When and why did you start writing?
"When" is very difficult to answer.
If, by "writing" you mean engaging in all forms of writing, I began to write, like everyone else, in school. That extended to university - essays and portfolios, then a launch into the cultural, arts and business worlds. I established my own consultancy as a writer and began to write for an increasingly divers client base: art galleries, publishers, research institutes, professional organisations, corporations, politicians, and museums. I wrote such disparate material as educational publications for The Advisory Council on the Status of Women, promotional television and print material for NASA and a documentary script for Paramount Pictures. I have ghost-written books and speeches for celebrities in various fields and been a magazine editor. I ended up being much more than a writer, branching into strategic and creative consultancy for these clients and many more. Later, I decided to concentrate on non-profit cultural, academic and ideological organisations, including universities and colleges, academic presses; Catholic, Jewish, Anglican and ecumenical organizations; and international development agencies.
If you mean by "writing" "an act which includes self-definition as a published writer" I would pinpoint the early 1990s, when I was Special Projects Editor at the University of California Press. This is a singular position in developmental writing/editing that requires a particular set of skills: the intellectual capacity to fully understand the content (including nuance) of scholarly (and other) texts in various fields and the literary ability to rewrite them. My mandate was to elucidate ideas: to make the text more graceful, more readable (and hence more saleable) to those outside the discipline of the original author. Having that kind of authority over tremendously erudite material entrusted to me by this prestigious academic, (yet forward-thinking) press, further substantiated when they invited me to become one of their authors, probably marked the beginning of the period that I began to self-define as a writer.
If by "writing" you mean what most people (not I) call "creative writing" then the answer is probably about 15 years ago.
The second part of your question, "why", is easy. I grew up with a/n (unfortunate at times and long since abandoned) habit of obedience. My teachers, professors, Abbess and mentors all told me repeatedly that I had a gift and that I should write, so I did. It did not come, contrary to popular opinion, from a great urge to communicate or render one's experience bearable or understandable by committing it to paper. My path through life has been more than bearable - it has been enchanting. I'm much more of an oral communicator by nature. I did not grow up thinking of myself as a writer at all. It wasn't a childhood dream. It wasn't a goal, plan, desire, vocation or hobby. I can trace the origin of my profession purely to the trust in, respect for and fealty to a distinguished lineage of masters by whom I was fortunate to be educated. In any case, that is why I began to write, which is what you asked me. It is not why I continue.
Where were you educated?
As a very young child, in the then thriving California public school system; then in Catholic and secular academies and universities by a host of eclectic educators: Jesuits, Augustinians, Benedictines, Franciscans, atheists, rabbis, beatniks, hippies, poets and, by an extraordinary stroke of good fortune, by a small contingent of Oxford and Cambridge men who just happened to be teaching at a university in Canada at the same four year period of time that I was there. One in particular, my undergraduate supervisor, Christopher Terry, had an enormous impact on my writing. A student of FR Leavis, who was, in turn a student of IA Richards, both notable and profound literary critics at Cambridge, Chris was a perfectionist. Absolutely ruthless about literary standards. I spent half of my academic undergraduate life in tears, but he was the single greatest influence on my writing and although my degree was in Honours English Literature, not writing (there were no degrees in writing then), I owe my most significant development as a writer to him. We've been deep and close friends now for over 30 years and I still have the greatest admiration for him as one of the truly educated people that I know. I feel privileged to be a literary descendant of those three educators (and William Empson, another notable man of letters and one of Richard's students). Being held to an exacting standard and then eventually reaching that standard was an invaluably rich experience for me and I owe a great deal to that process. I have very little respect for the current climate of "bolstering self-esteem" (which is the task of the parent and elementary school, not the university) in many writing programmes today. What so often passes for kindness actually weakens the serious writer. This is one of the reasons I'm very pleased that our Creative Writing Programme at Lampeter is taught by published, working writers. Dic Edwards, the Director, is an exceedingly successful playwright. We have this year a splendid Poetry Fellow Samantha Rhydderch, and of course, me.
But we hear that you're not teaching this year in the English department. Why is that?
The University of Wales, Lampeter has honoured me Writer in Residence appointment for the next two years. The purpose of this distinction is to afford the chosen writer the time and opportunity to write without distraction - in which case it is customary in many universities these days to absolve the writer from teaching duties. In exchange, the Writer in Residence generally gives readings and/or creative workshops to university faculty and students, which is in itself a form of teaching. Also, he or she produces a specific work during that time, which on the colophon page or in the introduction, credits the university for its generosity in granting the stipend and the opportunity to engage fully in his or her art. At least, that is how such a residency is normally conducted.
