viernes, 19 de mayo de 2017

Virgilio Piñera / The fragile space between sadness and beauty

Virgilio Piñera

A hundred years of Virgilio Piñera, l'enfant terrible of Cuban literature


Casa de citas / Cabrera Infante / Virgilio Piñera
Casa de citas / Pablo Armando Fernández / Virgilio Piñera



Virgilio Piñera

Virgilio Piñera
(1912 - 1979)
The fragile space between sadness and beauty

Virgilio Piñera, (born August 4, 1912, Cárdenas, Cuba—died October 18, 1979, Havana), playwright, short-story writer, poet, and essayist who became famous for his work as well as for his highly bohemian lifestyle. His life was one of his most outrageous creations.

Piñera’s father was a railroad engineer, and his mother was a schoolteacher. He attended the University of Havana but refused to defend his dissertation before a “bunch of donkeys.” Thereafter, he found it difficult to find suitable employment and sometimes was forced to rely on family and friends for financial support.

Among his most famous poems are “La isla en peso” (1943), and “La gran puta” (1960). He was a member of the “Origenes” literary group, although he often differed with the conservative views of the group. In the late 1950s he co-founded the literary journal Ciclón. Following a long exile in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Piñera returned to Cuba in 1958, months before Fidel Castro took power. But in 1961 he was jailed for “political and moral crimes.” After his eventual release, he went on living as a marginal figure with few defenders among those in power, although in 1969 he did win Cuba’s most important literary award, the Casa de las Américas Prize, for his play Dos viejos pánicos (“Two Ancient Panics”).

Piñera was not one to belong to literary groups or to associate himself with artistic and philosophical movements, and his frequent troubles with Castro’s regime came as a result of his irreverence and refusal to follow a party line.

Piñera was better known for his avant-garde theatre, such as the play Electra Garrigó (1943), than for his poetry or short stories, though his admirers recognized him as a master of the latter. His best collections are Cuentos fríos (1956; Cold Tales) and Pequeñas maniobras (1963; “Little Maneuvers”).

In the 1950s Piñera lived in Buenos Aires, where he came to know Jorge Luis Borges, and his work was published in the prestigious journal Sur. This period in Argentina—encompassing his friendship with Borges and others in Buenos Aires, including the exiled Polish writer Witold Gombrowicz—was an influence on his work.

His work includes essays on literature and literary criticism, several collections of short stories compiled under the title of Cold Tales, a great number of dramatic works, and three novels: La carne de René (Rene’s Flesh), Presiones y Diamantes (Pressures and Diamonds), and Las pequeñas maniobras (Small manoeuvres). His work is seen today as a model by new generations of Cuban and Latin American writers. Some believe that his work influenced that of Reinaldo Arenas, who wrote in his memoir Before Night Falls of Piñera’s time in Argentina and friendship there with Witold Gombrowicz.

Piñera’s stories blend the fantastic with the grotesque, with touches of paranoia, and even with madness. The world seems to collapse on his protagonists, who resort to drastic measures, such as that taken by the main character in “Carne” (“Meat”) who progressively eats himself to avoid starvation.

The magazine Unión posthumously published autobiographical writing by Piñera in which he discussed how he concluded he was gay. However, his work can not be reduced to his open discussions on homosexuality in a time when such a topic was taboo, especially in the Spanish Caribbean. Piñera’s literary and cultural perspective went beyond sexuality, to express concerns on national and continental identity, philosophical approaches to theater, writing and politics. This focus drew fire from the Spanish American literary establishment of his time, including Cuban poets Cintio Vitier and Roberto Fernandez Retamar, and leaders like Fidel Castro and Che Guevara.

Due to Piñera’s social points of view and especially to his homosexuality, he was censured by the revolution, and died without any official recognition. As more of his work has been translated into English, Piñera’s work has been rediscovered by American academia as a testimony of 20th century resistance against totalitarian systems.

The Cuban History

Telluric, absurdist, surrealist, feverishly tropical, Virgilio Piñera’s The Weight of the Island is a poetic cosmos without parallel. Piñera’s voice is disturbing, anguished, dissonant and yet deeply moving. You feel the full emotional and psychological presence of the man in every verse he penned. We can rejoice that the English-speaking public can finally become acquainted with this utterly original poet. Only an artist of Pablo Medina’s gifts could have achieved the miracle of bringing Piñ era fully alive into English. 

