| |
aboutchristopherwhyte.com
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
:: |
|
| |
|
|
|
| |
|
:: |
|
| |
|
|
|
| |
|
:: |
|
| |
|
|
|
|
:: |
|
|
|
|
|
:: |
|
|
|
|
|
:: |
home page |
| |
|
|
| |
|
MODERN SCOTTISH POETRY
[ISBN 0-7486-1600-4]
Despite
the crucial role played by Scottish poetry in the move towards self-definition
and autonomy during the latter part of the twentieth century, there
has been no specific study dedicated to its evaluation. Modern
Scottish Poetry is a ground-breaking survey of the field,
notionally framed by the outbreak of the Second World War and the
(re)-opening of the Scottish Parliament in 1999. Careful attention
is given to this poetry's roots in the preceding period, as well
as to the broader European context and to the influence of English
and North American writers.
Adopting a decade by decade approach, Christopher Whyte takes a collection by each of twenty significant poets writing in English, Scots and Gaelic as the starting point for an examination of their whole career and of the connections linking them. Poets featured include Sorley MacLean, Edwin Muir, George Campbell Hay, Sydney Goodsir Smith, Edwin Morgan, Tom Leonard, W. S. Graham, Iain Crichton Smith, Liz Lochhead, Kenneth White, Robert Crawford, Carol Ann Duffy and Aonghas MacNeacail.
Innovative, challenging and frequently controversial, the readings are underpinned by a consistent theoretical sophistication. Topics covered include language, politics, the nation, gender and sexuality. Highlighting the richness and variety of work produced across six decades, Modern Scottish Poetry offers a refreshing and stimulating reassessment of Scottish cultural history at the beginning of the twenty-first century. |
|
 |
|
top of the page |
|
AN TRÀTH DUILICH
[ISBN 0-946230-76-5]
Is e seo an dàrna cruinneachadh
a chuir Crìsdean a-mach, le dàintean a chaidh a sgrìobhadh
eadar an samhradh 1989 is an samhradh 1990. Tha ruith-dàn
fada ann a dhèiligeas ri creideamh, foghlam agus gnèitheachas,
dàn fada eile, neo-chrìochnaichte, mu am Fontana Maggiore
ann am Perugia, dà dhàn meadhanach mòr a' beantainn
ri fèin-eachdraidh, agus dòrlach de dhàintean
nas giorra bhon an aon àm, nam measg còig dàintean-gaoil
fon tiotal 'Gu Ceann-Sgoil Àraidh'.
|
|
|
|
| top of the page |
| |
|
THE CLOUD MACHINERY
[ISBN 0-575-07084-6]
The theatre
at St Hyginus, Venice's smallest parish, is about to reopen. It
is Carnival time and Ansaldo Limentani, the charismatic impresario,
plans a season of opera more splendid than anyone has seen before.
But the events of the terrible night seven years ago on which the
theatre closed down, when a Neapolitan princess disappeared in a
column of fire and Alvise, last surviving member of the Contarini
family, was brutally murdered, cannot be forgotten.
Two sinister visitors from northern lands,
Andreas Hofmeister and the Baroness Hedwiga, hover on the edge of
the theatre company, determined to track the missing princess down.
Domenico, the young musician hired as a conductor, discovers that
the building has some unsuspected inhabitants. Because of them,
an evil is unleashed on the opening night which can only be put
to rest thanks to the intervention of a retired castrato singer
and an entire commedia dell'arte troupe.
Admirably suited to the alchemical talents of Christopher Whyte, The Cloud Machinery reads like a tale by E.T.A. Hoffmann set to music by Mozart. Its brilliant and elegant surface cannot conceal disturbing psychological undertones which makes this a thoroughly contemporary novel.
"Looking
back now I see this book as being about sexual abuse. Making up
stories has to be the most effective way of handling such material.
That's why I always found the gritty realism considered obligatory
north of the border limiting. This book is packed with stories and
with magic. There is no reference to Scotland and the words 'Scotland'
and 'Scottish' do not occur. That's something I think every writer
classified as Scottish should be required to do at least once in
their career! The core image is of a girl who catches fire aged
14 and is reduced to ashes while a roomful of people look on in
horror. She carries on existing somewhere, but how are they to get
her back? It's Venice and 1761. They open up a theatre that has
been locked and barred for seven years to find a wonderful machine
lowered onto the stage (inspired by a drawing in a book lent by
musicologist friend Noel O'Reagan). What was it for? And do clouds
actually have a language? If the characters' main concern is setting
up an opera season in record time, they cannot help getting involved
in the aftermath of what has happened. Venice may be my favourite
city but it is damp, spooky and mysterious. All of which comes over
unmistakably in this novel." |
|
|
|
top of the page |
|
THE GAY DECAMERON
[ISBN 0-575-06505-2]
One June night, in an Edinburgh flat, ten gay men gather for a dinner party. Quirky, superficial, the conversation touches on one-night stands, the exploits of a friend who died, a brothel in Danube Street that might just have been a figment of the collective imagination.
Into and around the talk Christopher Whyte
weaves the untold stories that the guests bring with them: Gavin's
trip to Ireland to find the place where Colin died; how Nicol's
ad in the classifieds led him to the hairiest body in Edinburgh;
the man who promised always to lie to Rory; the ghost that haunts
Barry and what it wants from him; Kieran's relationship with identical
gay twins. There is a visitor from Barcelona, and the stories range
from Spain to Tuscany and Vienna, while in the seclusion of the
study Brian dreams of a half-legendary Persia.
No-one has so far attempted such a generous and detailed fresco of gay lives: unremarkable, uncompromising, erotic, sexy, funny and elegiac. Mothers, wives, lovers and children all play their part. The focus shifts from one guest to another until at last the dancing ends, the summer night has passed and they disperse; but not without a last look at the dawning landscape, and drunken speculations as to their place within it.
