A tally of tales
Jul. 4th, 2010 10:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustThe theme of the last ten days - other than Work, because we really have been busy - but other than that, the theme has been storytelling. Never have I been so thoroughly storytold. And enjoyed every minute of it, too.
It began, of course, with the traditional Midsummer Phantoms: worth returning from Lindisfarne, to hear Sean O'Brien, Gail-Nina Anderson and Chaz Brenchley reading brand new ghost stories in the best library in Newcastle ("You are coveting our books, aren't you?" said the Librarian, and I had to confess that no, I was coveting their shelving...). Sean's story (A Cold Spot) was classic in form: there is a cold spot on the landing, and the story reveals (maybe a little too explicitly) why; but the delivery was inventive, with Gail and Gerry Wardle joining Sean in performing one of the witches' scenes from Macbeth (for no better reason than that they could - but what better reason do you need?). Gail's The Doll Room was based on a true story, the apparently insignificant room in a tourist location where visitors begin, for no apparent reason, to leave gifts. In reality, this is one of those intriguing stories about our hunger for ghosts, and the unaccountable things people do; but in Gail's fiction, narrated with a dry scepticism by one of the ladies who staff the venue. it became less odd and more strange. Finally, Chaz'z Hortus Conclusus plays on some familiar Chaz themes - the walled garden, the country house, the group of friends united by tending one of their number through terminally illness - and yet somehow he pulls off the trick every time. Ghost stories whose effect is to frighten the audience may work on me for the duration of the story; but since I don't believe in ghosts, once the story's over, the effect dissipates. Chaz is good on the sadness of ghosts, on being haunted by people we've lost, on guilt at being alive as a betrayal of those who are dead - and since I do believe in death, and loss, and guilt, they stay with me after the telling is over. Also, of course, he tells them so well.
It was in the context of these reflections that I read![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sovay's post: "the knot of emotions whose fantastic interpretation is a ghost story, the weird camaraderie of an interrupted friendship that resumes with too much guilt on one side and need on the other..." She's talking about one particular story, The Hollow Man by Thomas Burke, but that idea of the ghost story as a model for looking at a certain tangle of emotions, yes, isn't that what I was saying? (Only better expressed, obviously).
One week later, last Thursday, we were back at the Lit & Phil for the results of their ghost story competition: three more brand new stories selected from the 77 entries by Chaz and Gail, and read for the first time by their authors. Once again (and this has no significance other than that it diverted me, for I am an animal that sees patterns) there was a classic ghost story in the M.R. James tradition (The Black Dog by Julie Lewthwaite), a quirky and amusing diversion of the genre (Harlem Sunset by Mercedes Broadbent, chanelling Raymond Chandler) and one sad and strange and haunting piece which was unlike anything else (Picknicking with my Father by Shelley Day Sclater). All three are available on the Lit & Phil web site, and they're all worth reading, though if you only have time for one, I think you can tell which one I would recommend. In another sense, the evening provided a total contrast to the regular Phantoms event, with a reminder that not all writers enjoy reading their work out loud, and even those who do have to learn to do it - our three novice authors were all nervous, and sometimes barely audible. I felt a little guilty for demanding that they do something which was clearly so much effort for them, just for my enjoyment.
And on Friday we saw the opposite extreme, Tim Dalling's The Unhappy King, storytelling as scripted performance, with props and masks and almost pantomime in the acting out of emotions. The second half was mostly music (Tim boasts that he has been descibed as "like a cross between Ivor Cutler and Randy Newman") but since this event had been organised by A Bit Crack storytellers, we had another story, too. It was even, after a fashion, a ghost story, the tale of a fiddler who is summoned to play for a party in the halls of Death himself. When I think about how this compared with the previous two events, I start to write "a fun evening" and then stopping, because although The Unhappy King is often very funny, it isn't exactly a fun story. There is sadness, and anger, and serious intent: but what stays with me is the wit and vivacity of the telling.
It's not often I'm told eight stories in nine days...
