The event I was blogging about the last time has now come and gone, and yes, Per Stig Møller was quoted for saying that somehow the ministry had ‘found’ (I am not shitting you, this is the wording I read on Politiken.dk) the money before, and now all of a sudden they had yet again found them. So clap, literati, clap for the fact that your whopping 16 million DKK got saved from the big bad corporate hyena and his big bad no-nonsense-gross-expenditure-flashdance-pack.
I was of course an hour late for the event, because me and hubby had some more urgent affairs finding webbings for our old and battered sofa. But when I got there, boy oh boy, the library was bustling with people. Old, young, hipsters, non-hipsters, people who actually had to use the library that day to study, a swarm of people hiding behind cameras, and of course, writers.
All in all it was a very quick experience. There was so much going on (over 200 writers reading from their works on 25 stages in a period of 2 hours) that I felt like a headless chicken, and thought I saw many with the same syndrome. But then again, it was a staged event to make a point, and the point came out loud and clear – there is diversity and a plurality of voices among the Danish writers (and this was just an itty-bitty fraction of what DK has to offer). MEGA litt was, in my opinion, not about enjoying the arts in a laid back fashion, letting the words sink in and mellowing out. It was about fighting for literature as a right in itself and standing up for themselves in a loud, cacophonous unison.
Let’s just hope this pugnacious attitude can bring some more debate about who and what and why.
In the past couple of weeks, there has been an uproar within the ranks of and about the creators, exponents and critics of literature in Denmark. The reason? Why, money of course. Well, no I am sorry, I didn’t mean that. In all actuality it is about money, but since the government announced its 100 million DKK budget cuts in the arts, of which about 16 million DKK go to literature and author grants, it means that this particular pool of money is getting cut 75 % over the next four years. 75 percent!!
Now, I could go the very constructive way, and say that it makes sense that there should be some cuts in these areas, as all other areas are affected by The Financial Crisis and too must face difficult times up ahead. I could go as far as to say, yes, this should take the cut and deal with it. But somewhere between the lines there is that little mad person, that is not going to take it no more!!
I mean, 75%! Why not the whole lot? It is obvious that this administration does not prioritize the arts, nor see it as an investment in further development and cultivation of the arts. Why patronize a whole branch of society by giving out minor scraps, crumbs of the table of life sciences and pharmaceuticals?
Fortunately, being the creative and resourceful bunch that they are, they are mad as hell too (well, most of them, some just like to shit where they eat, but I’ll get to that). And so Dansk Forfatterforening (The Danish Writers Association) has set up an event that will say goodbye to this pool with a bang. More that 200 writers and translators will, in the course of two hours on Saturday, November 6th, between 13.00 and 15.00, read from their works on 25 stages at Copenhagen Main Library. MEGA Litt: The largest literature reading in Danish history. Aarhus (because, yes, they have legally changed their name, for strategic and marketing reasons, back to double A… sorry, sidetracked) will also host a slightly smaller event at the same time.
However, this whole mess has sparked of a new war. This time between some critics of the current distribution of said grants for literature and authors and the allocators who dish out these grants. The reason? Why, money of course. In the book section of Weekendavisen # 43, Leonora Christina Skov, literary critic and author, makes her contribution to the debate, and might I add, thank heavens! I do adore getting all sides of the story, and her piece has revealed a, not at all surprising, but bias relationship between the grants pool and recipients – and does so with a personal interest and stake in the matter. Her critique is based on the fact that the grant money should help broaden and better the field of literature, incite diversity and spur authors. And, might I be so bold to add in my own reading of some of her points, to give literature a leg up in the publics’ knowledge. The problem is that some of the more popular writers, are almost given a continuous grant, year out and year in, which goes against the Skov’s notion of giving grants as an aid, where it is most needed. And while I am almost all the way in agreement with her, this is also where I would like to clear my throat a couple of times. I do solemnly swear by giving literature of all flavors a boost, to help growth and to avoid stagnation in a genre or style. But I am also an advocate for rewarding good penmanship, and have sympathy for the fact that many times, the grants are well given. The main problem, I feel, is that there is so damn little money to go around. And with a reduction of 75 % (I will say it again 75% goddammit!!) there will be a slim to none chance that the pool will be giving money out to experimental literature. Some people are of the notion that literature is to serve a specific purpose, others that it should avoid being locked down and so on and so on.
The funny thing is that, in all of this debate about the money and the distribution and the people who benefit or not, there is something uncanny rearing its ugly head every once in a while. And it is called the little green angry monster. You know the one: he doesn’t really like himself, or is not really that confident, and yet, he persistently bashes people on the head with how inadequate they themselves are. Example: while the debate has very understandably awoken the legitimate question of why grants are given to whom and how much is enough, some tend to go a little overboard in playing the victimized party of an overlooked genre OR the beneficiary who really only applies for money because he CAN get it (!!!). There is a righteous and pious attitude that tries to downgrade other styles or institutions on a not very factual base that really is not becoming. I think it is possible to be very critical and mad as hell at the system, the people, the situation and still have a pretty strong argument without resorting to snide comments.