Classic in scope and intricate in structure, playful and passionate by turns, The Gay Decameron invites comparison with the work of White and Baldwin, Navarre, Genet and maupin. If the lives it chronicles surprise us, this is because they have never been so naturally treated. That frankness makes the book, as well as a gay epic, a testament of shared humanity.
"People
wrongly assume Boccaccio's book to be an anthology of soft and not
so soft porn. I admit that when this novel was launched I couldn't
resist reading out the episode about getting a blow job from a railwayman
while at the same time blowing on his whistle. The truth is you
find the whole range in Boccaccio, from the unashamedly raunchy
to lofty, self-sacrificing romance. My book does something similar.
It started as a satire on well-heeled gay circles in Edinburgh.
Then I fell in love with some of the characters and everything had
to change. I decided it would be too artificial to have them tell
their own stories. So while nine men (one is late) sit round the
dinner table, you get to hear about their lives and loves, building
up a composite portrait that lasts the short June night, till everyone
who has sufficient energy left can climb out onto the roof and watch
day breaking over the Fife hills to the north. Whatever people may
have claimed, there are no portraits drawn from life. The book is
a tribute to the not often enough told or sung lives of gay men,
their friends and those who love them, from classifieds to AIDS
to meeting his mother. And there's a recipe on the second page." |
|
|
|
| top of the page |
|
THE WARLOCK OF STRATHEARN
[ISBN 0-575-06506-0]
A coded manuscript, obscure in origin and procured in unusual circumstances, provides an engaging project for retired schoolmaster Archibald MacCaspin. Cranky in person and pedantic in his own prose, Archibald's translation of the first person narrative reveals a very different voice...
In the 1640s, in a Perthshire valley, a servant girl is delivered of a child with astonishing powers. He can talk to animals, inflict sores, heal illnesses and see the dead. Following a childhood and adolescence filled with the sights, smells and sounds of one of the loveliest stretches of Scotland's countryside, his story moves to Edinburgh, and as far afield as the forests of Southern Bohemia, before bringing him home to the rowan wood at Culteuchar. He describes a relentless struggle with his grandmother and her malevolent spirit, a conflict only resolved in a final confrontation as vivid and violent as any horror movie. But the warlock's greatest feat is reserved for the woman he loves and loses, who meets her death with dignity on the scaffold.
The more disquieting elements in the magical realism of Christopher Whyte's first novel Euphemia MacFarrigle and the Laughing Virgin here move to centre stage, in a fantastic narrative which frames a psychodrama of prejudice and misunderstanding, of love and loss, of family hatred, revenge and, finally, salvation.
"Though
it's usually described as fantasy, this is the most autobiographical
of all my novels. But covered up, concealed, made to look like something
else. On a chill but clear winter's day, in the village of Falkland
in Fife, I got the idea of a warlock who puts the finishing touches
to the manuscript of his life story then sets himself alight on
a bonfire of sweet-smelling wood. But first you meet Archibald McCaspin,
a half-comic, half-tragic figure more interested in placename derivations
than in magic. He writes the novel's introduction but doesn't survive
to write the epilogue, which is left to his gay nephew. My friend
egregious lexicographer Iseabail MacLeod helped me with the Scots
dialogue, for which I am hugely grateful. The book plays enjoyably
with Hogg, Stevenson and a wide range of Scottish kitsch. It's the
one novel in that tradition where, rather than the local minister
telling you how they put a stop to the witches, a warlock persuades
the congregation to string their minister up. And it contains some
of the scariest writing I have ever done. |
|
|
|
| top of the page |
|
EUPHEMIA MacFARRIGLE AND THE LAUGHING VIRGIN
[ISBN 0-575-06065-4]
Three pregnant virgins
languish in a West End convent while news spreads about an Episcopalian
clergyman's outsize member. As the Catholic archbishop struggles
to shake off a mysterious farting virus, a secret ring of respectable
middle-class housewives stockpiles condoms. At the local Jesuit
secondary school, two adolescents fall in and out of love. The
Vatican's Special Emissary discovers a cure for his itching. A
miraculous Madonna starts to laugh, and no wonder.
Can all this really be the work of Euphemia MacFarrigle? Who is she and where did she come from? Is she a man or a woman? An angel or a devil? And what exactly did she put into that fairy cake?
Magical realism brings havoc to the lives
of Glasgow's baffled citizenry in Christopher Whyte's delicious
first novel, a sophisticated literary soap opera where Armistead
Maupin links arms with Mikhail Bulgakov. Tirelessly inventive
and outrageously funny, it is nevertheless a moving indictment
of the misery religious and sexual prejudice can cause.
"My
Catholic upbringing was a gift and not just a curse. Watching the
films of Pedro Almodóvar taught me how all that paraphernalia
of processions and church ceremonies could be turned to good advantage.
I had been longing for years to write the story of a miraculous
statue in darkest Glasgow that laughed. Once three young nuns in
a west end convent get pregnant with no apparent cause, it is downhill
all the way for the city's perplexed (and uncontrollably farting)
would-be cardinal. The size of the handbag Euphemia MacFarrigle
can never be separated from is not quite enough to explain everything
that happens. Though she probably is an angel, she can only manage
to rescue one of a pair of adolescent schoolboys experimenting with
gay love. While it is definitely a denunciation, a satirical revenge
on bigotry and oppression from all religious communities in Glasgow,
the book is also compassionate, good-humoured and often riotously
funny. Imagine how perplexed I was when one friend commented he
never knew I had a sense of humour!
|
|
|
a
b
o
u
t
c
h
r
i
s
t
o
p
h
e
r
w
h
y
t
e |
| top of the page |
|
|
|
|