Swann’s Way

  1. Swann’s Way

    July 11, 2013 by Christopher Buxton

    On the brink, smart retro black iron railings front the narrow three story house – the first in the row leading off from the bridge over the weir. There is no gate but a paved path adjoins a small grassed triangular garden. There are a couple of garden chairs conveniently placed in front of the French windows for the afternoon sun and there is a swan sitting in dignified discomfort on the stone flags. He hardly notices the young man hovering near him with a broom.

    The swan fills the small space. The grass next to him is covered in feathers and smeared black turds. His human housemates have thoughtfully provided water in a plastic container.  He is three yards from the river, but he is now so scared he will not even venture into the high reed bed, just below the bridge.

    We have been looking out for him and for her. When we left in May the young couple were set up in a nest on the opposite bank. We thought then that the nest was perilously close to the bank and the passing dog-walkers.  Still the nest seemed to survive the floods and the bird loving powers-that-be erected a small fence on the bank, to discourage unleashed dog attacks.

    When we returned in July, we scanned the river for signets. We looked for the couple. We saw a single swan up the river, too far away.  Then we saw him on the second day, standing like a silent guard dog just behind the railings of the first house beyond the bridge.

    The swan’s young human housemates feel helpless. They have phoned the RSPCA and the RSPB. They know now that swans do not mate for life but are not sure if their swan has accepted this. Their swan has been badly beaten up – hence the mess of feathers. Out on the river the new cob-of-the-walk swims, wings akimbo, ready to glide into attack the moment our swan dares to enter the water. This new swan doesn’t recognize any human notions of sanctuary and Persimmon homes have provided no gate to supplement their fine black railings.

    We ask the young man with the broom about the signets. Foxes got them.  We ask about the pen. She did come and sit with him in the garden early on, but then left him. The young man doesn’t know what to do.  The RSPB will not come out until the swan is so badly injured it needs treatment. Meanwhile they have put part of a child’s playpen across the gateway. We look at our deserted swan and project  feelings of hurt bewildered male pride and humiliation. His pristine white begins to blush. He is loose beaked, his tongue lolls in the heat.

    At the other side of Colchester another swan bully cob is in action. To the horror of our friend who lives within sight of the former monastery fishing pond and was alerted by the anguished cries of the Canada Geese parents, the cob has taken each of the newly born  goslings and broken their necks.

    In the human world two teenage boys, back from their holiday in Greece are walking home.  They meet a group of young soldiers, back from their tour of duty in Afganistan. The two teenagers are beaten senseless.


  2. What is happening in Bulgaria?

    July 1, 2013 by Christopher Buxton

    Seen as much less newsworthy than the street demonstrations in Turkey, Brazil and Egypt, the unrest in Bulgaria continues.

    For seventeen days now the streets of Sofia have been filled by thousands of noisy but otherwise largely peaceful protestors. In foreign capitals emigrants have protested outside Bulgarian embassies. Other major towns saw protests of proportionate size but they have continued only in Varna, Plovdiv and Blagoevgrad, where allegations of local government corruption have kept the protest pot boiling.

       Local journalists report the significant presence of intellectuals and articulate young people. Many of the protestors probably did not vote in the recent elections out of a hopeless cynicism that their voice would change nothing. The police represent a benign presence – doing little more than offering token protection of significant buildings. The protests have taken on a carnival character, with lively competition for who can come up with the most striking slogans and visual effects.  Hits spread through the internet and across the front pages include a man walking behind his wife who is pushing their toddler triplets: his placard reads: “Now you’ve upset Mummy!”;  a mournful Alsatian dog the message: “You bastards spoiled my walk!” ; washing lines set up in the street carrying pantomime sized underpants, all carefully labeled with the names of politicians, all spectacularly soiled.

    Thousands of people process every evening shouting for the government to resign, calling for a new electoral system, calling for new elections. The detailed aims of any large group of people cannot be easily defined but their confidence that they can achieve something is based on what happened in February, when street demonstrations brought down the previous government.