It began, of course, with the traditional Midsummer Phantoms: worth returning from Lindisfarne, to hear Sean O'Brien, Gail-Nina Anderson and Chaz Brenchley reading brand new ghost stories in the best library in Newcastle ("You are coveting our books, aren't you?" said the Librarian, and I had to confess that no, I was coveting their shelving...). Sean's story (A Cold Spot) was classic in form: there is a cold spot on the landing, and the story reveals (maybe a little too explicitly) why; but the delivery was inventive, with Gail and Gerry Wardle joining Sean in performing one of the witches' scenes from Macbeth (for no better reason than that they could - but what better reason do you need?). Gail's The Doll Room was based on a true story, the apparently insignificant room in a tourist location where visitors begin, for no apparent reason, to leave gifts. In reality, this is one of those intriguing stories about our hunger for ghosts, and the unaccountable things people do; but in Gail's fiction, narrated with a dry scepticism by one of the ladies who staff the venue. it became less odd and more strange. Finally, Chaz'z Hortus Conclusus plays on some familiar Chaz themes - the walled garden, the country house, the group of friends united by tending one of their number through terminally illness - and yet somehow he pulls off the trick every time. Ghost stories whose effect is to frighten the audience may work on me for the duration of the story; but since I don't believe in ghosts, once the story's over, the effect dissipates. Chaz is good on the sadness of ghosts, on being haunted by people we've lost, on guilt at being alive as a betrayal of those who are dead - and since I do believe in death, and loss, and guilt, they stay with me after the telling is over. Also, of course, he tells them so well.
It was in the context of these reflections that I read
sovay's post: "the knot of emotions whose fantastic interpretation is a ghost story, the weird camaraderie of an interrupted friendship that resumes with too much guilt on one side and need on the other..." She's talking about one particular story, The Hollow Man by Thomas Burke, but that idea of the ghost story as a model for looking at a certain tangle of emotions, yes, isn't that what I was saying? (Only better expressed, obviously).One week later, last Thursday, we were back at the Lit & Phil for the results of their ghost story competition: three more brand new stories selected from the 77 entries by Chaz and Gail, and read for the first time by their authors. Once again (and this has no significance other than that it diverted me, for I am an animal that sees patterns) there was a classic ghost story in the M.R. James tradition (The Black Dog by Julie Lewthwaite), a quirky and amusing diversion of the genre (Harlem Sunset by Mercedes Broadbent, chanelling Raymond Chandler) and one sad and strange and haunting piece which was unlike anything else (Picknicking with my Father by Shelley Day Sclater). All three are available on the Lit & Phil web site, and they're all worth reading, though if you only have time for one, I think you can tell which one I would recommend. In another sense, the evening provided a total contrast to the regular Phantoms event, with a reminder that not all writers enjoy reading their work out loud, and even those who do have to learn to do it - our three novice authors were all nervous, and sometimes barely audible. I felt a little guilty for demanding that they do something which was clearly so much effort for them, just for my enjoyment.
And on Friday we saw the opposite extreme, Tim Dalling's The Unhappy King, storytelling as scripted performance, with props and masks and almost pantomime in the acting out of emotions. The second half was mostly music (Tim boasts that he has been descibed as "like a cross between Ivor Cutler and Randy Newman") but since this event had been organised by A Bit Crack storytellers, we had another story, too. It was even, after a fashion, a ghost story, the tale of a fiddler who is summoned to play for a party in the halls of Death himself. When I think about how this compared with the previous two events, I start to write "a fun evening" and then stopping, because although The Unhappy King is often very funny, it isn't exactly a fun story. There is sadness, and anger, and serious intent: but what stays with me is the wit and vivacity of the telling.
It's not often I'm told eight stories in nine days...
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no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 09:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 12:06 pm (UTC)Black Dog
Date: 2010-07-10 04:40 pm (UTC)Re: Black Dog
Date: 2010-07-10 05:29 pm (UTC)Glad you enjoyed it - once the ordeal was over!