An earlier Five for Friday focused on the excellent podcasts that provide me with nourishing entertainment. Listening during last week to one of those very podcasts (Weird Studies), I was introduced to the word ‘pseudomorph’; a term from mineralogy where a mineral compound appears in an atypical form. WS were using the term metaphorically, speaking of the ways in which one form of art adopts, or attempts to adopt, the forms of another. It was a bit like encountering ‘irreal literature’ as a genre, bringing a sense of relief that there is a context for something I had been drawn to, but wasn’t sure was even feasible.
Trying to find a way of writing that interacts with music is something I started to experiment with in the last few years. It arose, I think, partly because in trying to make imagined places more immersive, I realised I was relying heavily on image, and I made a conscious effort to include soundscapes. I also was very curious to see how well a narrative might progress if it was being driven by something other than a prosaic introduction/inciting event/crisis/resolution combination.
I am limited by my musical knowledge being neither wide nor profound (though I am being materially assisted by another previously-mentioned podcast, Sticky Notes), but I am chipping away at it. It has been very educational as an experiment, as it has made me more attentive both to writing and to listening.
1. Hollowmen (novel) / Maurice Ravel: Bolero
This was the first story in which I tried to incorporate a soundscape of sorts.
The main character, Cuffe, maintains rather pretentiously that she characterises as musical types, or instruments, the people she is employed to manipulate. Senior management were brass instruments (“they’re not called Top Brass for nothing”), the city itself was a viola da gamba, Dory Bathory was a power-ballad. And the degree to which Flynn-Lynn Pym would prove disruptive was foreshadowed by Cuffe’s deciding that Pym was not Tchaikovsky, but then being unable to place her at all.
Several pieces of music are mentioned in the novel—Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, works of Hildegard of Bingen—but the only piece that I tried writing to was Ravel’s Bolero, which influenced a couple of scenes where management are being dramatic, and also the Nature/Forest Voice sections.
I think trying out this idea for the first time while writing a quite complex novel was not the most likely route to success, but it was certainly educational.
2. And the Wildness (novel) / Seán Doherty Under-song
There was less room for experimentation in And The Wildness, as it has definite narrative that needs to be clear. At the same time, it is not without its mysterious and atmospheric element, which is focused very strongly on the Wilderness at Cobwell Farm.
For the sections related to the Wilderness, I listened often to the Mornington Singers’ 'Under-Song' album, especially Eoin Mulvany’s Is úar geimred, but very particularly, and repeatedly, to Doherty’s Under-Song.
3. The Meaning of Frogs (short story) / Carl Nielsen: Symphony No. 5
This was the first short story I wrote (or, rather, re-wrote) after I had finished Hollowmen. So, I had learned a few things about what to do (focus) and what not to do (try to implement everything that occurs to you all at once).
What I particularly wanted to try out in this story was finding an inspiration for what the pace should be, and how the narrative might develop under influences other than emotional or even dramatic development or tension. I needed a piece of music of a length that would allow me to see if I could pace the story with the music; I don’t know that it worked, exactly, because of my lack of musical expertise.
A particular attraction of Nielsen’s Fifth Symphony is the famous musical struggle between the orchestra and the violently disruptive snare-drum* in the first movement, which I associated with V falling into the water.
* Things really start kicking off about 14:40 minutes into the performance.
4. Hallowtide Boar (short story) / Claude Debussy: Trois nocturnes
Having tried out some ideas more carefully in …Frogs, I approached Hallowtide Boar from a slightly different angle.
It is a very disrupted and fragmented story. To avoid being definitive about what is or isn’t happening, I wanted it to be very impressionistic. I had also a very clear idea of the aesthetic I was looking for (inspired by Whistler’s Nocturne in Black and Gold which seemed suitable for Hallowe’en); and in pursuit of an impressionistic story, with an impressionistic painter, I went for an impressionistic musician, too.
I had not listened to Debussy very often before writing this, but discovered that he was apparently at least partially influenced by Whistler’s Nocturnes. So, Debussy it was—listening to the Trois Nocturnes again and again, and trying to both keep pace with it, and respond to it.
5. Each Tether Has Its End (short story) / Alfred Schnittke: Faust Cantata movement VII, 'Es geschah' ('It came to pass')
Although I did not know how the narrative was going to pan out, exactly, when I started writing it, I did have a very clear idea of the aesthetic and the atmosphere I was looking for with this story.
I wanted an atmosphere of rising progression, one that contained a definite sense of threat. I was looking for something that was operatic, and somewhat extreme, not so much in emotion as in event.
The nature of the Faust story invites a combination of violence and retribution; 'Es geschah' is in the form of a demonic tango, and even a slowed-down tango has a great, propulsive feel that was perfect for this tale of catharsis and apocalypse.
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