Jaime Manrique, author of Cervantes Street

When we read the poetry of Virgilio Piñera we must try to identify the invisible or the mystery that lies behind his words, for his language is filled with doubt and irony as the Cuban poet works the regions of despair, desolation and loneliness. Through Medina’s translation the reader can access the invisible and hidden in Piñera’s poetry, the mystery between the lines which Pablo Medina deftly uncovers. Medina’s translation of Piñera’s poetic words is vivid and sensitive and becomes a recreation of that poetry rather than a mere translation. If Piñera as a poet translates his desolate life into a poetry which is fierce and bitter, Medina’s English rendition of that poetry captures the vitality of the original Spanish and conveys the fierceness of a poet who felt imprisoned by “the cursed condition of water on all sides.”

Isabel Alvarez Borland, author of Cuban America Literature of Exile: From Person to Persona

Virgilio Piñera’s poetry occupies the fragile space between sadness and beauty, between disillusion and reality. His poems are quiet champions against indifference, affirmations that seek to both grieve over and honor our human existence. Pablo Medina's translations are enduring, necessary treasures. 

Richard Blanco, Obama inaugural poet and author of The Prince of los Cocuyos

Virgilio Piñera has been too long ignored amid a louder, at times discordant music of twentieth century Latin American poetry. With these subtly innovative and accessible translations in The Weight of the Island, poet-novelist Pablo Medina now sets Piñera in his rightful place on the international stage alongside poet-icons José Lezama Lima and Nicolás Guillén. Piñera’s early work is fierce and surrealist, presenting the torrid sensuality and suffocation of his most beautiful island―Cuba―simmering in all its ebullient tropical illusions. Spanning the era when Cuba was a brand new country set free from both the Spanish and Americans to make its own history, moving ahead through hard Revolution then post-Revolution, this smart selection moves back again in time into the more interior and privately experienced, meant also to present Piñ era’s more intimate writing, his personal evocations of love and disillusionment, his closely observed poems of absurd social behaviors and mechanical decorum played out against the certainty of mortality. Yet Piñera’s poems are all celebrations of life, divine spirit cries that break through the stifling silence of our permanent night. Medina’s remarkable translations in The Weight of the Island now renew his gifts to the world. 

Douglas Unger author of Voices from Silence

Meat by Virgilio Piñera

By Katia Rodriguez

On April 25, 2015

Virgilio Piñera was born on August 4th, 1912 in Cárdenas. Cuba. His works often carried themes of criticism towards Cuban politics and life. His homosexuality played a detrimental role in his life, as it was considered taboo during this time, and his works were often censored. Piñera’s stories often include grotesque imagery such as cannibalism.

Piñera’s short story, “Meat”, begins with a town experiencing shortages on meat. This can be analogous to Piñeras’s own life, as this story was first published in 1944. During this time, Cuba was under the dictatorship of Fulgencio Batista and suffered through continuous meat shortages, especially beef. In Cuba, meat is a big part of their daily diet and a shortage can affect their meal. The townspeople are enraged, and some talk of retaliation but are eventually dissuaded. Due to their helplessness, they begrudgingly start to eat vegetables. However, one individual seemingly cannot fathom not eating meat, so Mr. Ansaldo creates a solution: eat their own flesh. Instead of being disgusted, the townspeople eagerly follow his lead and consumes their own meat, leading to an early death.

The act of consuming human flesh can leave the reader highly unsettled, especially due to the narrator’s tone of normalcy throughout the story. He refers to the act of cutting one’s buttock as a “glorious spectacle” and two women’s inability to kiss each other an “amusing scene”. The narrator assures the reader that the townspeople are happy now that they are “obtaining their vital substance”. The ending enforces the idea that their self-mutilation was not an act of survival, but of a desperate desire to eat meat. The townspeople could have continued to eat vegetables. They would not have been happy but undoubtedly lived a longer life.

The short story brings up an interesting paradox: to eat is to die. While the townspeople are satisfying their carnivorous desire, it is leading to an early demise. Because of their need for instant gratification, instead of waiting for the meat shortage to end, they are destroying themselves physically, socially and culturally. The dancer can no longer enjoy his art because he has gouged himself. The townspeople cannot socialize with each other because they consumed their tongues, and crime is no longer punishable because the prison warden nibbled on his fingers. Women no longer required clothing on top because they ate their breasts. This, interestingly enough, lead to a resistance from ladies’ garment workers. Just like the townspeople at the beginning, their efforts were pushed aside and nothing came of it. This seems to draw the conclusion that resistance and rebellions are futile, and the only way to overcome adversity is to create an alternative.

