Beryl Fletcher

Of Soup and Winter and Literary Prizes

Blog Number 14: 20 April 2009

Just as I got started on my long suffering (i.e. neglected) novella by way of a careful editing of the first section, and a tentative outline of the plot of the next section, a bombshell blew me away. (Sorry about the cliché but that’s what it feels like).

I received an email from one Jennifer Sobol in London. She is the Programme Officer (Culture) of the Commonwealth Foundation. The upshot of her email is that I have been asked to serve as one of six judges in the forthcoming Commonwealth Writers Prize celebrations next month. The readings and activities are part of the Auckland Writers and Readers Festival.

To say that I’m stunned and excited is an understatement.

I enjoy living in Aotearoa. But there are drawbacks. One of the problems of living and writing in New Zealand is that the literary community (if there is such a beast) can sometimes feel claustrophobic or worse, completely invisible.

So to get this chance of meeting eight exciting writers selected from over fifty countries to receive a Commonwealth Writers Prize while in New Zealand is a wonderful gift. So too is the intense interaction that I will be privileged to share with the other five judges.

The weather has turned. Thunderous rain is playing Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony against the window of my writing room. My thoughts turn to the comfort of home made soup and the coming winter. And to a wonderful book that I have just finished reading, The Kindness of Strangers, (Kitchen Memoirs) by Shonagh Koea, illustrated by Peter Wells.

This book provided me with a powerful reminder that any human life no matter how exotic or daring is defined and shaped by the ‘mundane’ aspects of existence. Shonagh’s difficult life as a child and her triumph of overcoming it through her writing has been shaped by her gift of being able to imbue a sense of style and beauty into something as ordinary as a cake of pears soap or slices of home made shortbread arranged artistically on an antique plate.

I am envious of her talent to make the necessities of everyday life into works of art. I have a purely functional stance, a horrible practicality that could lead me to living in a bare shipping container without blinking an eyelid if the need arose.

This explains to some extent my obsession with knitting an Aran jumper. I’m trying to make something beautiful, stitch by stitch, something with my own hands. And it’s working I think. I have already used a whole ball of wool. Only 19 to go!

Thanks to the readers who sent me emails with helpful hints on how to knit the instructions Tw2R and Cr2L. Trouble is, each knitter gave me a different answer!

I have finally solved the mysteries of most of the stitches. And hey, too bad if there is a dropped stitch or two or if a cable panel wanders off course a little. Proves that it’s home made and not mass produced by a machine. 

And that’s what I want.

When Language Goes on Holiday

Blog Number 13: 12 April 2009

I have stolen the title of this blog from the work of the glorious language philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein. Because that’s where I’ve been since late January: on holiday. I did not choose this, it chose me. First of all I came down with a virus which lingered for many weeks. If only I had been able to download a Microsoft patch to fix this. Alas, the body is more mysterious and recalcitrant than even the most sophisticated computer. My firewall slipped and a virus wasted no time in invading my lungs.

Then I injured my back. Excuses, excuses I can hear you say. But I am one of those writers who needs to feel whole and well in my body before I can write my daily quota.

So I sent language on holiday and decided to make something creative that did not use words. I decided to knit a complicated jersey in strong cream wool, using the traditional patterns developed by the women of the Aran Islands off the coast of western Ireland. What attracted me to Aran knitting was the discovery that there is a prototype jumper depicted in the ancient Book of Kells. Some people say that the Celtic patterns used in this style of knitting are taken from ancient carvings.  Some people say that each jumper is different so that when fishermen drown and their bodies are washed up on shore, they can be identified by the particular knitter who made their garments.

I am still trying to work out some of the very complicated stitches that make up the traditional cables, diamonds and basket patterns. Words don’t help me at all. Does anyone out there understand what Tw2R or Cr2L means?

I have almost given up but I am too stubborn to admit failure. What has intrigued me is that I can literally feel my brain stretching in the area that deals with logic and numbers. I was once an excellent knitter but have not attempted anything complex for many years. Rusty memories float to the surface. My fingers are stiff and un co-operative.

Today I have decided to bring language back from holiday. Each stitch of my Aran jumper will be assigned a word and each row completed will become a sentence. The whole garment will become a novella; a task done with acknowledgment of narrative tension and plot. 

A hand knitted jersey is a living record of events. This where I dropped a stitch from my cable needle, this is where my cat decided to undo C3B by reefing playfully at the wool, this is where a phone call came to report yet another redundancy in my extended family and I lost track of row 2 of Panel Patt B.

Come back metaphor, all is forgiven.