Nadine Gordimer - Banquet Speech at the Nobel Banquet 1991

Nadine Gordimer - Banquet Speech

Nadine Gordimer's speech at the Nobel Banquet, December 10, 1991

Nadine Gordimer

     "Your Majesties, Your Royal Highnesses, Your Excellencies, Fellow Laureates, Ladies and Gentlemen,

      When the six-year-old daughter of a friend of mine overheard her father telling someone that I had been awarded the Nobel Prize, she asked whether I had ever received it before. He replied that the Prize was something you could get only once. Whereupon the small girl thought a moment: 'Oh' she said, 'so it's like chicken-pox.'
Well, Flaubert said that 'honours dishonour' the writer, and Jean-Paul Sartre declined this particular honour, but whether as malediction or malady one cannot say. I certainly find being the recipient at this celebratory dinner more pleasurable and rewarding than chicken-pox, having now in my life experienced both.
     But the small girl was not entirely wrong. Writing is indeed, some kind of affliction in its demands as the most solitary and introspective of occupations. We writers do not have the encouragement and mateyness I imagine, and even observe, among people whose work is a group activity. We are not orchestrated; poets sing unaccompanied, and prose writers have no cue on which to come in, each with an individual instrument of expression to make the harmony or dissonance complete. We must live fully in order to secrete the substance of our work, but we have to work alone. From this paradoxical inner solitude our writing is what Roland Barthes called 'the essential gesture' towards the people among whom we live, and to the world; it is the hand held out with the best we have to give.
     When I began to write as a very young person in a rigidly racist and inhibited colonial society, I felt, as many others did, that I existed marginally on the edge of the world of ideas, of imagination and beauty. These, taking shape in poetry and fiction, drama, painting and sculpture, were exclusive to that distant realm known as 'overseas'. It was the dream of my contemporaries, white and black, to venture there as the only way to enter the world of artists. It took the realization that the colour bar - I use that old, concrete image of racism - was like the gate of the law in Kafka's parable, which was closed to the supplicant throughout his life because he didn't understand that only he could open it. It took this to make us realize that what we had to do to find the world was to enter our own world fully, first. We had to enter through the tragedy of our own particular place.
     If the Nobel awards have a special meaning, it is that they carry this concept further. In their global eclecticism they recognize that no single society, no country or continent can presume to create a truly human culture for the world. To be among laureates, past and present, is at least to belong to some sort of one world."

From Les Prix Nobel. The Nobel Prizes 1991, Editor Tore Frängsmyr, [Nobel Foundation], Stockholm, 1992

Copyright © The Nobel Foundation 1991

Tonight, One Poem

Worst, Worse, and Bad Is Good, Better, and Best 
by Isaiah Cabanero

     Best is best,

          worst is worst.

     Better is better than good,

         and good is better than bad

         as bad is better than worse,

          and worst is worse than worse.

     Worse is worse than bad,

          and bad is worse than good

          as good is worse than better,

          and best is better than better.

     Best is best,

          worst is worst.

     What is better,

          so what is worse?

The Philippines Moves Forward [HD]

Tonight, One Quote

"Men do things. We listen when it is time for us to learn. We speak when it is time for others to listen. We stay silent when speaking will make not make us heard. We do what needs to be done when the time for listening and speaking is done."

"How Girly Sees Politics"

Another excerpt from Miguel Syjuco's "Ilustrado":
 
     Boy Bastos's daughter Girly asks his father, "Daddy, what is politics?" Boy is very proud of her inquisitiveness. As he's gotten older, spent and rebuilt the small inheritance his father Erning left him, risen in politics, watched his daughter grow, witnessed his son being born, seen his marriage shed its glitter, he's realized that our greatest doom is to raise children who'll repeat our mistakes. This he know is something he doesn't want.
     He says, "Well, Girly-girl, let me explain it this way. First, I'm the head of the family, so you can call me the President. Your mom makes the rules, so you can call her the Government. We're here to take care of your needs, so we can call you the People. Your yaya Inday works for us, and we pay her for her work, so we'll call her the Working Class. And your baby brother Junior, let's call him the Future. Now think about that and see if it makes sense."
     Girly goes to bed, pondering what she heard. In the middle of the night, Girly awakens. She hears baby brother Junior crying, so she checks and discovers he's totally crapped in his diaper. Girly goes to her parents' room to find her mother fast asleep. Unable to wake her up because of the sleeping pills taken every night, Girly goes to her yaya's room. The door, however, is locked. Girly peeks through the keyhole and sees her father in bed with Inday. Girly goes back to bed.
     At the breakfast table the next morning, Girly tells her father, "Daddy, I think I understand politics now."
     Boy is proud. "Wow!" he exclaims. "You really are sharp! Explain to us in your own words how politics work."
     "Well," Girly begins, "the President is really fucking the Working Class. And the Government doesn't do anything except sleep and sleep. Nobody ever pays attention to the People. And the Future, well, the Future swims in shit."