    Then the cumulative tinderbox of budget cuts, growing unemployment figures, corruption scandals, ineffective legal system and increasing resentment at living in the poorest country in Europe just needed a spark. And that spark came with the delayed post- Christmas utility bills.  Their shocking size brought thousands out on the streets. People’s desperation was underlined by several incidents of self immolation.  Prime Minister Boyko Borisov resigned and elections were called.

    Under the circumstances Boyko Borisov tried to put out a populist spin.  He said he was resigning because he did not wish to see the police breaking heads on the streets of Sofia. He claimed that one unfortunate consequence was that planned rises in the pitifully low state pension would now be delayed.  He later claimed that the February riots had saved his life, as there had been a plot to assassinate him. He hoped that in the few months of emergency government, people would forget about the various corruption scandals and that his bluff man-of-the-people persona would once again ensure success over his lackluster political rivals.

    All this is typical of Boyko Borisov’s style of leadership. He cares deeply about his public image. He is the only politician in Bulgaria to possess charisma. He speaks the language of the average voter.  These qualities have led to his being admired and detested in pretty much equal order. As Prime Minister he was always quick to take centre stage to trumpet his government’s successes and equally quick to shift the blame for government failures. Prior to his resignation he sacked austerity promoter, Finance Minister Dyankov.  He has even hinted that he is ready to ditch his faithful deputy, former Minister of Internal Affairs, Tsvetan Tsvetanov who is currently facing charges of overseeing and approving illegal phone tapping and surveillance. Typically Borisov personalized this, joking that he objected to his most intimate toilet moments being recorded.

    The May elections underlined the shortcomings of the Bulgarian electoral system. It is a proportional system that guarantees a total disconnect between the voters and their eventual representatives. Voters are presented with a choice of parties and their lists of names. Many small parties – including a number of fractious Conservative factions – do not stand a chance of gaining the magic 4% that will give some of their named candidates access to Parliament. Those who vote for these unsuccessful parties will find that the system transfers their votes to parties that they would never have voted for. Media coverage can be extremely partisan but also tends to favour the large parties.

    The results of the May elections, however predictable, caused consternation. Boyko Borisov’s GERB party gained the most votes, but the Socialists were not far behind. Only two other parties made it over the vital 4% threshold: the far right xenophic anti-EU ATAKA party and the DPS.

    The Movement for Rights and Freedoms (DPS) will always be an uncomfortable presence in any parliament – uncomfortable for many of the majority of ethnic Bulgarians – as this party claims to represent the interests of significant Turkish speaking and Moslem populations living in specific areas of Bulgaria. The Party has always denied being ethnically based – this would be against the current constitution – and now boasts numbers of ethnic Bulgarians in its ranks. This may be explained by rumours that in areas controlled by the DPS important contracts will only be given to DPS members. The DPS is extremely well organized and can count on the unquestioning loyalty of its constituency which includes thousands of Bulgarian Turks now living in Turkey. The bussing of these voters across the border provokes fury especially for the far right “patriotic” parties which rely on memories of Bulgaria’s five hundred years of “enslavement” under the “Ottoman yoke”.

    One might have assumed that ATAKA and the DPS would never see eye to eye. During the election the black shirted ATAKA leader Volen Siderov called on his followers to block the Turkish frontier posts to stop the DPS buses bringing in their voters. However when the Socialist leader Sergei Stanishev unveiled his plan for a “government of experts” led by the colourless Plamen Oresharski and of course supported by the DPS, Volen Siderov ensured that his party’s presence in Parliament gave the necessary quorum for the launch of the new government.

    Oresharski came under fire in the first days of his administration. He appointed Kalin Tiholov as Minister of Investment Planning, apparently unaware that this architect had been accused of close involvement in illegal building projects on the Black Sea coast. Oresharski quickly replaced Tiholov with another architect Ivan Danov, who has since been accused of fraudulently living off French Social Security.

    Obviously shaken Oresharski nevertheless went on to rubber stamp a further appointment.  This is what brought Bulgarian people out on to the street in their thousands. The appointment of DPS MP Delyan Peevski as head of the State Security Agency (known as DANS) was announced by Sergei Stanishev with the immortal sentence: “non standard times call for non-standard solutions.” The appointment was duly passed without debate (Boyko had led his MPs out of the chamber in a publicity sulk).  As DPS colleagues thumped Peevski on the back Oresharski looked uncomfortable.