I have been given this honour before and it was a tremendous incentive to produce creative work. It is even more significant for me to have the chance to write in Lampeter, not only because I am writing about Lampeter - and the university - but because there is no better place on earth than this magical part of Wales for a writer. I have just been given an extraordinary new office in the tower of the Old Building at the top of the Welsh Department. It's like living in a castle - and in a part of a castle that houses, encourages and honours Welsh and Welshness - and now the Writer in Residence who is writing about both. I can't imagine anything better.
Who are your literary influences?
Well, at the risk of sounding hopelessly outdated, the entire English Canon. Seriously. Beowulf to Virginia Woolf - and beyond - into the 20th and 21st centuries. I have faith in The Great Books, especially now as a number of neglected texts by women have been incorporated into them. I have great faith in the liberal Arts: the Trivium and Quadrivium. But more broadly, my mother taught me to read when I was three and I have never stopped. I have a library in America of over 10,000 books, including many of my childhood treasures, and all of them have contributed to my writing.
I read such a wide spectrum of material; it would be very difficult to pick out particular influences. I can say that my reading has been much more in the English tradition than the American over the years - from Noel Streatfield and AA Milne in childhood to Antonia White, Anita Brookner, Margaret Drabble and AS Byatt now, though certain American work stands out - Willa Cather, for one. Hawthorne, Dickenson, Whitman, Emerson, Poe. The classic Betsy-Tacy books for children by Maud Hart Lovelace.
If we are speaking about influence rather than preference, though sometimes they are the same, I'd have to credit, what some tend to call rudely and appallingly "dead white European males" though how any of those attributes disqualifies the exquisite and penetrating writing of these authors from modern consideration is beyond me. I read and have read a lot of philosophy (which formed half of what would be called in Britain "Joint Honours" in my undergraduate years) and, as was required for many years of my life, a great deal of theology. Whether or not one accepts the premise of the latter (and I don't tend to) and discounting its bizarre misogyny, there are worlds of intellectual discovery within them. I read prolifically - science fiction, physics, astronomy, fiction (novels and short stories), essays and cookbooks. Travel literature, memoirs, scholarly works on a number of subjects, Welsh literature in translation and (very simple) Welsh literature in Welsh. I read Law. Canon Law, Catechetics, the Talmud, Constitutional Law. Grammar. Rhetoric. Music. Poetry. Fine Arts. I find it difficult to name authors as influences rather than individual works for two reasons: 1) not all the works of a particular author are of equal value or influence; and 2) the written word has a life independent of the writer, so one's relationship is really with the created rather than the creator. As has been the lament of humankind for millennia.
A miniscule list of books/works with which I have a particularly meaningful and consistent relationship would include (in no particular order) The Idea of a University; Lycidas, The Cloister Walk, The Iliad, Middlemarch, My Mortal Enemy, Einstein's Dreams. The Eve of St. Agnes. The Art of Rhetoric. Metaphysics, Winnie the Pooh, Repetition. Les Grandes Amites. In the Beginning. The Robot Trilogy. Orlando. The Matisse Stories. Cold. Hotel Du Lac. Being and Having. Providence. The Patchwork Girl of Oz. The Canterbury Tales. Sense and Sensibility. God and Physics. David Copperfield. Make Way for Ducklings. Jane Eyre. The Poetics of Space. These are just what I am coming up with at the moment - as you ask me. I'm probably missing the most important. There are a hundred, maybe a thousand works that changed something for me. But right now I am learning another Canon - the tremendous Welsh literary tradition, which predates the English tradition by centuries.
What were your feelings when you found out that your essay was chosen ahead of 8,000 other nominations to appear in the 32nd Pushcart Prize Anthology?
A great sweetness arose. I was in Cambridge (Massachusetts) for a meeting at Harvard and was invited by William Pierce, the editor at AGNI, to a little party at his house to meet the rest of the AGNI editorial staff who had worked with me on the story and cd. I'd only communicated by email with them until then. It was a lovely literary party - intellectually and socially rich and companionable. I was particularly fond of one of the interns who had been assigned to Bendithion, Sumita Chakraborty, who always seemed to understand my writing and Timothy's singing with particular insight. She would write things like:
"Una Furtiva Lagrima" opens Timothy up to a wide range of musical possibilities. It's operatic in tone and classical in execution, and his performance is simply dazzling. It contains all of the musical elements of the prior songs--it shifts tonally a few times and occupies several registers, keys, and pitches, providing us with the opportunity to hear his voice in several contexts within the course of a single unified song. He has a wonderful run at the end as well, which is followed by a more gradual run that features his ability to sustain a variety of notes strongly. Also, he and the pianist work quite well together in this song, with the strength of the pianist nicely complementing Timothy. Particularly because this song follows Hen Fae Ceredigion, it underscores his ability to enter a broader global sphere while still, always, singing to Wales..."
