After rich readings there followed a Q & A with Francis explaining why it took him 21 years to complete the novel, and Jane speaking of the connections she finds between Slabce, the village in Czech where she spends half the year, and the village in Ireland, home of her grandmother.
For those who couldn’t make the launch, here’s a flavour …
I started writing Snow on the Danube in 1998, and I’m about to publish it 21 years later!
You can find details (including free tickets) about its launch here.
It was quite unlike anything I’d written before because it was not autobiographical at all, which most of my other work had been.
I became fascinated by Hungary because of my interest in the music of Franz Liszt and Béla Bartók; two very contrasting Hungarian composers. Liszt was the romantic showman, a dazzling virtuoso, and the composer of magnificent piano concertos that I fell in love with when I was a teenager. Bartók was, in many ways, the opposite to Liszt: an experimental composer who did very different things with rhythm and tonality. His Concerto for Orchestra is one of my favourite pieces of music. Reading about his troubled relationship with Hungary and his desperately sad and traumatic exile during the Second World War got me investigating the Magyar people’s history. I had also always loved Hungarian-born George Szirtes’s poetry; one of his early collections of poetry, Short Wave, greatly moved and excited me; I loved his elliptical Kafkaesque poetic narratives.
In 1998, I took the brave but foolhardy plunge to write a novel about Hungary. I visited the country a few times, following up on contacts provided by me by my New York in-laws, who knew quite a few Hungarian emigres. I had also met George Szirtes by then, and he helped me connect with some people in Budapest, including a wonderful editor of a Hungarian literary magazine. I spoke to them, and toured around Budapest, and bought the books translated into English. The internet had not become the great repository of information that it is now, and so the literature I found in Hungary had a magical, rare quality to me. I watched Hungarian films, and generally immersed myself in as much English-language based Hungarian material as I could.
I rediscovered Béla Lugosi’s interpretation of Dracula after watching Tim Burton’s Ed Wood (1994). Philip Glass wrote a new score for the film which was issued with the film in 1999. I felt drawn to the voice of a ‘count’ who was both a little similar to Count Dracula but in many ways very different: a coward, a hypochondriac, fussy, musical, someone who only adored himself and his sister. A voice emerged, and I found myself writing about the intense love between my protagonist Count Zoltán Pongrácz and his sister, Anna. I was reading Proust at the time, and used a sort of quasi Proustian voice for him in the sense that it was deliberately fussy, nostalgic, full of yearning.
History shaped Zoltán’s fate; he was born on the day of the Treaty of Trianon (1920), the disastrous treaty that robbed Hungary of its lands made in France after the First World War. In many ways, Zoltán’s fate was sealed by this denuded world; he was the last in a long line of Counts, doomed live on after his family lost everything.
Zoltan’s story, perhaps oddly, came relatively easily for me; I had completed a draft of it by 2001. But then I found it very difficult to give his historical story, set as it is before and during the Second World War, a ‘frame’: a contemporary story which explained why someone might want to discover his lost narrative. I felt the story needed such a frame; a reason as to why the reader might want to connect with the story, a British connection.
I wrote many contemporary ‘frames’ over the years, seeking to give Zoltán’s voice a suitable justification. Zoltan’s story was of interest to people. George Szirtes, as editor of an anthology of fiction and poetry, First Writing, published a section of it in 2001; an eminent agent liked the novel; other discerning readers such as a literary editor, now the editor of the New Statesman, Jason Cowley, and an audiobook publisher, Nicolas Soames, said nice things.
Zoltán was such a powerful character for me that I used him in my first published novel, The Last Day of Term (Shortbooks: 2011; new edition Blue Door Press: 2019). He was the great uncle of my main protagonist Béla Pongrácz, a disaffected teenager living in Bethnal Green and causing mayhem at the academy he had been expelled from. But Zoltán’s story remained hidden from Béla and all those around him; he was just a sad old man living in a down-at-heel council flat, listening to Radio 3, his head forever obsessing about the past.
It took the great editors at Blue Door Press to spot what the novel needed; Pam Johnson and Jane Kirwan read a draft and said they liked Zoltán’s story, but felt that the modern ‘frame’ for the story needed a lot of work. Pam suggested using the device of Béla finding Zoltán’s manuscript after the count died, and this, finally, was the trope that we all felt really worked. The idea of Béla thinking that he’d been left some money only to find a manuscript intrigued me; I saw the potential of Béla finding redemption in reading about his family’s past; the healing power of words, something that interests me a lot.
So, I’ve had to be patient. I’ve learnt to be patient. It’s made me also realise that fiction has a staying power which is quite unusual. Unlike journalism which ages very quickly, stories can linger, stay alive, stay fresh. You can’t easily pick up a piece of journalism you wrote many years ago, and revivify it, but with fiction this can be possible if there are still connections in it with the present day. I’d venture to say that the novel’s focus upon the destructive effects of fascism and anti-semitism have made it more relevant than when I started writing it in the more innocent era of the 1990s, pre-9/11, pre-Brexit, pre-Trump, and pre-the scary reprisal of Hungarian fascism which Victor Orbán’s terrible government seem intent upon resurrecting.