    In this crisis corruption ridden country, appearances count for a lot. It is unfortunate that Peevski is morbidly fat. It adds to his reputation of media mogul and oligarch. No rich person in Bulgaria can sleep easy.  Too many people know (or suspect they know) how any rich person got their money.  A former minister in Sergei Stanishev’s previous 2005 government, Peevski had been fired for allegations of arms dealing blackmail and “lack of morals”. But newspapers and TV stations managed by his mother waged a virulent campaign against Boyko Borisov.  So eight years after his dismissal,  Sergei found his non-standard solution.  DANS’s priority  under Peevski would be to thoroughly investigate and thus discredit all of GERB’s dirty dealings.

    But the appointment of Peevski proved too much for the Bulgarian people to swallow.  Even his swift resignation could not assuage people’s fury and their conviction that Oresharski  and his puppet masters were not up to the job. Behind the demonstrations there is the feeling that politicians only serve the interests of the powerful.

    In street demonstrations Volen Siderov’s underpants are blood stained. The behavior of the white haired leader of ATAKA has become seemingly more and more erratic. I use the word seemingly because while he gives the impression of a man who has consumed too much alcohol and pep pills, the gradated sequence of outrageous actions may point to a more sinister as yet unrealized plan.  He is a man already known for pandering to the lowest prejudices. In previous years he has bombarded at least two political leaders with insults regarding their alleged sexuality, once shouting gay, gay Sergei at father-of-two Stanishev through a megaphone for hours in a central Sofia square.  True to form on the first day of Parliament he repeatedly punched the chest of an obviously confused young policeman, who had finally stepped in to try to prevent Volen’s thugs from beating up a journalist,  shouting “Why are you pushing me?  Don’t you know I have immunity?  Give me your name and number!”

    Following Erdogan’s example,  Volen has characterized the completely peaceful protestors as terrorists, scum and Boyko Borisov’s hirelings. There is evidence of so far unsuccessful  provocateur activity aimed at discrediting the protest. Volen has declared his life to be in danger and  his patriotic followers/protectors are always bunched around him, pausing only to relieve themselves on the walls of the National Opera House. In the past two days Volen has walked from the street into Parliament armed first with a police truncheon and then with a gun. There is a strong possibility that he hopes to provoke some kind of bloody fracas in Parliament itself. Meanwhile the Oresharski  has proposed him as Head of the Parliamentary Ethics Committee.

    It might seem that the strength of street protests will be to Boyko Borisov’s advantage.  Certainly were Oresharski to resign and GERB president Plevenliev call new elections, Boyko would hope for greater success. The feeling on the streets shows otherwise.  Boyko’s underpants may be the biggest on the washing line but they are no less mired. In Varna his candidate for Mayor is trailing the socialist candidate. His rivals know that the longer Oresharski survives, the more opportunity there will be for publicizing Boyko’s failures and irregularities. The problem for the folk out on the streets is that there is no statesman waiting in the wings and that the constitutional changes needed to avoid this unrepresentative four party impasse would have to be approved by Parliament.  Turkeys don’t vote for Christmas.

    (Postscript)  Today the Egyptian army made ominous threats against democratically elected Morsi, following continuing protests by thousands – all with different agandas. In Egypt people are being killed on all sides. In Bulgaria the picture so far is very different. Angry protestors march the street every day shouting “Resign, Resign!”  The politicians say they are listening but they probably rthink that if they wait long enough the protests will die away, leaving them to settle scores and shore up their own financial interests. To quote the seemingly immortal Kevork, Kevorkyan: Bulgarians have reached the crooked pear tree.

     


  3. Just one more extract from “The Nobel Laureate” by Elena Aleksieva

    June 6, 2013 by Christopher Buxton

    In her brilliant novel Aleksieva describes an encounter between her heroine, Inspector Vanda Velovska and a Literature expert, Professor Chernogorev.  In the midst of a vital investigation, the lead inspector has just heard that her mother has been paralysed by a stroke. This conversation touches on a personal nightmare that stalks all of us – but particularly Bulgarians.  The combination of an ageing community and mass emigration first to towns and then across the world has posed a terrible dilemma. Bulgarian patriots pride themselves on their country’s agrarian morality of personal responsibilities., where families stayed together and cared for their weaker members. This model may have worked for Haitov but it’s scarcely applicable now. But now with a lack of State social support structures, individuals can find their lives changed irrevocably by the sudden incapacity of a parent.