Sumita had just graduated from Wellesley a couple of days before and William Pierce said she had an announcement to make. I was really excited because I thought she was going to announce that she was going on to graduate school or had secured a fabulous job (which she had) and I was really happy for her. William poured a glass of wine for everyone - they all raised their glasses and then she said, very slowly and very simply, "I'd like to announce that Harrison has won a Pushcart Prize for Bendithion." I remember that I actually didn't hear that - it seemed to have some sort of time-lapse. And then it came back as an echo - more like remembering that it had just been said, rather than actually hearing it as it was spoken. I was stunned for a few minutes. It was just so unexpected. I have friends who are famous writers - and they have been nominated but never won - but they include the nomination in their bios even though they've published spectacularly successful books. It means a great deal in America. It's like getting nominated for - or winning - an Oscar. Anyway, that's how I felt. Of course I ran to phone Herb who was still back in California. And my parents and my sons. It was too late with the time difference to call Timothy - but when I told him the next day, he was thrilled. And then the legendary editor, Sven Birkerts who teaches writing at Harvard and Bennington (and who had originally made the decision to publish "Bendithion" in AGNI and who together with William Pierce had nominated it for Pushcart Prize consideration) arrived full of congratulations and the joy (and the party) escalated. It was all done so beautifully. One of the more memorable experiences of my writing life!
The essay seems to be a neglected literary form in Welsh and English literature, although high-profile American writers such as Kurt Vonnegut and Noam Chomsky have used the form extensively. What do you see as the strength of the essay?
I'm the wrong person to ask, really. I don't write essays. I write things that people call essays for lack of a better name. "Bendithion" is really a portrait - a letter - a dialogue - a liminal tale and actually, part of an epistolary novel I am currently writing also entitled Bendithion. I know "novel" conjures up "fiction" in most people's minds but this work is both fiction and non-fiction. Everything in it is true, insofar as truth can be quantified but the letter isn't written to anyone. It isn't a real letter. The form is fiction. The content is true. The final book however will be fictionalised. In my experience, fiction is the best vehicle for truth. Facts are told in non-fiction. Truth is told in stories. Or, truths, rather. On the other hand, I tend to see everything as fictive. Which, in a sense it is. I live in Lampeter remember, in which the facts of any matter resemble fairytales more than anything else. And fairy tales always have a moral. A central vision of truth(s). I really don't know the difference between fiction and non-fiction any more. Which is why my book begins with this sentence: "This book is pretending to be fiction..."
You clearly believe that Timothy Evans is one of the finest tenors, if not the finest tenor in the world. The essay also deals with your curiosity as to his lack of ambition. Do you believe he has been right to spurn a career as a singer on the international stage?
I don't think he is the finest tenor in the world. I think he is the finest singer in the world. Of course there are people who think that the Virgin Mary appears in tomatoes, so you need to take that statement in context. And I haven't heard every singer in the world, so the comparison is limited. But I have been in the glittering halls of music in some of the major cities of the world and I have a reasonable music collection and I have never heard anything like this. And, neither, might I add, has anyone else to whom I have introduced his voice, including some of the most powerful professionals in the music industry.
Do I believe he's been right to spurn a career? Well, keeping in mind that it is of absolutely no consequence what anyone thinks about anyone else's decisions, I'll give you the only answer I can: Selfishly, yes. Unselfishly, no.
Selfishly: As rare and beautiful as his voice is, there is something inside Timothy that is even rarer and more beautiful. I know that everyone knows people in different ways and I am sure that people who know him only as a renowned sheep breeder who just got the better of them in a sale may not agree with me. I know that others who have met him superficially or have had only casual contact with him over the years have their own opinions of who he is. But length of time of acquaintance or circumstance is hardly a reliable measuring stick of how well anyone knows anyone else - or in what manner. I've known people for 40 years and have no idea who they are. My husband and I met and within seconds knew that we would marry. I know Timothy in the only way that I, being me, can know him - tenderly, companionably, congenitally, really, as is portrayed in Bendithion. Timothy said to me once that if he had pursued a public life, he would have had to change essentially from the person he is into something else - something that would separate him from himself. If that is the case, (and it is not the case for all artists - but if it were the case for him), then yes, he's right. I personally, selfishly, would like to keep him in his essence - as he is. If he would have to sacrifice his essential self for a career, then I think he made the right choice. Internal integrity is more important. But again, it doesn't matter what I or anyone else thinks. Timothy's life is Timothy's business.
