Discussion

Dutch Landscapes is away form sky, so when you walk into it, what happen?

A ghost marriage is also a cultural practice in some parts of Nigeria. Its amazing how different places have similar practices

This is one of the best short stories I've read in a very long time.
Beautiful, haunting prose; perfect pacing, and just the right depth of emotion that left me wanting more.
All the best with the Commonwealth Prize Emma.

Hi Emma,

Enjoyed reading this. The first line made me wonder if it was going to take off like Murakami's story "Sleep" (hope I got that right). But then, it developed into something else. I enjoyed the soft, touching tale and of course the way you chose to end it. The only crib I might have is that the protagonist seems to be meeting too many lovely people! :-)))

Cheerio...all the best with the Commonwealth Prize...

Une cascade de pensées.

L'attraction
du soleil est
comme la
chanson qui
vient dans
la brume
en donnant
une poésie...

Francesco Sinibaldi

Messud searched for her father's memories in a physically and mentally reconstructed Beirut, reconnecting to her father's yellow note only through old ruins and mostly imagination of what it must have been like.

On a similar journey on the life of my own father the force of re/construction of urban landscapes became quite apparent.

On the one hand I could not but feel fortunate, that the places I was seeking in Sardinia had hardly changed, all streets the same, most houses the same, the same people, sharing their memories.

On the other hand, in Bratislava the only "reconnection", as in Messud's essay, was a utterly modern 70s area, with some vague matching of the street plan, and only imagination left to fill the gaps.

We live In an era when we have overly detailed video/photographic memories of most days of most recent years of most people around us, And yet we have made our memories of the not so distant past shorter, vaguer and emptier, by erasing city plans, buildings, inadvertedly moving communities, their relationsips and their memories.

I love the economy of language used in the poem.

Also, the British influence did play heavily if not subtly, among the Indian middle-classes in Malaysia; those who practiced a Christian faith especially Catholicism. These weren't in the minority at all...

In fact, I remember many young Indian men who were lured to a European and Australian emigration soon after the British left, bearing nothing but ambition. It was a time of high prospects in Germany, free love in Sweden and the swinging sixties in London.

Many Christian Indian women in particular those of the middle-classes, also chose to marry Malaysian men who had found jobs in Britain.

Today, there are any good number of Indian Catholic families in the Klang Valley who could run off the names of kith-and-kin who had left the country for good.

The rest who stayed, wore the British influence in their lifestyle, pinned down among other things, to fashion, cusine and the schoolgirlish excitement of social liberation. Many of us swore devotion to our regularly-imported Jackie magazines.

In the Convent school in Klang especially, a real element of snobbery existed in the Seventies with products purchased for example, from the now defunct Marks & Spencer store at the famous Jaya supermarket in Petaling Jaya. Meanwhile the Fitzpatrick supermarket in Kuala Lumpur, was all the rage in 1973.

Who you were in school at the time meant where you shopped and what you owned. England cradled the ideal sophistication as a status symbol, through the main channels of family, friends and a generous wallet.

Eventually, many Malaysian girls left to study abroad in Britain and never returned. And especially not the nurses...

Also, our harbour town of Port Klang was still referred to by its old name of Port Swettenham, all through the eighties. A silent, lingering attachment with the British, did continue to thread its way through most of our lives and for a long time on.

Enjoyed this fearless, interesting article, designed to stir the senses and perhaps, kindle the odd spark on the subject of ‘lepak.’ Hopefully, you will pen more thoughtful memoirs, Tash.

Wanted to add that in the mid-sixties alone, my cherished picture books in Malaysia, published in the English language, had already winged their way in swiftly from Japan. Those alluring, colourful pages with their shiny covers, were all printed by Toppan.

In 1969 alone, several Japanese shows screened on either one of our two television channels, had begun to prove extremely popular with Malaysian families. Think Marine Boy, Ultraman, Planet Boy, The Samurai and other monster and dinosaur shows, shown at prime time.

There also appeared to be an extraordinary sense of integration experienced by the generation of my parents and myself, during specific periods of the sixties and the early seventies. It was a surreal fleeting era where the remnants of a vibrant British influence continued to intermingle easily with Malaysian society as expatriates waited out their last contracts and I definitely remember inhaling a comfortable sense of my Malaysian identity even while so young.

Nothing felt cold or insular in attitudes towards the British.
Goodwill and neighbourly camaraderie, among us ordinary Malaysians, still fringe the memory.

In the classroom, we all learnt English, Malay and Jawi together. When my British classmates returned to England, years later, my Malay classmates would recall our first real friends with fondness and affection, through dog-eared Brownie photographs and such. No name was forgotten or carelessly dismissed.

Wonder idea...

In your
sunshine I
can see an
intention full
of happiness
and there, in
the light of
this candle,
a delicate
thought calling
the future.

Francesco Sinibaldi

Bombs fell but my grandmother kept combing her hair. ■

By Slavka Jovanovic

Too bad it rings like a 'steal' and pretty obvious one: "Selo gori, baba se ceshla" - is a famous saying all around the Balkans which translates as The village is burning but grandmom keeps combing her hair...

I am a huge fan of Tania James and Lion and Panther in London is really exceptional.

Here's a full-length documentary about Nick featuring Will Self, Iain Sinclair and Russell Brand
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TNGskCNrBHY

La juventud y la pasión.

Dulce y
melodioso
canto, siento
la vida pasar
en el aire
donando el
candor de la
nueva poesía.

Francesco Sinibaldi

Inspirational and insightful.

Absolutely beautiful. The abridged version on Radio 4 was perfect. Not a word wasted. Couldn't have been better.

I loved hearing this on Radio 4 late last night - wonderful writing, just beautiful. It's a shame people only have six more days to listen on iPlayer.

Dans la cadence....

Dans le souffle
du soleil qui
revient avec
toi, dans l'aube
de mes rêves
qui chante un
poème.

Francesco Sinibaldi

Awaiting similar competition on India. Awaiting one more edition on India - India of second decade into 21st century

Longing for the days gone by is somehow pregnant with pleasant thoughts, shiny days waving at us, fragrant evenings in the backyard with the warm cup of tea against the heaving chests... and they heave with expanse of belongingness.

This comment has been removed by the moderators.

can we give multiple submissions?

In addition to Henry Green's sublime Loving, a possible cure for country house Anglophilia is to explore the Irish 'Big House' genre: Elizabeth Bowen's The Last September, a dark masterpiece set during the War of Independence, or John Banville's under-appreciated warped gothic tale Birchwood, perhaps.

Or - if you require the full English - L.P. Hartley's The Go-Between is both lovely and lastingly bitter.

In that confidence.

A red rose
near a prominent
stable, a white
dream where
the sound
of that candle
appears in
the sky.

Francesco Sinibaldi

Isn't there a fundamental confusion of terms in this piece? Romanticism (with a small 'r') is an aspect of any historical period; Romanticism (capital 'R') is a discrete and fully describable artistic phenomenon with (disputable) beginning and end dates. Similarly, every historical period has its modern (small 'm') 'contemporary' art, whereas Modernism is a discrete and fully describable artistic phenomenon with (disputable) beginning and end dates in all areas of production - architecture, painting, literature, etc. Later Schoenberg is Modernist, early Schoenberg isn't. In other words, there's modern and modernity, and Modernist and Modernism.