    Vanda helped herself to another ham sandwich and chewed it deep in thought.

    The Professor did not eat anything at all but was observing her with interest.

    “I hope that I didn’t offend you when I said your profession isn’t popular,” he said politely.

    “That’s the kind of job it is” Vanda’s mouth was full.

    “And why did you decide to join the Police?”

    “My mother was always asking me the same question and whatever answer I came up with, she was never happy.”

    ”But I’m sure you had your reasons and she understood them in the end, as now she’s stopped asking you.”

    “Ha ha ha! It’s simply that she doesn’t want to talk.  Or else she can’t – who can tell.  That’s why she doesn’t ask.”

    “Why?  What’s happened?”

    “She had a stroke.  She’s in the hospital.”

    “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

    And little by little, whether it was because the cognac had loosened her tongue, or she felt more confident than usual, somehow supported by the Professor’s cozy quarters, every inch securely protected by walls of books against eventual invasion from the outside world, Vanda told him about her mother and the long years of battle with her, which just up to a few days ago she had imagined she had won, until suddenly it had turned out that in fact she had utterly lost. She wasn’t drunk but even so her words got sometimes tangled from excitement, because she had not talked like this for a long time, and from embarrassment, because she knew that Professor Chernogov, whom she was seeing for the first time, was neither linked to her nor had any duty to listen, but still she carried on talking to him because she simply could not stop.

    Guilt spoke through her.

    Guilt  normally screamed voiceless accusations  in her head and Vanda could not oppose it because she did not understand its language.

    “That’s it,” she said at lat, when she’d repeated the most important and the most painful things twice and thrice over.  “I can’t begin to describe the shame I feel in wasting your time. I don’t know why I’ve done it.  Maybe because I feel so confused and frightened and I’ve got no-one to talk to.  Now it’s way too late to apologize.

    “There’s no need,” replied the Professor, “I myself have children. Grown up. And they don’t just not want to live with their father – not that I want that of course   but they don’t want to see him.  Don’t ask me why.  In spite of that, though, I know that one day I will be left at their mercy.  At the mercy of their love, their hatred or of whatever the feelings between us have become.  Up till recently I would state definitely that I wouldn’t let it happen, that I would take timely steps to avoid becoming a burden, if it ever came to that, but now I’m not so sure.  They, just like you, reckon that they have a duty towards their father and that frightens them as much as it frightens me.  Certainly I’m in no position to complain as I expect I brought them up that way, but by the time a person becomes grown up enough to be able to tell the colossal difference between duty and love, usually it’s already too late.”

    “And what is the difference?”

    The Professor fell silent, leveled the remaining cognac and emptied his glass in one gulp.

    “With love there is no place for guilt.  Whereas duty is just guilt and only guilt.  Guilt is the reason for duty and the punishment for its non-fulfillment.

    “Your children are very lucky to have a father like you,” exclaimed Vanda.

    “Tell that to them. And let’s see how they answer,” chuckled Chernogorov.  “If you think that I can talk to them like I’m talking to you right now, you’re sadly mistaken. The point is that children always carry out their duty to their parents with a feeling of disgust and that’s just part of human nature. Let’s say no-one’s to blame.  Nature itself is at fault. And as it’s you alone or the pressure of society that has made you undertake this duty, the only way to carry it out is not to expect too much of yourself.  You should not be ashamed that you find something unpleasant that can never be pleasant. And don’t load yourself down with more morality than you can carry. At the end of the day it boils down to a question of existence, everyday life, and not some ethical doctrine. And you know what?”

    Chernogorev leant towards her and Vanda’s face  felt the caress of his soft alcoholic breath. “Bringing up children is not so fantastically pleasant as they’d have you believe,” he whispered. “At all events it’s more unpleasant than making them. But that is a question of duty as well, and not so much towards the children themselves as to nature.”