Originally, the short story is called “Carne”, which can refer to both meat and flesh. Typically, meat is defined as the flesh for mammals used for food, while flesh is “the soft substance consisting of muscle and fat that is found between the skin and bones of an animal or a human”. The two terms become one in the Spanish version and are indistinguishable. Human flesh becomes analogous to meat, as does human to savage.

At the end, the narrator draws up interesting questions that does he not answer. He believes that the townspeople have no right to complain, since they have come up with a solution that can sate their desire for meat. Only once in “Meat” did the story take a serious turn, and that was when the dancer ate himself into nothing. Here, they witnessed the results of their cannibalism, but even then they continued with their self-mutilation. The narrator also questions this: “was that postscript the price that the flesh exacted from each?”. But he cuts himself off, and concludes that the townspeople were well fed, and that is all that matters.


A whole year to remember Virgilio Piñera

The centenary birth of the writer, poet and Cuban playwright Virgilio Piñera, is celebrated in 2012 with outreach not only national but international. The program for the Virgiliano Year is comprehensive and ranges from the reissue of all his work to conferences, round tables and theater premieres and revivals throughout the country that bring the audience to the vast production of the author. Among the editorial proposals highlights the Edition of the centenary collection that includes his complete short stories, essays on art, correspondence, and two volumes of the critical edition of his work.

"Cuban culture owes many repairs throughout its history, not only of the twentieth century but also the XIX, and one of the largest debt you have is Virgilio Piñera,"said Antón Arrufat, National Literature Prize 2000, President of the organizing committee for the celebrations program that are held throughout 2012, with the noble purpose of celebrating the centenary of the author of The Island in weight.

The commemoration of the important event is due to a joint effort of several institutions and organizations in Cuba, among the Cuban Book Institute, the Institute of Literature and Linguistics, the Union of Writers and Artists of Cuba, the National Council Performing Arts and the Cuban Academy of Language.

The National Library José Martí, adds to the festivities and submit manuscripts and first editions of his books. October is the more intense month with a symposium on various facets of his life and career, with the participation of prominent personalities in the lyrics and the Cuban scene.

Born in Matanzas, south of the capital, Piñera is considered the creator of the modern theater on the island and marked a milestone in the Cuban theater. Among his best known works stand Electra Garrigó, A long journey day into Night and Two old panics, America´s House Prize. In Electra enjoying the literary quality of the piece, its theatricality, imagination that has recreated the Hellenic myth, the parodial meaning and comedian, the mockery that escapes of parliaments, the overall atmosphere of the tragedy, its spectacular , and over any dispute, what meant to achieve for our scene for thirteen years.

The author of Cold Air, during 2012 will be recognized in the rightful place within the culture in the Island.Theater lovers are in the work of the carefree Piñera in the treatment of subjects to be further humanized tables the author's vision and make it the most important contribution to the history of Cuban theater in the twentieth century. In his most important works highlighting the Cuban, from which the author achieves universality.

Within the tribute was the first part of the playwright José Milián, "If you going to eat wait for Virgilio", and the inclusion in the publishing plans of the Cuban Book Institute an important bill or new editions of Piñera. Roger Riverón from Cuban Letters, director and member of the commission explained, "we will have a new series that responds to the centenary edition and will be responsible for publishing the full story of Virgilio, and his essays on art.

The Publishing House "Tables Alarcos", will be at the homage to a truly critical edition of the complex theater by Piñera, Omar Baliño, director of Tables magazine and member of the commission, Union Ediciones already has five titles said Olga Marta Pérez, the director, which will allow the bill works as Orbit by Virgilio Piñera; Virgilio Piñera in person by Carlos Espinosa; The Island by weight (where he will meet his poetry); René´s meat (novel), and a volume for his correspondence.

The festivities included a performance with poetry, prose and excerpts from plays, directed by Carlos Diaz, a proposal of the National Council for the Performing Arts to inaugurate the centenary year of Virgilio Piñera, next January 22nd, coinciding with the Cuban Theater month, which is also dedicated to this great Cuban letters.

