Cath Corri: Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient
The English Patient
‘If I gave you my life, you would drop it. Wouldn’t you?’
Set in post-war Italy, The English Patient focuses on four survivors coming to terms with the devastating effects of war, with each other, and with themselves – Hana, a nurse, whose love for the charred ‘Englishman’ in her care shifts to a more fulfilling kind with a brown-skinned Sikh sapper. Carravagio, a small-time thief and intelligence agent who ‘lost his nerve’ when his thumbs become a casualty of the war. Kirpal Singh (Kip), a Sikh fighting for his Imperial masters.
The book meanders through images of the monochrome desert, interspersed with memories of a love found and lost, of the futility of borders between people and nations, and of betrayals. creating ‘…cul-de-sacs within the sweep of history’! It is easy to get caught in the plot as the true identity of the patient is revealed in a series of morphine-induced wanderings of his words ………a tale of passion in which – ‘from this moment we will either find or lose our souls…’
Each character is finely drawn and we are offered more than a glimpse into their personalities through past events, their thoughts, and from each other. The patient thinks himself to be ‘at a cynical stage of life’ and mistrusts words because they ‘bend emotions like sticks in water’; he whose life was governed by words spoken and rumoured, by histories written and unwritten, by chartered maps, he who did not enjoy poetry until a woman recited it to him. This is in contrast with his present state as he hides behind his words and effectively withholds his identity till the end. As for Carravagio, we see a man who feels safest in silence, when revealing nothing; a man who always sank into love, and now drowning in darkness. Hana and Kip – youths not yet mortal, one who stopped looking at mirrors, and the other who does not need mirrors. And Katharine, whose absence is ever present in the patient’s mind, like the desert; a woman whose ‘terrible conscience’ and hatred of lies created walls in their love. The English Patient is a remarkable study of contrasts, of colour and attitudes towards life.
What is amazing is the lyrical quality and narrative impact that is heightened when one reads it aloud. The desert as a metaphor of life, quest, loss and promise is beautifully portrayed. Much can be learnt from this book, about the usage of words, how it sounds, and how that can be translated into a masterpiece that is visually breathtaking. The brushstrokes of a writer… or a poet you will wonder once you have read this book.
‘Words, they do have a power…’
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Posted in AQA English GCSE/A Level Snapshots, Book Club, Book Reviews, Favourite Books?, General blog Chat, Reading Diary, Reading for Life!, Tusitala Writing, University of Bolton: Introduction to Literary Studies
The Land of Ateames
Author: aFrenchie
Word Count: 1434
previous browse writing
The Land of Ateames
A story I am writing… It is not finished. The details are inspired by Angela Carter’s writing.
The land of Ateames was always told to be a dreamy and humble place where there were frequent disturbances, but the situations rarely ever tragic. The dense forests of Ateames were a part of what made the land so spectacular. Tall, strong trees covered the area, running up into the earth occasionally reaching five hundred feet tall. The tree’s long branches and leaves spread themselves over the area like a large, green knitted blanket, spotting the earth with light. Orange lilies and Orchids of quite a few colors surrounded the area, while Siam Roses crept up every rock wall. It was a mystery to the people to how these flowers grew since it rarely ever rained in Ateames, with the sun usually taking control in it’s brilliant blaze. Deep in the forest was a small, shady clearing with the only light source being the rays that glistened through the trees.
Sitting on the grass, leaning against a large boulder was a young girl. Her name was Chloe. Chloe was about seventeen years old. Her long fire red hair and fair complexion were just a few of her natural qualities that made her so beautiful. She had bright green eyes, and her long legs made her a great runner. Chloe however, was not just any girl, and some of the people in Ateames were not just any people. They had gifts, as some might say. For ten years, Chloe managed to use her power only in times of danger. The little clearing in the forest was one of Chloes favorite places. She always came to it when she needed to think. She was never interrupted because many people wouldn’t dare come so far into the forest.
She had been sitting there for about an hour, just admiring the scenery and listening to the birds, when she decided it was time to head home. Chloe made her way through the deep forest, stepping over any logs that crossed her path. It was starting to get dark and she knew better to stay out late. Chloe reached her front porch and there sat her mother Reenie. Reenie was evidently just as beautiful as Chloe was when she was younger. Like Chloe, her mother shared the same fiery hair, but was even longer than Chloe’s. Chloe never understood why her mother aged so slowly. Reenie sat in a rocking chair, waiting for Chloe to arrive home as always.
“Hello Mother.” Chloe said acknowledging.
“Where has my dear Chloe been?”
“I was taking a walk mother, have you not noticed the darling day?”
“I couldn’t possibly have noticed with my mind in such a worry, now could I?
“I have not the slightest clue of what you are talking about”
“I think you know very well of what I speak Chloe. You may act foolishly sometimes but my daughter is a bright one.”
Ignoring her mothers comment, Chloe gave her a kiss on her forehead and headed into the home she has lived in all of her young days. It was quite a dim house, although the rays of Ateames was sure to give any room a misty feel. The wood was dark with age and the numerous ivy plants would grow for miles if Reenie had not taken such a liking to trimming them. The room always seemed to be at the hour of dusk during the day because the ivy plants wrapped itself around the whole house almost as if it were consoling it with a possessive love, covering up any windows it should encounter.
The next morning Chloe awoke to a subdued knock on her door.
“Morning has arrived Chloe, Ava wishes for you.” The dew still lingered in the morning air as Chloe stepped outside. The sky was slowly changing from violet and pink to blue in the horizon that hung over the top of the thick, green trees not too far from her home.