    “I don’t have children,” Vanda replied.

    “That’s what I thought.” Once again he gave her a conspiratorial wink, but this time provoked no responding smile.

     

     

     


  4. An extract from The Nobel Laureate by Elena Aleksieva I used at the Elizabeth Kostova Foundation seminar on Translation – followed by some recommendations

    June 4, 2013 by Christopher Buxton

     

    (Context:  Gertlesman – Chilean Nobel Literature Prize winner has just arrived in Sofia.  He is talking here to his Bulgarian publisher – that very night he will be kidnapped)

    “However much it pains me to admit it…” For a second Gertlesman seemed to be talking to himself.  “…But there, I haven’t read a single Bulgarian writer up till now. And yet I am sure you have an interesting literature.  Can you recommend something for me to read?”

    “Well, you see, Mr Gertlesman…” the publisher sighed.

    “Eduardo.”

    “Yes, thank you Eduardo.  Of course we have a wonderful literature, but sadly we don’t have a Nobel laureate and I doubt we will have in the near future.  And this fact on its own tells us many things.  Good writers – lots of them, but great writers…!”

    “Recommend one of the good ones then!” Gertlesman chuckled.

    “We expend prodigious effort,” the publisher continued as though she hadn’t heard him at all, “to make our literature better known in the big world, to commission translations, but you ought to understand: small culture, small language, small nation if you will.  Well we’re barely seven million.  And apart from those seven million, no-one else talks Bulgarian anywhere.”

    From The Nobel Laureate by Elena Aleksieva.

    Well unlike the shamefaced publisher, I can recommend a number of contemporary writers straight away. Milen Ruskov’s Pinnacle is perhaps the most important Bulgarian novel published in the last ten years or more. It tackles head on the whole web of nationalist mythology surrounding the glorious struggle against Ottoman oppression. In similar iconoclastic fashion Alec Popov’s Palaveevi Sisters offers us a sometimes hilarious revision of Communist Partisan history.  From an older generation Vladimir Zarev has rewritten his Vidin family Saga, Essence, Exit and Law – a prodigious trilogy reflecting on the last 70 years of Bulgarian history. Kristina Dimitrova’s Sabazee is an ingenious take on the Bacchanalian excesses of Gangster/Chalga post-communist society.  Emil Andreev is a master story teller with a real ability to convey the mysteries of the natural environment. In The Glass River and Crazy Luke, French and Bulgarian mountains reverberate with sinister echoes from the past.  Deyan Enev (in fantastic translation by Kapka Kassabova) writes short stories that celebrate the bizarre circus of Bulgarian existence.  Mikhael Veshim’s English Neighbour made me rock with laughter.

    And now I have been reading Elena Aleksieva’s The Nobel Laureate with increasing excitement. It uses the detective genre to raise important issues relating to Bulgarians’ self image following the collapse of communism.

    If Nigel Farage had not done enough to undermine Bulgaria’s fragile self esteem, imagine the impact of the kidnapping of a Nobel Prize winner just one day after his first visit to the country. No wonder the Minister needs a fast response.  European eyes are watching.  And no wonder the Bulgarian Publisher’s eyes are red from shame. The distinguished writer has disappeared before she’s had a chance to recommend Vasov.

    Inspector Vanda Velovska is recalled from disciplinary exile to save the honour of her maligned motherland. Her character follows hot on the heels of sweater clad Sarah Lund(the Killing), the Aspergers Syndrome Saga Norén (the Bridge)  and Ellie Miller (Broadchurch), Elena Aleksieva has given us an excellent addition to that blossoming subgenre of detective fiction featuring angst ridden female investigators.  In her purse this heavy smoking insomniac just has 20 leva. She has forgotten where she last parked her car weeks ago and has to beg a Police Informer to pay for her petrol. This is the hero entrusted with saving Bulgaria’s blushes.

    The writer happily breaks with most of the clichéd conventions of the Detective genre and in so doing conveys stark insights into uniquely Bulgarian situations. From run down flats to shameful rubbish fields, the writer eschews the usual images of beautiful Bulgaria.  Having travelled through the post industrial wasteland of Pernik, I particularly enjoyed her description of the standoff between the Police and the local gypsy population as they gather round a writer’s muddy corpse.