Piñera died on October 18th, 1979, the Mayor Playwright will be remembered with the participation of all art forms. Documentary, allegorical features the artist in charge of the National Ballet of Cuba, premieres in the performing arts; cancellation stamp; academic courses throughout the year, exhibitions of photographs and documents, conferences, journals devoted to the honoree, among many other surprises are some proposals that make up the largest entertainment that will become this big celebration, aims to place Virgilio Piñera among the leading motivations toward reading and knowledge of his work and life, debt which we are all called to settle.


Anderson, Thomas F. Everything in its Place: The Life and Works of Virgilio Piñera. Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 2006.
Cabrera Infante, Guillermo. Mea Cuba. In Aviva Chomsky, Barry Carr and Pamela Maria Smorkaloff (eds.) The Cuba Reader: History, Culture, Politics. Duke University Press (2004).
Chichester, Ana Garcia. “Virgilio Piñera and the Formulation of a National Literature.” CR: The New Centennial Review, 2.2 (2002): 231-251. 
Molinero, Rita (ed). Virgilio Piñera: la memoria del cuerpo. Editorial Plaza Mayor, San Juan, Puerto Rico, 2002.

Wiki / RobertoGonzalez / InternetPhotos /
Virgilio Piñera / TheCubanHistory / Arnoldo Varona, Editor

martes, 21 de marzo de 2017

Jack London

Jack London

Jack London was a 19th century American author and journalist, best known for the adventure novels White Fang and The Call of the Wild.


Jack London was born John Griffith Chaney on January 12, 1876, in San Francisco, California. After working in the Klondike, London returned home and began publishing stories. His novels, including The Call of the WildWhite Fang and Martin Eden, placed London among the most popular American authors of his time. London, who was also a journalist and an outspoken socialist, died in 1916.

Early Years

Journalist and author John Griffith Chaney, better known as Jack London, was born on January 12, 1876, in San Francisco, California. Jack, as he came to call himself as a boy, was the son of Flora Wellman, an unwed mother, and William Chaney, an attorney, journalist and pioneering leader in the new field of American astrology.
His father was never part of his life, and his mother ended up marrying John London, a Civil War veteran, who moved his new family around the Bay Area before settling in Oakland.
Jack London grew up working-class. He carved out his own hardscrabble life as a teen. He rode trains, pirated oysters, shoveled coal, worked on a sealing ship on the Pacific and found employment in a cannery. In his free time he hunkered down at libraries, soaking up novels and travel books.

The Young Writer

His life as a writer essentially began in 1893. That year he had weathered a harrowing sealing voyage, one in which a typhoon had nearly taken out London and his crew. The 17-year-old adventurer had made it home and regaled his mother with his tales of what had happened to him. When she saw an announcement in one of the local papers for a writing contest, she pushed her son to write down and submit his story.
Armed with just an eighth-grade education, London captured the $25 first prize, beating out college students from Berkeley and Stanford.
For London, the contest was an eye-opening experience, and he decided to dedicate his life to writing short stories. But he had trouble finding willing publishers. After trying to make a go of it on the East Coast, he returned to California and briefly enrolled at the University of California at Berkeley, before heading north to Canada to seek at least a small fortune in the gold rush happening in the Yukon.
By the age of 22, however, London still hadn't put together much of a living. He had once again returned to California and was still determined to carve out a living as a writer. His experience in the Yukon had convinced him he had stories he could tell. In addition, his own poverty and that of the struggling men and women he encountered pushed him to embrace socialism, which he stayed committed to all his life.
In 1899 he began publishing stories in the Overland Monthly. The experience of writing and getting published greatly disciplined London as a writer. From that time forward, London made it a practice to write at least a thousand words a day.

Commercial Success

London found fame and some fortune at the age of 27 with his novel The Call of the Wild (1903), which told the story of a dog that finds its place in the world as a sled dog in the Yukon.
The success did little to soften London's hard-driving lifestyle. A prolific writer, he published more than 50 books over the last 16 years of his life. The titles included The People of the Abyss (1903), which offered a scathing critique of capitalism; White Fang (1906), a popular tale about a wild wolf dog becoming domesticated; and John Barleycorn (1913), a memoir of sorts that detailed his lifelong battle with alcohol.
He charged forth in other ways, too. He covered the Russo-Japanese War in 1904 for Hearst papers, introduced American readers to Hawaii and the sport of surfing, and frequently lectured about the problems associated with capitalism.

