falmouth where the Barrett Brownings lived. Fish struck a clean, light note followed by Marlon James, whose compelling, dark novel The Book of the Night Women has just been published to much critical acclaim. His profanity-laden reading found disfavour with audience members who had brought their children with them. They attempted to intervene without success and were reminded by the organizers that Calabash is, after all, an adult event.

From the album:
"Wall Photos" by Marlon James

Because the kiddies deserve a good story too. I know, please keep your awwws to yourselves

Does shielding young ears from words like pussy, bombaclaat, pumpum and other such words ensure a more sensitive, ethical adult? Especially when they can see for themselves the hypocritical, unjust society we live in? And if we assume that all the outraged adults yesterday had been similarly shielded in their childhood why aren't we living in a better organized, more just society?

Patrick French was the boomshot for me. He didn't just read from his superb biography of Naipaul. His comments and reactions to place names in Jamaica, his thoughts on Caribbean and Trinidadian society, his observations on Derek Walcott's dubbing Naipaul the Mongoose at Calabash O8 engagingly prefaced the reading. His performance was deft and sure-footed. It never fails to impress me that the best writers are careful to leave you wanting more (as did Edwidge Danticat and Junot Diaz on the first night) while the lesser ones have no qualms about abusing your patience. It's like blogging--you do have the freedom to go and on but is that really the wisest strategy in engaging your readers?

Postscript: Incidentally it is NOT true that Stacy Ann Chin has instructed her publishers not to distribute her memoir in Jamaica. I asked her myself and she said that the UK rights have not yet been negotiated although the US rights have and since Jamaica falls under the former where book distribution rights are concerned we will have to wait for bookshops here to stock it. The book is also being vetted to ensure that Ja's strict libel laws have not been violated. When are we going to revise these? I mean antiques have their place but not in law surely? In the meantime anyone wanting a copy of Stacy Ann's book can easily order it from Amazon.

'Guns, Ganja and Games' anyone?

Dear Annie Paul,

Anne Walmsley, Nick Gillard and Bill Schwarz all recommended that I contact you.

Faber & Faber have commissioned me to write a book (non-fiction) on Jamaica, which will be a hybrid of history and travel. I am interested in Small Axe, and wonder if we could meet? Do you perhaps have a contact telephone number?

I shall be arriving in Kingston this Monday 4 July for an initial period of two months to research my book.

My last book was a biography of the Italian writer Primo Levi (Picador USA, Vintage UK), but I have written extensively on Haiti, so I'm not entirely new to the West Indies. Indeed I visited Jamaica last October for the first time.

When you have a moment, please do get in touch.

With all good wishes,

Ian Thomson

I received this email from Ian Thomson in 2005. The hybrid book of history and travel he was arriving to research has just been published with the provocative title The Dead Yard: Tales of Modern Jamaica. Four years is a good turnaround for a book like this. Anyone who thinks that they can write a book today, publish it tomorrow and retire on the profits the day after that doesn’t understand the world of publishing. The journey from manuscript to print alone can last almost two years.

If that doesn’t deter the starry-eyed would be writers who publish their effusions in the Sunday papers then perhaps this will. One of the things that struck me about Thomson when I finally met him was his obsession with thrift and economy. He never took a taxi if he could get a bus or walk, and he rarely paid for meals or drinks with his informants. If he had made much money from his earlier books there was no sign of it. And if Faber had allocated him an expense account it was an extremely parsimonious one.

In a country such as Jamaica where walk-foot whites are a rarity Thomson stood out like a sore thumb. I saw quite a bit of him on that first visit he made to Kingston. He had a quirky sense of humour and an analytical eye and of course like all writers he came formatted with his own subjective prejudices and preconceptions. Apparently back in England he had close friends who were first-generation immigrants from Jamaica to the UK and his view of things Jamaican was necessarily coloured by what he had been told by them.