I just finished reading the book. For its first time. 

The Government/Family

Tonight, One Quote

"There are dreamers and there are realists in this world. You’d think the dreamers would find the dreamers and the realists would find the realists, but more often than not the opposite is true. You see, the dreamers need the realists to keep them from soaring too close to the sun. And the realists, well without the dreamers, they might not ever get off the ground."

Thoughts: "The Last Rite" by Lee Yu-Hwa

It is the classic old versus new thing. In post-revolution "modern" China, after the centuries-old dynastic empire has been overthrown at last, starts a story of a boy named Chou nan-an coming back home, after having been gone for college for three long years, to his ill-stricken grandmother. But as it turns out, his ill-stricken grandmother was not the only one he'd find himself coming back home to: a self-disappointing confrontation and "neglect of duty" discussion with his father, a completely unexpected turn-around by his sister, a surprising revelation to his unsurprised mother, and a long been waiting rite to pass, as dictated by his culture and tradition, supposed to be his last.

His father asked him what, after three years gone, he has learned in the modern school. He answered, in complete respect, how broad the knowledge being taught in the modern school is that it seems to him so complicated and difficult to simply explain outright. A master of retort, his father sneered at him, telling him there is nothing more complicated to learn and to explain if only what the modern school teaches boys like him is just how to live a life of a man; not a bunch of sciences and varied culture and all that crap. Then his father led the talk into raising an awful reminder the neglected duty his son has left in the house since he went away: the arranged marriage of Chou and his betrothed fiancee. This a duty, as the culture dictates, he owes gravely to his father, and a wish by his grandmother he quite traditionally needed to grant before she dies. 

His sister was excited for the coming of her soon to be sister-in-law; she shall finally have someone to talk to and sew with. Upon this, Chou was infuriated and completely taken aback. For long, he thought he could have his sister on his side and have counted her support in undertaking his new modern ways and ideals. He has duties and responsibilities only to himself as an individual, he claims during their conversation; and none to this fiancee of his but fake ones! He told his sister that her mind is poisoned for yielding and compromising to this culture. Moreover, he added that he does not wish to marry her, the fiancee, for she is not the type of girl that he would choose for himself to marry.

His mother told him not to tell his father anything of this until all the wedding is over. He had just told his mother that he is already married to another woman, a modern friend in college. It turned out, after this supposed to be shocking revelation to his mother that apparently didn't surprise her a bit, for she calmly replied to his son that a marriage, no matter when, where, or with whom, is not and never a marriage as long as the family had never arranged it. This just becomes something unrecognized by the whole family unless acted upon with destitution by the unauthorized-wedded wife to be just the second one to his groom. His woman, if she wishes to be recognized, has to beg to become the second wife if the arrange wedding pushes through! He thought, again, of how the family's morality bespeaks paradoxical ideals so loudly upon this discussion with his mother.  

Soon later, the wedding happened and was pushed through. The red sedan of the fiancee was brought to the house of Chou. The night came and both were inside the newly-wed chamber, as dictated by culture and tradition, in a part of the house. During that night, however drowned and clouded and hard his mind might be, after the many rounds of drinking he had with his cousins prior, during his long due thinking he has gotten beside that bed, as soon as the tears had started to fall down his bride's rogued cheeks, he exercised the rite. He exercised his rite.

Traditional Chinese family portrait

One of the many Confucian principles in Confucius's "The Analects" teaches that the father must be kind and the son be devotedly obedient, that the elder brother must be gentle and the younger be humble and respectful, that the husband must be righteous in behavior and the wife be obedient, that the elders must be humanely considerate and the juniors be deferential, that the rulers must be benevolent and the ministers and the subjects be loyal, so that the society be harmonious for all.

Well, that is quite a clear point, Confucius. Anyway,  you can read the whole story here.

"Erning and the American's Porch"

Here's a funny excerpt from Miguel Syjuco's book "Ilustrado" that I'm currently reading, side-by side with other readings for my two literature classes this year. The humor comes last:

    Erning has trouble getting a good tech job because the Americans are wary of accepting his foreign qualifications. So he hits the job listings in the classified ads and finds this: "Wanted: Porch Painter". Erning, excited, says to himself: Wow. This is great! In the Philippines, I've painted many things. The walls of our old house. My uncle's chicken coop. My niece's bicycle. I'm very qualified!
    So Erning applies and shows up bright and early at the employer's house. The blury blond fellow explains to him, speaking slowly and loudly: "Okay, buddy. I don't know how you folks do it where you come from, but I want you to paint my porch in one day. First, scrape all the paint off to the bare surface. Then apply a coat of primer. When that dries, I want you to do two coats of this pink paint. Can you do that?"
     Erning thinks it a strange request. Pink doesn't seem like a good color at all. But Erning figures this is California. Besides, it's no use understanding Americans. Especially rich ones. "Yes, sir," Erning says eagerly. "I can remove paint and apply paint very well thank you very much!"