Final Years

In 1900 London married Bess Maddern. The couple had two daughters together, Joan and Bess. By some accounts Bess and London's relationship was constructed less around love and more around the idea that they could have strong, healthy children together. It's not surprising, then, that their marriage lasted just a few years. In 1905, following his divorce from Bess, London married Charmian Kittredge, whom he would be with for the rest of his life.
For much of the last decade of his life, London faced a number of health issues. This included kidney disease, which ended up taking his life. He died at his California ranch, which he shared with Kittredge, on November 22, 1916.

Jack London and Race

London was a Protean writer who mixed racialism with socialism
“THERE NEVER was a good biography of a good novelist,” F. Scott Fitzgerald once observed. “He is too many people, if he’s any good.” This dictum holds particularly true in the case of Jack London (pictured, 1876–1916). For biographers and critics as well, he is the most elusive of subjects. As a person, as a writer, and most of all as a man of ideas, he continually takes on different and sharply contrasting forms.
For nearly half of his short, turbulent and adventurous life he was a member of the Socialist Party. He wrote books and articles championing Socialist principles. He liked to end his letters with “Yours for the revolution.” Twice he ran as a Socialist for mayor of his hometown Oakland (he came nowhere near victory). Once, when serving as president of the Intercollegiate Socialist Society, he spoke with menacing rhetoric of an imminent violent revolution at Harvard and Yale. Long revered as a patron saint of the Left, he was for years the most widely read American author in the Soviet Union.
His best-known Socialist work is The Iron Heel (1907). Set in a future America, the novel expounds Marxist theory and vividly portrays the bloody suppression of a workers’ revolt by a Bilderbergerish cabal of plutocrats called The Oligarchy. Predictably, liberal-minority critics praise the book as a prophetic vision of the evils of twentieth-century fascism. Just as predictably, they deplore the shadowy presence of London the hereditarian. To him the book’s slum proletarians, “the people of the abyss,” are “the refuse and the scum of life,” a stock irredeemably inferior to the plutocrats and to the Socialist elite who are the heroes and heroines of the novel.
London was usually much more explicit about the genetic coloring of his Socialism. He once horrified some fellow party members by declaring: “What the Devil! I am first of all a White man and only then a Socialist!” And he wrote a friend, “Socialism is not an ideal system devised for the happiness of all men. It is devised so as to give more strength to these certain kindred favored races so that they may survive and inherit the earth to the extinction of the lesser, weaker races.”
London became a Socialist because first-hand experience — he once worked 14-hour days in a cannery for ten cents an hour — had made him an enemy of economic injustice. But Socialist theory was just one of the three strong intellectual currents of the time that shaped his world view and found expression in his writing. He was also drawn, by his instinctive belief in the primacy of the self, to the ideas of Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, and Max Stirner. The third, probably the most profound influence on his thinking, was Darwinism and Herbert Spencer’s application of it to philosophy and ethics. This doctrine was for London an essential key to the pattern of existence.
The contradictions between such divergent sources, writes London’s most recent biographer, Andrew Sinclair (Jack, 1977), “suited his divided nature. . . .  Jack was most a Socialist when he was depressed. . . . When he felt confident, he decided that the survival of the self and the race determined all human behavior.”
We cannot judge to what extent it is fair to describe London’s thinking in terms of manic-depressive psychology. But it is certainly true that throughout his work the writer gravitates from one theoretical matrix to another. For example, in describing his own climb to eminence, either in autobiography or in thinly disguised fiction (notably in the 1909 novel Martin Eden)he casts himself variously as a social underdog victimized by class barriers, as a man of indomitable will, and as a biological specimen superbly fitted for survival.
However he depicted it, his rise was an impressive story. He fought his way up from poverty, educated himself, served a grueling literary apprenticeship, and virtually by main force became a popular, well-paid and influential writer. Glorying in his hard-won status, he established himself in baronial (and un-Socialist) fashion on a sprawling California ranch and labored to maintain his lifestyle by grinding out an average of three books a year.