Unselfishly: I feel like wringing his neck. I have enormously strong feelings about using the talents you were given, born with - as is evidenced by my earlier remarks about "obedience." In this case, obedience to the Muse takes precedence. I think a voice like this belongs to the world and it is criminal that so much of the world will never hear it or experience this wondrous land through his songs. I remember saying to him one day "You're going to burn in hell you know - for wasting this incredible gift you were given." He laughed his head off and of course I wasn't serious, theologically. But it was a measure of my frustration with seeing such blazing talent lurking under the proverbial bushel basket. Ironically, it was Timothy who lifted up the basket under which I was hiding for a time - and drew me out. I had given up writing for reasons best left unsaid and it was only the chemistry and (for lack of a better word) friendship between Timothy and me that drew me out. I felt compelled to write about this phenomenal voice and this extraordinary, ephemeral person. The story of that encounter isn't told in the essay Bendithion. It's the central theme in a story called "The Postmaster's Song," recently published in an anthology called The Ground Beneath Her Feet by Cinnamon Press, here in Wales.
You won a literary prize for that story too, didn't you?
Yes. But back to Timothy's singing, one of my hopes is that anyone who reads Bendithion (the book) will do one of two things: 1) Recognise that Wales is not England and 2) go out and get Timothy's cds. That has already happened of course on a smaller scale with the AGNI publication. I have had considerable feedback from people for whom this story and this cd was like a visit to another planet. And I am happy to say, Timothy is recording a new album. Some of the songs I've heard are haunting.
What are your plans for the future?
Very exciting plans..
I've been invited to speak at Harvard in November. Harvard is one of the few universities in the United States that teach Welsh. There is a thriving revival of interest in Welsh culture and language in New England, largely due to a colleague of mine - a dynamic, extraordinary young Welshman named Aled Llion. Aled teaches Welsh at Harvard but he does much much more. He and I share similar interests and are engaged in a similar mission - to coordinate efforts to promote Wales, Welsh culture and Welshness in the world. Aled's work at the moment is regional and takes place within the United States; mine is national as will as regional and takes place within Wales. It is important to do both - to create a groundswell of interest in America and to feed that interest in Wales. Aled is currently engaged in offering Welsh language classes free to local people; arranging activities (film festivals, poetry tours etc) through Harvard University and also through the Boston Cymrodorion - the Welsh society which has been in Boston for well over a century. He works with business and government organisations to try to promote a wider awareness and is creating a database of individuals, companies and organisations which have a Welsh connection in the New England area while emphasising also the historic connections and the fact that Wales and the Welsh have played so great a part in the United states. His research is growing daily. As is mine.
My work is slightly different. I'll be speaking in America in the coming months, about Wales, Lampeter and the university. Not just as a result of Bendithion, but also in my capacity as the new Director of the Saint David's Institute which is just being developed here at Lampeter. Its purpose is to promote and profile this part of Wales, and the University - to draw people to this part of the world for short term and long term study, for cultural exchange and for specific programmes currently being developed that will enhance the profile of Wales and the University in the world. The best way for me to draw people into this part of Wales is to keep writing about it. People like stories about what is to them "strange new worlds, new life and new civilisations" to quote a well-known phrase. But when they get here - there have to be places for them to go - people and life to see - and a civilisation to experience, and that is what the Institute will provide. I am looking forward to working with our distinguished new interim Vice Chancellor, Alfred Morris, as well as our beloved president, Brinley Jones with whom I share a great love for this country, to showcase our university and our town in the wider world.
Right now I'm working with a number of American and Welsh institutions on some fascinating long-term plans for the university and for Wales, but nothing I can speak about right now.
As far as writing goes, I have just been offered a publishing contract by Cinnamon Press for a literary book on Barbara Pym that I recently finished. There are plans to launch it at the Hay Festival in 2010. I'm also scheduled to finish Bendithion this year. My agent, Russell Galen, one of the more spectacular agents in New York, represents it. We both want this book to be published in America: he, because he believes that it will do very well in the larger commercial world and I because I want it to be on the shelves in a place where it will have the most impact and do the most good for Lampeter and Wales. The more people who know about Wales as Wales - as Cymru, the better for Wales. I'm also working on a series of poems, called Postal Codes. I have a children's book (about a little boy and his brain) in the editing stage and a new children's book, also about Timothy, just started.
Immediate plans include speaking engagements at Welsh and other universities, as well as a lecture tour in America. Herb has just been interviewed in Los Angeles for the Television Academy and they have asked him for a subsequent interview, so we'll be making our way back to Hollywood for a little while, He has additional business there and we have old friends to see (and I have to meet with our publicist there) - and then on to northern California and elsewhere for the Thanksgiving Holidays with our family.
Thank you, Harrison. Keep us posted on your work!
Thank you, BBC! I certainly will.
Q and A with Harrison Solow
Read about Herb Solow on BBC News...