Pink porch

     "Okay, buddy," the American says. "You've got the job. All the material's ready been unloaded from the trunk of the car."
     Only two hours later, the American hears a knock on his front door. When he opens it, Erning's there, standing proudly, flecked with pink paint. "Sir, the job is finished!"
     "Far out, bro," says the American. "Only took you two hours! Are  you sure you scraped the paint to the bare surface?"
     "Yes, sir. I'm positively!"
     "And you let the primer dry first?"
     Erning nods.
     "And then you put on two coats of pink?"
     "You betcha by golly wow," Erning says. He's thrilled at being impressive. He thinks: If Americans are this taken  by our work ethic, I'll have a high-paying tech job in no time.
     The American is indeed impressed. "Wow, you Mexicans sure work well. Okay, buddy. You deserve a bonus. Here's another ten bucks!"
     Erning is delighted. "Sir, thank you, sir!" Relishing this feeling of being a star employee, Erning adds: "But I have to tell you, sir, 'cause maybe you don't know much about these things. You don't own a Porch. Your car's a Ferrari."

Funny, right? I really enjoy reading this book. It is honest and dead-serious of what it's talking about, but you just can't let away that unique Filipino humor its author has perfectly integrated in the storytelling of this book. Currently, I'm on to take its fourth chapter, and it makes me feel all the prouder of his work.

Tonight, One Quote

"One man is not much to look at, but God crowns his words with beauty, so that all may listen to him with delight; he speaks in a steady voice with winning modesty, he is notable where men gather together, and as he walks through the streets all gaze upon him as one inspired."

Tonight, One Quote

"You get freedom, you say; yes, but, tell me, what are you actually 

completely free from?"

Thoughts: "Hills Like White Elephants" by Ernest Hemingway

"I think it's the best thing to do.
But I don't want you
to do it if you don't really want to."

It is said by many to be a story regarding abortion. I say, regardless, it may also be about something else. A short story by Ernest Hemingway, "Hills Like White Elephant" is written and tells a dialogue of an American and a girl in the late 1920s.

The story happened on a scorching hot day in a lone train station in Spain, near the Ebro River valley.The air was dry. The American, with him a girl whom he addresses "Jig", went to the bar nearby and grabbed them something to drink, two cold beers. They awaited the train that will take them to Madrid. A long dialogue occupied almost their whole time at the bar, drinking, talking, waiting. From trying new beers to the girl admiring the white hills at far, comparing it to white elephants, their conversation mentioned in a sudden something about an operation, an "awfully simple operation" as the American had described it. The two of them were not mutually decided on the matter, the girl especially, trying to reasonably argue it still; the American was quite persuasive on the matter at discussion. After a while, the girl quite reconsidered to do it. However, the American made sure it was a sound and a sane decision of hers, and not one that is due to his persuasion; a show of bit reluctance and intent for a guilt-free escapó. The girl attempted to drop the subject, and she was able to do so, indeed, with insistence and lots of pleases. They continued to drink their beers. News came that the train will arrive in five minutes, so the American left and carried their bags to the platform. Back to the bar, where everyone else, too, was waiting for the train, still reasonably, he asked the girl if she feels better. "I feel fine. There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine," answered the girl, smiling.

The "operation" that was mentioned in the story may indeed be really meaning to abortion; as some of the parts of the dialogue have provided some strong support to it. But, without prior limitation of whatever right interpretation or apprehension, the word "operation" could and may have also meant something else, but just of quite the same nature.

Operations can either assure a patient of a sound recovery or of an unfortunate relapse of a condition. Whichever, at the end of it, becomes assured, the life of the patient is certainly changed from then on. For this reason, the "operation" in the story could and may generally mean the life-changing decisions, in which getting or not an abortion rightly falls under, people come to face at least once in their lives; important times when there is not much choices to choose from, just yes or no, or go on or get back. Or, in the case of the story, it was just between "get on the train" or "stay at the bar". A sense of urgency is ever-present, for Time pauses for no one and wait; and these choices, as well, are to come, be in anticipation or be in utter surprise, yet are not to stay long but shall pass on soon enough just as the train be in arrival in minutes and certainly shall leave in no time, then one shall miss it for certain. 

However man acts on these times, may he be as dismissive as the American have perceived white elephants to be, yes, special and of precious value yet of no use at all, or may she be as tending as the girl have had, so as to have been able to admire the loveliness of the mountains as that of the loveliness of white elephants, only man decides and acts on them; for it shall not be of another's life his or her decision will alter, but of man's own and only life.