And while I feel that the grant pool should become subject to scrutiny and perhaps some structural changes if it is found to perform inadequately, I will still gladly give my support right now to the event on Saturday, with the hope that money for literature will not be seen as a handout to money-grubbing, sucking-on-the-state’s-tits-without-giving-anything-concrete-back recipients, but an investment in members of the nation who provide mobility, give voice to areas that need given a voice, and someone to be proud of.
Behind those sorrowful and attentive eyes lies a story fit for the history books. Let me introduce you to Ding Ling (1904-1986); Chinese writer, woman and revolutionary. She is the author of one of my favorite short stories, ‘Mrs. Sophia’s Diary’, written in a Westernized, cosmopolitan Beijing and published in 1927. Unfortunately, I believe, as a result of the hectic societal changes in China, during the former half of the 20th century, her writings got eclipsed by her personal life. When she was in her 20’s she flung herself passionately into her stories, exploring the female mind and mentality through different female protagonists in urban settings.
The 20th century in China was ushered in with two major political changes that are of importance for the attention Chinese female authors gained both concerning their role as authors and womanhood in general. The first one was the abolition of the traditional civil service examination in 1905, that ended a long tradition of educating male scholars for employment in the state. The education of women, ushered in by Western girl’s schools, was rapidly taken in by the intelligentsia. The second was the abdication of the Qing dynasty in 1912, ending 2000 years of imperial rule, and establishing the Republic of China. The presence of Western powers was very much a reality in China and this both nurtured cultural affinity and strong revolts. Movements, such as the Culture Movements and the May Fourth Movement, saw great advantage in the upheaval of traditional values and looked interestedly to the question of equality between the sexes. It was also an age in which the individual was scrutinized and portrayed in countless short stories, essays, articles and novels. All of which, as I must lay emphasis on, mainly took place in urban settings.
‘Miss Sophia’s Diary’ is a story about a young, tubercular woman who has left her family in order to move to Beijing, struggling to figure out who she is, but ultimately ends up in disillusionment. She is a perfect example of what some have called the ‘New Woman‘ or ‘Modern Girl’ in Chinese culture. With Sophia, Ding Ling explores the realm of moral virtue bestowed upon women, and challenges the notion that moral virtue arises from the female body’s natural disposition to be chaste. Written in a 1st person diary form, it gives a very realistic insight into the modern struggle and crisis of identity from a female point of view. With her Western-ringing name and in urban settings she is a woman of the modern world. But instead of writing about a strong female character that takes on the world head-on and achieves her goals, Ding Ling chooses rather to describe the inner workings of a woman isolated from the world, both of her own accord, but also because of the lack of understanding she feels her surroundings have for her. She is strong in her own way, but so many things complicate her life. Ding Ling portrays Sophia as an erotic being, but one who is unfamiliar with her own sexuality and torn between what she wants and what she is supposed to do. She exemplifies the fear of being stigmatized by a society that does not allow for women to be overtly sexual without being labeled as femmes fatales:
I know very well that in this society I’m forbidden to take what I need to gratify my desires and frustrations, even when it clearly wouldn’t hurt anybody. I did the only thing I could do. I lowered my head patiently and quickly read the name printed on the card, “Ling Jishi, Singapore…
Like Ding Ling, Sophia uses writing in hopes of reaching clarity and to take stock of her position in life. She feels at ease nowhere, with no one, and her interactions with other people leave her frustrated and alone. With these emotional levels, Sophia goes from high to low with every diary entry, and thoughts of death and suicide are reoccurring. The isolation and following depressive reaction shares obvious affinities with Western literature such as Goethe’s ‘Young Werther’ and Flaubert’s ‘Madame Bovary’, struggles between society and individual that leaves the protagonist ambivalent and confused. Unlike the male’s experience with identity, Sophia is not only up against society’s expectations and the desire to change this, but she and others also question the very core of her being – her femaleness, and what that entails. Most of the rhetoric leading up to the 1920’s had been on female emancipation, claiming equal rights, education and a healthy nation, gaining freedom through financial autonomy, all set in ideological terms. However, Ding Ling takes it one step closer, to the intimate corners of femininity, where she bares Sophia as a sexual being in her own right. For many in the urban community, singlehood symbolized independency, showing social resistance towards marriage, but in more conservative circles it was a regular threat to the essence of Chinese society. In some instances, same sex relationships were feared as a potential outcome with this lifestyle. Same sex love is also insinuated in ‘Miss Sophia’s Diary’, with reference to the relationship between her and Yunjie predating the diary. Sophia moves on the border between familial sisters (jie) and sexual interest in her relations to other women – one character, Jianru, reminds her so much of Yunjie that she ‘started chasing her (…) writing at least eight long letters [but] she didn’t pay the slightest attention.’ But society’s moral virtue catches up with her and constantly makes her aware of her own personal deficiencies and how unwritten social codes still act as limitations on her behavior. However, she is still more concerned with how to respond to and understand the hazy term of love, both as is manifests itself as lust, passion an metaphysical love. The narration of Sophia, on her own terms, in her own words, places the reader as a voyeur, peeping in on a woman’s innermost secret thoughts. And in doing so, the reader is in the advantageous role of gaining insight into her struggles with identity and modernity.