    Bulgaria is a country that offers little in the way of social support but in which notions of family duty are still paramount.  So on a very personal level I was moved by the impact of the sudden stroke that afflicts Vanda’s mother. In the midst of the most important investigation of her life, Vanda has to contemplate the abrupt end of her career, as from now on she will have to care for someone she feels no affection for.  (This lack of feeling is a terrible sin in Bulgaria)

    The kidnapping of a Chilean winner of the Nobel Prize for literature  gives Elena Aleksieva the opportunity for significant satirical sideswipes at the whole publishing industry.  She has helped me and I guess many other writers come to terms with the fraudulent vicissitudes of this industry.

     


  5. “GAY, BEY AND FILTHY PLAY”

    June 3, 2013 by Christopher Buxton

    They are the only channel that tell the truth!” My mother-in-law watches SKAT with avid interest every night. And indeed SKAT TV can claim that it represents the interests and articulates the feelings of disadvantaged Bulgarians – particularly impoverished pensioners who see their children unemployed or emigrating, who are easily scared by crime and failings in the health service, who feel that their secure futures were stolen with the downfall of Communism.  Alongside single view “discussion” sessions SKAT provides its viewers with fascinating historical documentaries, health advice and concerts of old fashioned music.

    So many years after its foundation, the sheer amateurism of SKAT TV has become quite endearing. In its political programmes angry men sit behind desks and rave in front of a fixed camera.  They order up clips to support their arguments and precious moments drag by while they wait for the technical staff to fulfill their clearly unexpected whim.  The audience is left entirely in the dark as to why they are being shown the clip. And the angry man talks over it, so the audience cannot hear what is being said.  At last the angry man peremptorily closes the clip with a wave of the hand and continues his harangue.

    Last night the supreme master of fury unleashed his feelings about the newly  formed Bulgarian Government of Plamen Oresharski.  The programme began with a flurry of salty invective. The new Cabinet smelled of soiled underpants. One of its female members had once been a secretary – an opportunity for our angry presenter to suggest that his viewers understood what a secretary’s unwritten duties included. A photo-montage was presented of Bulgaria’s presumed new rulers  Gay, (Sergei Stanishev), Bey (Lyutfi Mestan) and Filthy Play (Volen Siderov). All are given comic fezes to wear. Of course SKAT TV distanced itself from this Facebook product, presumably in the interests of some imperialistic notion of political correctness. But Angry man could not resist showing this again and again throughout the programme.

    He then made the mistake of promising his viewers an in-depth expose of each Cabinet member in turn.  This required his technical team to show the photo of each new minister as he revealed their incompetence, corrupt relationships, and  sexual peccadilloes. You could only imagine the ensuing panic. “Colleagues, please show the picture of …” For long minutes the angry man stared baffled at the screen, for once lost for words.  Things did not always improve when the angry man got exactly what he wanted – the right photograph at the right time. “Ah!” he announced triumphantly. “I’ve got something you’ll all want to hear about this one. Now where was it?” Angry man scrabbled through his papers like a supply teacher who has lost his lesson plan. At last he sighed in frustration. It would have to keep.

    Thank God for his guests – former MP and insider Stoyan Ivanov and in particular that great investigative journalist Assen Yordanov.  Assen is a man of hard facts. He does not dwell on sexual orientation or descend to calling the new government Turkish. But his close analysis exposes the disconcerting truth that Volen Siderov’s decision to attend parliament and thus provide it with the necessary quorum, has given the green light to a Cabinet which is so mired in potential scandal that none of SKAT TV viewers’ very real problems will be effectively addressed soon. Assen’s gift is to focus attention on the very particular rather than make broad brush propaganda statements.  He rightly dwelt on the newly created Ministry of Investment Planning,  MIP which we all suspect actually means Manipulation Into Pockets of most Euro funds. First choice for this ministry is the architect mired in the Dune-gate scandal. Second choice is his close colleague.  Neither choice reflects well on Oresharski.

    Unfortunately just as Assen was warming to his theme, the programme ran out of time.