By instinct and by conviction, London was a literary naturalist — one of a new breed of writers who focused on the harsh, deterministic forces shaping nature and human society. Working at the top of his form, he had an enormous gift for graphically dramatizing primal conflict, and several of his books are classics of their kind. The most famous of these are two novels: The Call of the Wild (1903), in which the canine hero, Buck, learns “the law of the club and fang” in the Yukon; and The Sea-Wolf (1904), a complex and compelling portrait of a sealer captain who is a proto-superman.
Unfortunately, London is not at his best when he makes racial themes central in his fiction. The material, like most of his work, has raw power and vitality. But the modern reader will also find it full of operatic melodrama, stereotyped characters, and Kiplingesque assumptions about the imperial mission of the Anglo-Saxons. (Kipling was a major influence on London’s style and many of his attitudes.)
However, one of London’s themes, racial displacement, is more relevant now than when he wrote. It is the theme of his novel The Valley of the Moon (1913)a sympathetic study of poor, landless Anglo-Saxon Americans in California. They have lost the land to exploiters of their own kind, to more energetic immigrants, and through their own improvidence. They are “the white folks that failed.” Their salvation, London says, lies in returning with new dedication to the land that is their birthright. His prescription, simplistic as it is, merits respect as a pioneering attempt. And we should note that it has been followed in recent years by a small but significant number of Majority members, people who for various reasons have gone back to the land to start over again.
The innate superiority of Anglo-Saxon stock to all others is an article of faith in The Valley of the Moon and in London’s work generally. He was himself of Welsh descent on his mother’s side, English on the side of his presumptive father, a vagabond jack of-all-trades who never married London’s mother and never admitted his paternity.
Racial displacement on a larger scale is foreseen in The Mutiny of the Elsinore (1914). The hero-narrator, obviously London’s persona, is a playwright on an ocean voyage whose atavistic instincts help him crush a mutiny of his genetic inferiors. But even as he exults in his victory, he judges it as all for naught in the long historical pull; and throughout the novel he delivers twilight-of-the-gods valedictories to his own kind, the blond, “white-skinned, blue-eyed Aryan.” Born to roam over the world and govern and command it, the paleface Aryan “perishes because of the too-white light he encounters.” The darker races “will inherit the earth, not because of their capacity for mastery and government, but because of their skin-pigmentation which enables their tissues to resist the ravages of the sun.”
This strange hypothesis the writer got from The Effects of Tropical Light on White Men, a book by a Major Woodruff. It was a theory which had been made horribly real for London by the nightmarish skin disease he had contracted on a cruise in the Solomon Islands.
London’s racial pessimism was reinforced by the decline in his fortunes in the last years of his life and by World War I, which he viewed as an orgy of racial fratricide. But the writer who once had a heroine make the sensible observation that “white men shouldn’t go around killing each other” was outvoted by the inveterate Anglo-Saxon, and he became an advocate of American intervention on the side of England against Germany. (One reason he left the Socialist Party in 1916 was to protest its neutralist position. Another was his growing dissatisfaction with its dogma. “Liberty, freedom, and independence,” he wrote in his letter of resignation, “are royal things that cannot be presented to, nor thrust upon, races or classes.”)
Given to treating his increasing numbers of ailments, including alcoholism, with morphine and arsenic compounds, he died in 1916 of a self-administered drug overdose. Whether it was accidental or deliberate has never been determined
It is easy enough in retrospect to point out the flaws in London’s racial thinking. But the point to be stressed is that he knew, through his instinct and reason, how primary a factor race is, and he is one of the very few writers in this century who deals forthrightly with the fundamental role of racial dynamics in human affairs.
Like Proteus, London assumes different forms — the Darwinian, the Socialist, the self-styled Nietzschean “blond beast,” the man of letters, the man of action, the “sailor on horseback” of his projected autobiography, and the major American author. He is also reminiscent of the sea god in that he was something of a prophet. For example, the writer of such works as The Call of the Wild can be considered, to use biographer Sinclair’s words, “the prophet of the correspondences between beasts and men,” and a forerunner of Lorenz and E.O. Wilson.
Sinclair goes on to observe that London’s varied prophetic gifts make him “curiously modern as a thinker, despite the dark corridors of his racial beliefs.” Those of us who have made empirical journeys through our own “dark corridors,” will conclude that in this territory too London is “curiously modern” and prophetic.
* * *
Source: based on an article in Instauration magazine, June 1978