As China’s political situation became more polarized, and the cooperation between Kuomintang and the Communist Party ended in a bloody showdown in the late 1920’s, Ding Ling was smack down in the middle of revolution, joining the Communist Party and participating actively. She was both a chief editor to a magazine and in the 30’s she joining the Communist Party in Yan’an where she teached, studied the life of the worker and peasants and wrote. The problem was only, her writings did not please others within the Party. Mao Tse-tungs ‘Yan’an Talks on Literature and Art’ in 1942 made it quite clear what role literature had in the greater scheme of party politics, namely subservient to the proletarian glorious struggle, under strict scrutiny by the body of officials that held posts within the organization. And Ding Ling had, unfortunately for her career as an influential writer in Communist China, written some rather critical essays and stories that questioned the use of the communist ideology by some at the expense of others. Among these were ‘When I was in Xia Village’ and ‘Thoughts on March 8’ – an essay about the inconsistencies in sexual politics in the CP. All hell broke loose and during a ‘Rectification Campaign’ she was heavily criticized which in return led to a public self-critique, confessing the errors of her ways, saying that she ‘merely pointed out some of the darkness and forgot to affirm the bright future.’ However, stories such as ‘Miss Sophia’s Diary’, which was by now considered a classic example of the petty bourgeoisie, subverting the ideology of peasant-worker revolution, was a black spot on Ding Ling. It was quite clear that there was no longer a place for an individualistic, creative attention to the female experience.
I have just spent the last six hours (I am not exaggerating) cataloguing my bookshelf. Why? Because I was browsing around on my phone and I found an isbn scanner that promised a true literate’s wet dream: the chance of a quick scan-add and voila, bookshelf details are digitalized. Only it was not really that simple. It never is…
Initially I was thinking of easing in on the whole thing, you know, scan a couple of books, see how it goes, and then forget about it until tomorrow. It started off at an even pace – pointing the phone towards a barcode led to a ding (very reassuring), and hey presto all the information I could ever want about author, title, publisher, even a little picture of my book. This made me incredibly excited, which led me to haul an entire row of books out of my bookshelf, and then there was no turning back. Only by the 10th book something went wrong – I scanned and scanned, but nothing happened! Luckily, those clever app-developers had a backup for when this occurs – manual registration. The problem is not when you have one or two books that need this special treatment, but rather when it adds up to about 30 percent of the collection. This is a – pardon my French – shit load of manual labour in an age of ‘less is more’-attitude in all aspects of life. (UPDATE: Just read an article on app-funtionality that sums up my points and grievances quite well. See here.) My back is sore, my hands are crooked and I am pretty sure there were no flickering black spots on my wallpaper previously today.
But now I have a nice list on my phone so I will never be stumped when someone asks me if I own this or that book or if someone wants to give me a book present and doesn’t know if I already own it – this, I am told, is very common according to the app-developers, so it is paramount that one catalogues ones’ books. Now I come prepared for whatever book-situation might occur.
One thing that was quite funny (and I don’t even have THAT big a bookshelf that this should happen) was that I had forgot several of the books I, apparently, own. Makes me wonder why on earth I go to the library at all, I am surely well stocked for the autumn-winter season. Now I just need to quit my internship and I can go full-time into hibernation, just me, my books and I. And a cup of tea or two. And some chocolate. The occasional food-run is not to be dismissed. Of course, the seasonal Christmas lunches can’t be missed.
Ah, sod it, the point is, now I have an excellent track of what books I have and which one’s I am missing (ahem!). For someone with a goldfish memory this is quite relevant. Aaaand, I can send myself, and others, an e-mail containing the list of my books. And if I meet someone that happens to have the same app, we can swap book information, how cool is that…
I don’t know if this is a thing I am going to keep and build on or if, in 5-10 years, I will look back and think “shish, what a dweeb” (no comments on that, thank you, not quite there yet!)
By that time I will probably have chucked all my physical books and moved on to la digitalismus – the e-book! I need some good arguments – the ones where I am saving rain forests and reducing CO2 emissions are very good ones, and I probably should make the change yesteryear, only… I’m sorry, but the readers are just so uneventful and rigid. It’s a toughie. Luckily lots of progress is going on in this field, and I am sure that this is something that has caught on forcefully enough to take at least a good chunk out of the book market. But more on that in another post.
Anywhoo, the result of my cataloguing? 229 is the magic number for now – this does not include the ones scattered strategically around the apartment (aka, not on the shelf) or the ones I have borrowed out (so much for the remembrance of books lost).
So if you were thinking about giving me a book and saying to yourself, “nah, she probably has that one already”, I might not! Give me a call, a mail, take me aside, let me hook you up with my awesome list. And I promise, I will catalogue that one too. And the next one. And the one after that. I might just stop if I ever reach this stage.
Update: The announcement has been made. Mario Vargas Llosa is this years winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature.
For further information see here.