Photo: Peter Dean Rickards

So I’ve been waiting a long time for Ian’s book and my appetite has been further whetted by his punchy, devastating article in the UK Independent last week: “Sun, sand and savagery: Whatever happened to Jamaica, paradise island?” Illustrated with a provocative photograph by Peter Dean Rickards titled 'Guns, Ganja and Games' the article has predictably roused the ire of Jamaicans here and abroad (stirring up controversy to promote book sales is a well-known publishing gimmick) although some of what he says is indubitably true and warrants comment:

“Jamaica is now a quasi-American outpost in the Caribbean, yet its legal system is clogged with British Empire-era red tape. The island's anti-sodomy laws, which carry a jail sentence of up to 10 years, derive from the English Act of 1861, and show to what a dismal extent Jamaica has absorbed values from its imperial masters. Similarly, the death penalty is still on the Jamaican statute books, though most capital punishments are overturned in London by the Privy Council, Jamaica's Court of Final Appeal. Thus an ancient British institution comprised of mostly white Law Lords has become the unlikely defender of human rights in Jamaica. A majority of Jamaicans – not just conservative, pro-monarchy ones – see hanging as the only effective deterrent against criminality: murderers must face death. Yet the British Law Lords, through the grace of Queen Elizabeth II, use their power to prevent executions. Such paradoxes are part of the Jamaican confusion: Victorian standards that have long disappeared in Britain linger on in Jamaica – to Jamaica's detriment.”

More on The Dead Yard after I’ve read it. I’ve asked someone arriving from the UK next week to procure me a copy as it may not be available locally for some time to come. Rumours have been swirling about the book being banned locally, censorship and other worse outcomes. As a friend from Trinidad wrote: BTW have you heard that Faber can't get any bookseller in JA to stock The Dead Yard?

So being the upstanding member of the Book Industry Association of Jamaica that i am i went straight to the source for more information on these rumours. Suzzanne Lee of Novelty Trading Co. the primary importers and distributors of books and magazines in the island was quick to dispel the speculation:

Dear Annie,

To my knowledge, there is NO local ban on Ian Thompson’s “Dead Yard” or any other book in Jamaica for that matter. The Novelty Trading Company does not believe in censorship and has always stood for freedom of the press.

Novelty Trading was asked to invest in a few thousand copies of this book. Due to the significant financial exposure that would be required and given the vast number of persons mentioned and quoted, we requested permission from the publishers to check sources. The first two sources checked said the book had factual inaccuracies. We then forwarded the book to our Company Lawyer who read it and advised that “portions may be legally actionable”. Due to the above, Novelty declined the publisher’s offer to distribute this title. We made the decision that there are no profits worth more than the reputation of our company. This was purely a business decision.

I am not aware of how exactly Jamaica’s libel laws differ from those in the US and UK, but we have recently encountered another case of a memoir which we attempted to purchase and which the publisher refused to sell to Jamaica due to our libel laws.

I hope this email clarifies any rumours you have heard about “Dead Yard” and Novelty Trading.

All best,

Suzzanne

More as i said when i’ve read the book. Meanwhile all roads lead to Treasure Beach next week where the next instalment of Calabash Literary Festival will unfold with the usual stellar cast of writers including Robert Pinsky, Edwidge Danticat, Junot Diaz, Xu Xi, Pico Iyer, Melvin Van Peebles, Terese Svoboda and Patrick French. Calabash ho everyone!

Piracy: the way the books are balanced?

Image of Somali boats from Times Online, November 12, 2008

Recent events in the Gulf of Aden where Somali pirates have been boldly attacking passing ships are a reminder that piracy, like prostitution, is one of the oldest professions in the world. By the late twentieth century pirates on the high seas had become such a rarity that the word 'piracy' was hijacked to describe the activities of copyright violators. But by the end of the first decade of the twenty-first century pirates were back, using the latest technology to do the same thing the fabled pirates of yore did--hold down an' tek weh—from ships that passed in the night.

To have the exploits of the Somali pirates unfold just when I happened to be reading the manuscript of a novel called Heart of a Pirate has been quite extraordinary. I was contacted by the author, Pamela Johnson, a few months ago; she wanted someone competent to read the ms and give their reactions and I had been recommended. I agreed to take a look at it but wouldn't have time to read it it till mid-March to April, I told her.