Possibly. Or so Ian McMillan, a poet from Barnsley and presenter of The Verb on Radio 3, heard Daljit Nagra, a prize winning poet from London, suggest when the two were chatting in the interval at the RFH during the TS Eliot shortlist readings.. You can hear some of the shortlisted poems on iPlayer until the first week in February.
Daljit described how different the poetry world seemed to him twenty years ago. Poets (with or without cravats) were mostly preoccupied with themselves and elitist. Now there are more people ‘singing from the margins’, about gender issues, sexuality, race. Poets are writing confidently, are able to speak freely, unlike in the more limited possibilities of the non-poetry world.
The ten shortlisted represented this change in both North America and Britain. Poets are being daring with form, more are using the long poem; they are doing something with poetry that can honestly address identity politics. Poets now dramatise, have nuance, they look at the small p of poetry. Collections are no longer a list of lyric poems; poets are going back to the roots of poetry, to Chaucer, Beowolf, The Ramayana, so the ‘ reader can walk up to the poem and be challenged’.
The judges, Daljit Nagra, Sinéad Morrisey and Clare Pollard chose as the winner Hannah Sullivan who won the £25,000 prize against strong competition with her brilliant debut: ThreePoems. The first, You, Very Young in New York is a ‘wry and tender study of romantic possibility, disappointment and the obduracy of innocence’. Repeat Until Time ‘unfolds into an essay on repetition and returning home’. The Sandpit after Rain explores the birth of a child and the death of a father.
We’re delighted to announce the launch of our latest poetry title –Stories & Lies – which showcases a trio of poets as they ask – how can we ever get our full family story when some people stray, some stay put, some go to any lengths to hide their past and others invent?
Three very different poets create the stories that need to be told in order to explore ideas of belonging and leaving, exile and expatriation, family and self. In poems that range from the surreal to the conversational we glimpse relationships across generations, moving from Ireland to the north of England to New England via the Midwest and Eastern Europe. From the most intimate poems to the expansive, these portraits reveal the universal in the personal, the extraordinary in these ‘ordinary’ families.
The book was launched in November at the Poetry Cafe in London’s Covent Garden.
Den poezie is an annual international and multicultural poetry festival held for two weeks every November around the birth anniversary (16.11.1810) of the great Czech Romantic poet, K.H. Mácha. It is the most widespread poetry event in the country with events now taking place in around 60 Czech cities, towns and villages. Almost all the events are free. This year’s Den poezie runs from 12th – 26th November and its theme is Labryrint světa / Labyrinth of the World (after the work of the great Czech humanist and educator, Jan Amos Komenský – Comenius.
In the 2017 programme there are two events in English – on Tuesday, 14th November at 7 pm in the library of Anglo-American University, Letenská 5, Prague 1 there is a reading by poets Stephan Delbos (US) and Jane Kirwan (UK), who will read their own poems, and the Irish poet Justin Quinn will read from his new translation of the works of Czech poet, Bohuslav Reynek, The Well of Morning. David Vaughan of Czech Radio will moderate. The second event takes place on Tuesday, 21st November at 7 pm in the Literary cafe Řetězova, Řetězova 10, Prague 1 when Scottish poet, novelist and playwright Alan Spence, recently appointed ‘Makar’ of Edinburgh, will read his poetry.
Den poezie first took place on just one day in 1999, and marked the launch of a Poezie pro cestujíci (Poetry on the Metro) project initiated by the festival founder, the Literary and Cultural Club 8 (Renata Bulvová and Bernie Higgins). The festival is now coordinated by the Poetry Society (Společnost poezie), a small group of people involved in literature/teaching who work as volunteers to organise events and promote interest in poetry. Year by year, the length of the festival extended, as more and more organisations and towns participated, until it reached its current two-week duration
Blue Door Press is pleased to announce the publication of HERRINGS, our first poetry volume, published in collaboration with Poetry In Aldeburgh.
HERRINGS is an anthology of poems reflecting the gathering of poets at the first Poetry in Aldeburgh festival in November, 2016. Daphne Warburg Astor and Andrew Hewish have edited and designed HERRINGS in celebration of the poetry community far and wide.
In this beautiful hard-backed volume you’ll find over 100 poems written by first time poets as well as internationally respected poets, including – Moniza Alvi, Mona Arshi, Maura Dooley, Ian Duhig, Matthew Hollis, Ruth Padel. Many take inspiration from Aldeburgh, the North Sea, East Anglia, the energy and warmth of the festival, friendship, family and more.
At the heart of the volume is collaboration, discovery and the generosity of the included poets because every penny from sales will be donated to Poetry in Aldeburgh to help create the festival for years to come.
We are delighted to announce that Francis Gilbert be reading from Who Do You Love at Goldsmiths Writers’ Centre on Wednesday 11 October. He’ll be reading along with former Goldsmiths MA student, Clare Fisher. Do come along! Full details here.