Spectres

reveal an insight into a novel’s world or help readers to choose their next read if they all follow a prescribed homogeneous style? So, does the design and marketing of a book really matter? Undeniably, book covers form an important part of the book buying choice. It is almost impossible not to be influenced by the style and design of a book’s cover. When this is done well, it can augment the reading experience and add to the pleasure of reading. However, book covers can also feel contrived, a means to push book sales by relying on trends to draw people in. In the end, if reading rates and book sales can be improved, it does not really matter why people choose the books they do. For some, book design is everything, others rely solely on the blurb and, for a new generation of readers, some may just try whatever book has popped up most recently on their ‘For You’ page.

Joshua Smith, Arts + Lit Editor, discusses ‘Septology’ and the unexplainable genius of Jon Fosse

SEPTOLOGY by Jon Fosse is addictive like the most dangerous narcotic, it’s profound, melancholic, it’s a love story, it’s a lament, a spiritual reckoning; nothing has ever been like it, nor will it ever be. It is a singularly unique work, one of literature’s finest achievements, and the best thing written this century, this decade, and for me, this epoch. Fosse has been compared to many writers from Beckett to Kafka, but despite having the gentle spirit of existentialism of the former and the mysticism of the latter he is starkly different from both, a true original. There are light bursts of comedic spirit in Septology , but it is the pervasive, almost phantasmagoric Catholic spirit which runs so deep and profound through each word, each pause in the hour-, sometimes week-long sequences of nothingness which makes him hauntingly unique.

Reflections to other time periods are prefaced by “[And] I see” in Septology (which means a cycle of seven works, nothing more), each time referring to the painting with two lines that cross in the middle as he gazes sat in his spot out of the window to the Signe fjord. He recalls his life in poetic, simple reflection. These cyclical escapes into his past trap you, overwhelm you, and you cannot stop reading this inescapable torrent of life.

Asle, a widower and the narrator of the novel, is a sexagenarian painter living in western Norway, near Bergen. His interactions are limited to his annoying but kindly neighbour Åsleik, his gallerist Beyer, and The Namesake — another painter called Asle; but as he drives through sleepless nights we come across people from his life scattered all over the familiar land in mystical Proustian scenes. His parents, his sister, his grandmother, his friends, his lovers, all appear sporadically. But Ales, his departed wife, is a ghostly figure who haunts the novel, recounted not as often through scenes but in the hollow space she’s left behind — the chair where she used to sit, left in its spot by Asle, representing the dark hand of death which preoccupies the novel.

The other Asle is a doppelgänger, a different version of Asle’s own life. He is

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also a painter, but consumed by alcohol and depression, where narrator Asle is childless, he is twice divorced with three grown up children, where narrator Asle is a deeply religious Catholic convert (and a communist, something ridiculed by Åsleik), he has always been an atheist. The two lives intersect and in the first few books you can never be sure which life is being talked about, since narrator Asle recounts the novel in a blend of first person and third person writing, but as it progresses, the lives diverge, with the many layers of each being slowly revealed book by book, but by the end, it’s as if it never mattered at all.

Septology is a novel about memories, faith, grace, alcoholism, childhood, ambition, art, love, death, longing, ageing, learning, fear, transfixion, or in other words, life.

I write this hollow piece in awe of Fosse’s writing and the great human achievement which is Septology , but also with a loss, a deep sadness, which hasn’t left me since I finished it.

Ella Minty, Arts + Lit Editor, recommends cultural highlights you may have missed

SHAKESPEARE — I love the National Theatre’s adaptations of Shakespeare, and so recently I watched the 2013 version of Othello. Watching it because my Shakespeare-mad housemate persuaded me, I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did; set in modern day with the original words of Shakespeare, it felt like a contemporary commentary on military warfare. It pertains to the popular notion that Shakespeare is timeless: Emilia, just one of two female principal characters in the play, is trapped in an abusive relationship with the play’s villain, Iago. If you enjoy Shakespeare, this is a must! Oh, and Jonathan Bailey, famous for his role as Anthony Bridgerton, is Cassio; if that doesn’t persuade you to watch it, I don’t know what will!

The Wolf Den — a Greek retelling that is chillingly similar to Atwood’s dystopian totalitarian world in The Handmaid’s Tale, The Wolf Den imagines the lives of slave women in Pompeii, focusing on Amara, a young girl who was sold into slavery after her father, a doctor, died. First a concubine until her master’s wife got too jealous, she is now a prostitute at The

Wolf Den brothel. Although the text is bleak at times, its overriding message is one of female companionship and the way women band together to get through challenging times. Read in just two days, I couldn’t put it down! Banksy — Although I visited this attraction around six years ago now, I still remember the impact it had on me, and not enough people know about it. Bristol is my home city, and is probably most famous for Banksy, its resident graffiti artist, whose identity still remains unknown. Around seven years ago, Dismaland Bemusement Park popped up in a derelict outdoor swimming pool in my hometown of Weston-super-Mare. People came from all over the world to see it; there were queues all around the town as people tried to get tickets. I was lucky enough to go twice. The pop-up art exhibition was in the form of an apocalyptic theme park titled Dismaland (“The UK’s most disappointing new visitor attraction”) that was open to the public for five weeks. It was the best art exhibition I’ve ever been to, and I’d urge you to look into photos and videos of this event — it was missed by too many!