Heart of a Pirate is a novel about Anne Bonny, the female pirate who once inhabited these shores. Her story has come down to us in song and legend rather than official history. As I wrote in the blurb I sent the author:

A rollicking adventure story starring women instead of men— Heart of a Pirate brings to life the legendary female pirates Anne Bonny and Mary Read and the times and places they inhabited. Set in the early eighteenth-century between Jamaica, Ireland, and the Southern United States Pirate plots the coordinates of the extraordinary life of a woman who unceremoniously spit the silver spoon she was born with out of her mouth, taking to the unpredictable and dangerous high seas rather than abide by the laws of patriarchy. Pirate society itself is presented as a more democratic alternative to the hierarchical social system that ruled Britain and its colonies; the political history of Ireland and plantation slavery are referenced and undergird this bracing tale of female bravery, gallantry and piracy. Heart of a Pirate is a story of the human desire for equality and freedom, social justice and piratical valour—a thought-provoking romp of a read particularly at a time when contemporary piracy is occupying international attention again.

An adept swordswoman, who knew how to use the superior strength of men against them, Bonny was a force to reckon with. Dressed in men's clothes she took on soldiers and sailors alike, besting them and earning her place on many a pirate ship. Although to the manor born, Bonny abhorred slavery and inequality of any sort, chafing under the bit of her father's authority. She started leaving her house under cover of night to keep the company of sailors and 'women of the street' “real people who lived on the edge of life, one day to the next.”

For she understood their poverty, the small wages, the persecution and social circumstances from which many of them ran—debtor's prison in England, branding, thumbscrew and boot, whip and cane and cat o' nine tails, long, arbitrary sentences for petty theft or for being on the losing side in some religious war. Almost all had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, bastards, orphaned or abandoned as children. The men, outlawed, turned to theft as the occasion rose, and protected each other better than any army or police. Together, sword in hand, they would take back from the world what had been taken from them. Piracy was the way the books were balanced.

The pirate's code, also called the Articles of the Brethren or The Brotherhood of the Coast allowed pirates to vote for their captain who would remain captain till he was voted out. “Every man of us is a freeman and stands for his own self, but a man serves his best interest by standin' with other free men. We don't hold to colour or class or wealth. A man's not born with his rank, but earns it.”

To Anne Bonny, the pirate's code meant equality, something she had not encountered previously and now defended fiercely against the very pirates she lived with. At one point she turns on her husband demanding: “Have ye not just told me that the Code made all men equal? By what right do ye tell me how to speak...or what to think? I'm here precisely because I will have no one tell me what I can or cannot do.” At another moment she argues: “Do not try to tell me that because I am a woman, I must have a different set of rules, for God knows, I have earned my place as an equal. I am a crew member and entitled to all the privileges of any man here.”

While I was reading Heart of a Pirate the pirates of Somalia were rousing international consternation by capturing a US ship and holding its crew hostage. Though the mainstream media were quick to condemn the so-called pirates other voices disagreed. “You Are Being Lied to About Pirates” went one headline in the Huffington Post. Another account simply called Roman Piracy, was making the email rounds, linking slavery to the prevalence of piracy in Roman times:

The piracy threat which came to a head in the decade of the 60's BC was in part due to Rome's complacency about the issue. Rather than stamping out small pockets of pirates early on, they allowed piracy to flourish into a large force of marauders. A poor economy and oppressive social conditions also fed the pirate forces as men who were on the verge of bankruptcy discovered more profit as robbers and pillagers. Rome was unwilling to act conclusively toward the reduction of pirate forces because those forces, along with tax companies, provided slaves for the large luxury markets. The pirates did not attack Rome as an enemy, but treated all targets equally, as opportunities for profit. During the next century Roman senators did not find the political will to suppress the piracy, perhaps in part because it served their interests; pirates supplied tens of thousands of slaves for their Italian estates and disrupted the grain trade, thus raising prices for their produce in Rome.