“What did you do yester night?” Ava offered conversationally as they walked down a forest trail. “I went to the clearing” Chloe replied.
“Oh, is that so? Lost inside your head as always?” Ava said with a friendly smile.
Ava was the only one who knew about Chloe’s hide out. They both had the gift of great beauty. Ava was a girl of short blonde hair, and she possessed the pinkest lips Chloe had ever seen. Her eyes were more of a grey than a blue. She had been her closest friend growing up together in such a strange and mysterious world. At least that is what Ava thought of it as. Chloe simply felt that the only way to stay sane in such a world was to spend as much time inhabited in the woods, as nature had once intended for humans. It gave her piece of mind to think of herself as a creature of the earth, and not as a person.
Sometimes she felt rather ashamed of being a human. She looked at her species as egotistical and too proud, a disease that that took over the Earth like cancer, multiplying. She hadn’t eaten meat for years and although her father tried to convince her that animals were made to be eaten, she just assumed that his attitude was just another selfish emotion that we all were born with. She would prefer to run free, like a doe, or perhaps a fox, but most of all; to never have the undying question of life’s existence, and why? Chloe felt different than other people. She was always inside of her head, observing, feeling as if she was a little more connected to her subconscious than most.
The long forest path in which they headed down lead them to a large open meadow where purple lilacs and white daisies grew freely. Wheat grew tall and beige and fluffy dandelion seeds made the area seem like a vague dream. Hundreds of green Bird Wing butterflies surrounded the area constantly as if it were constantly the first day of summer all year around. Chloe followed Ava to the end of the field and down a dirt path, where they approached a lazy sapphire-blue river leading them a short walk to Piscin Falls. The water fell about thirty feet before crashing into a round pool of spring water. Tight trees encircled the body of water and large boulders relaxed on the side of the bank. Chloe relaxed near the edge of the land where she could admire the shiny, colorful pebbles that collected themselves on shore. Ava climbed the tall rock wall before plummeting straight into the water. Chloe lay her head down knowing it could very well be a long time before Ava even joined the surface for air for she was quite different too, reminding Chloe of some sort of celestial angel fish.
Later that night Chloe and Ava lay on the grass staring at the dark, black sky. It looked as if a large diamond exploded, giving beauty to the blackness. “Do you ever wonder why we are here Chloe?” Ava asked. “I mean… Look at the sky. It’s as if the world was made so flawlessly. It’s as if whatever created us thought the black sky to be too boring, and decided to design it. It just doesn’t make sense for the world to be some sort of beautiful accident.” “All the sky is…”, Chloe said with a sigh. “Is a constant reminder of how small and insignificant we are in this universe. We are merely a speck of dust. I’d rather not be mindful of it, actually. That’s why I wish to be a bird. No questions, no morals, just instincts. The biggest instinct they have is to be free. They also have the instinct to love though… Do you know why they call these creatures love birds? Because, some birds stay together all their lives, until their mate dies.”
“I believe that we imagined ourselves here. That our souls are energy and it is so strong that we created ourselves. There is no one God, no higher being. We all exist in our minds, our mind is our universe and no one is responsible for it but ourselves. We are all equal and beautiful, attracting whatever energy we give off.”
“Yes”, Ava said. That makes sense. “I completely believe it too… about the energy. It’s as if pessimists are always expecting the worst and so that’s what they get. When you are looking for the worst you can’t possibly recognize the good.”
TONI MORRISON”S PARADISE.
“Rumors had been whispered for more than a year. Outrages that had been accumulating all along took shape as evidence. A mother was knocked down the stairs by her cold-eyed daughter. Four damaged infants were born in one family. Daughters refused to get out of bed. Brides disappeared on their honey-moons. Two brothers shot each other on New Year’s Day. Trips to Demby for VD shots common. And what went on at the Oven these days was not to be believed . . . The proof they had been collecting since the terrible discovery in the spring could not be denied: the one thing that connected all these catastrophes was in the Convent. And in the Convent were those women.”
In Paradise—her first novel since she was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature—Toni Morrison gives us a bravura performance. As the book begins deep in Oklahoma early one morning in 1976, nine men from Ruby (pop. 360), in defense of “the one all-black town worth the pain,” assault the nearby Convent and the women in it. From the town’s ancestral origins in 1890 to the fateful day of the assault, Paradise tells the story of a people ever mindful of the relationship between their spectacular history and a void “Out There … where random and organized evil erupted when and where it chose.” Richly imagmed and elegantly composed, Paradise weaves a powerful mystery.
JUST FOUND THIS POEM OF MINE – WRITTEN IN 1980 – 31 YEARS AGO – AGED 23 – UNTITLED
PEOPLE EVERYWHERE IN LIFE
FROM EVERY WALK AND STATION
FROM EVERY TOWN AND CITY
AND EVERY STATE AND NATION
HAVE GIVEN ME SO MANY THINGS
TANGIBLE AND DEAR
I CAN’T BEGIN TO COUNT THEM ALL
OR EVEN MAKE THEM CLEAR.
I ONLY KNOW I OWE SO MUCH
TO PEOPLE EVERYWHERE
AND WHEN I PUT MY THOUGHTS IN VERSE
IT’S A SIMPLE WAY TO SHARE
THE MUSINGS OF A THANKFUL HEART
A HEART MUCH LIKE YOUR OWN
FOR NOTHING THAT I THINK OR WRITE
IS MINE AND MINE ALONE …
SO IF YOU FIND SOME BEAUTY IN ANY WORD OR LINE
IT’S JUST YOUR SOUL’S REFLECTION
IN PROXIMITY TO MINE.