I emailed Pamela Johnson remarking on the coincidence of her sympathetic portrayal of pirate society and the view that the Somalis were being unjustly demonized and might have good reason to be resorting to piracy in response to the severe social injustice they had suffered: Do you have a comment on the Somali activity? I asked.

Comments? Actually, a lot! replied Pamela.

When I first began to think of writing about this fascinating woman, and why she has been the subject of song and legend, why the story has stuck with us for so many years, I looked for the reasons why. Piracy, clearly, is not a good thing, so how could I justify the heroism of it, other than to look at the romance of Rafael Sabatini (Captain Blood) and Errol Flynn and Paul Henried movies (Paul Heinreid filmed a movie in the 50's entitled The Spanish Main that features a pirate named Anne Bonny--my first hearing of the woman when I was in my teens).

I found that answer in the scholarly theories of Marcus Rediker of the University of Pittsburg who studies piracy and emerging capitalism in the 18th century. Not until then did I realize the extent of poverty, unemployment, and economic stress on a society facing massive population migrations.

The pirates of Somalia face the same situation as the pirates of 'the Golden Age of Piracy', in that they face poverty, lack of education, and hopelessness. Instead, these one-time simple fishermen, men of the sea, decided to take from others who, in their view, have more. The issues in our own times are the same, the pirate's search for greater weaponry, navel tension in parts of the world, even religion.

The outcome for the men of Somalia, and indeed pirates anywhere, the Amazon region and the south China Sea, among others, is that they face overwhelming odds of retribution in superior armies, navies, and funding. When fifty-two of Bartholomew Roberts' men were hanged along the African coast, the governments of nations were making a statement, commerce will succeed, capitalism is important, men who invest will have their due. Even Anne knows she will fight anyone who tries to take the product of her own land.

Today we like to think that we are above such barbarity as gibbeting men and leaving their bodies to rot. Yet commerce will not be disrupted. Investors will lose money if the situation is not contained. Ordinary seamen will face threat, torture, and even death to move their vessels from port to port. And searobbers will die if they test themselves against superior power.

We are still faced with questions of social justice and the hard issues of finding solutions to the hopelessness of poverty, overpopulation, and ignorance born of lack of education. Wherever we cannot give to all members of society a fair footing, we will see theft. It happens everyday in all countries, not just on the seas. One man who struggles to eat will look at another who has more than he needs, wonder, and come to certain conclusions. Poverty breeds chemical dependencies for self-medication and escape, whether it be the rum of the pirates of Anne's time, or those drugs of today, adding another layer of complexity to the situation. It will take some very smart, very compassionate people to begin to unravel the factors that create poverty that continues generation to generation.

I like to think we in the United States are on the right path in electing a President who knows the poverty of communities, who has worked to better the lives of ordinary people, and who is compassionate. He understands the excess of corporate capitalism, and although we all have the right to comfort and the freedom of mobility, the earnings of our hard work and creativity, greed does abound in some areas of business. We will see.”

Heart of a Pirate is at press now and will be available for distribution at Calabash, Treasure Beach, May 23-25 this year.

Calabashing Naipaul?

...in many ways our Nobel laureates hold irreconcilable views of the Caribbean and the world. While Walcott has acknowledged the dark colonial past that begets so much of Naipaul’s pessimism, he has also dared to hope, epically, that we may somehow climb clear of our wrong beginnings. Naipaul, by contrast, has built a career around making our darkness visible. At different times the Caribbean itself seems to take different sides in the matter. Election season in Guyana is pure Naipaul, as is much of Trinidadian politics; but the West Indies team at its best, Marley’s prophetic lyricism or Minshall’s extravagant imagination all fit with Walcott’s vision. Who among us can confidently dismiss Naipaul, or dispense with Walcott’s hopes? And who, having read either man carefully, would wish to?

From the Staebrok News in Georgetown, Guyana, ladies and gentlemen--Brendan de Caires-- with a great take on Walcott's Mongoose. Read the rest of "Calabashing Naipaul" here...

Meanwhile the bashing (as some people see it) continues...The MG Smith conference opened at UWI, Mona, day before yesterday with a no-holds barred address by Professor Orlando Patterson of Harvard University. Stand by for a blow-by-blow account of the conference in a day or two...

Calabash Ho! (single entendre please--)

This is the time of year I like best. One week before Calabash Literary Festival and about 10 days before the Caribbean Studies Association (CSA) conference, which is in San Andres, Colombia, this year. The lineup at this Calabash, though stellar, could have been more exciting as far as I’m concerned; after all living in these parts who hasn’t heard Derek Walcott and Lorna Goodison, live and in living colour, over and over again? Last year's was a more lustrous list of literary stars, Caryl Phillips, Michael Ondaatje and Maryse Conde amongst them.

But then again I don’t go to Calabash to listen to authors and poets reading aloud so much as for the sheer delight of lingering in the vibe-rant environment created by Colin, Justine and Kwame. I happen to know that singer and poet Dingo has been sharpening his latest poem and who knows if we're lucky he might perform it there. The open mic segment is bound to have its share of great performances bursting through the thicket of paltry, mediocre rhymesters who will insist on abusing the audience with purported poetry.

Speculation is rife as to whether Walcott will behave himself or be spectacularly rude on stage; whether he will outcuss that indomitable cusser Bounty Killa and be carted off to bad wud jail; or if the balmy St. Bess air will temporarily render him tame and pleasant (incidentally Dingo has a poem, Jamaica Land We Love, that starts like this:

I woulda cuss some claat if it coulda draw attention
to Jamaica land we love
An if dem neva start charge artiste fe it….
I woulda cuss some claat if it coulda draw attention
to Jamaica land we love.
Jamaica land we love hobbling along on three flats and de-spair).

Walcott's main rival in the race for Curmudgeon of the Year is of course, V.S. Naipaul, about whom the New York Times wrote only today.

A book-lover’s paradise, Calabash is a boutique festival if there ever was one. Hordes of would-be writers rub shoulders with would-be readers and actual writers at different stages of their careers. The main venue was succinctly described in a recent article: "At the far end is a small stage with a podium. The backdrop is the long curve of Calabash Bay. The village mongrels often have the best seat in the house, downstage. In Treasure Beach, even the strays enjoy a good poetry reading."

Although Dominicano Junot Diaz, the celebrated author of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, couldn’t make it this year, touring the Far East as he is after winning the Pulitzer and a clutch of other awards, Calabash die-hards will remember him as one of the up and coming authors featured at an earlier Calabash—2003? 2004? See? So you never know, someone you consider a no-name author this year could well turn out to be tomorrow's literary lion. Incidentally a recent issue of the Caribbean Review of Books (CRB) carried a great interview with Diaz by Marlon James, author of John Crow's Devil.

Another big draw will be Beverley Manley, whose hot memoirs, briefly serialized in the Gleaner, have set the country on fire. Naturally i have an advance copy, a review copy, which i shall devour over the weekend. Hey being a critic does have its occasional advantages.

But more on Calabash after the event. I will be ensconced at a seafront villa with a small cartel of Caribbean writers and publishing mates for the duration of the festival. A description of this delightful spot is to be found in the current issue of Caribbean Beat where Nicholas Laughlin, editor of CRB, recalls an evening spent there the year before during Calabash:

“…If you are in possession of a villa, you might consider throwing your own private party. The kind that starts when someone shows up with a bottle of wine and ends, well, whenever. Perhaps your housekeeper has cooked lobsters for dinner. Perhaps two up-and-coming Jamaican novelists will start a raucous discussion of the supernatural coolie duppy, egged on by an art critic, to the scandal of a young American poet. A couple of literary journalists huddle by the pool, exchanging hot gossip. Someone slips down to the beach for a midnight skinny-dip A hotshot online media producer captures it all on a hidden mike…”

See you in Treasure Beach!