For a recent university assignment I decided to write the most subversive, postmodern, politically challenging, issue-addressing, groundmoving peice of satire the world has ever seen.
It would be an ungodly tragedy to only allow Dr Hywel Dix the pleasure of reading it, so I am here to share it with the world.
Papa's Memoirs
T'was Tuesday last and I reclined in my favourite chair
in the study. The soft furnishings supporting my slender figure and the rich,
maroon book ends adorned my walls. I had just finished a rather smashing little
bottle of brandy and I was feeling drowsy in the flickering light of the
dimming fire when a knock came to my door.
Across my threshold, before I had even the chance to
respond, stepped a shining young man, his clothes glistening in the candlelight
and a slight rustle with every movement he made. This chap surely intrigued me,
my irritation at his premature entry was soon forgotten as my eyes danced over
his bright clothing with delight. Never before had a Swanson met such a
creature, for I would have no doubt been fascinated to read of one in papa's
memoirs.
Yet, this alien being stood with mild displeasure and
slight discomfort upon his countenance. I greeted him and sat him down with a
glass of a disappointing red, for it was to my overwhelming disgust that Miss
Whippet had failed to keep the cellar stocked with brandy and my evening's
escapades had sucked the cellar dry, leaving only the small supply of Gran
Reserva from my weekend in Seville. Bloody swill those Spaniards make, they're
good for nothing but sleeping and throwing donkeys around. Jolly good food,
though, never fails to make me feel like a peasant, such a rustic and simple
people they are.
But alas, we had none other to offer, and certainly none
of their unique food, and so my new friend sipped away indifferently, whilst I
summoned Master Liveridge to stoke the fire into something more fitting to
hosting a guest.
My guest's words came out rather clipped – not clipped
like a stern mistress, but clipped from either end as if few consonants were
available to his lips. I pondered his origins, possibly from The North, I had
heard that they found speech difficult – a result of their hours of solitude
whilst mining. But surely this shining, crinkling apparition could have never
seen a mine, his vibrancy of colour must have been of the highest quality.
Parisian? Thai? Persian? I had never seen such garments before.
He established his name as 'Tony'. This man must have
been of the highest status, as after I waited a significant time to hear the
family name, he remained mute. In my embarrassment I had to pretend to have
known of him, but I fear he saw through my devilishly hidden ploy as he
remained apathetic throughout my tales of school days with his father and one
summer we spent together, dabbling in homosexuality and hiding from our
parents.
For as much as this tale was a true fiction, I became
rather attached and somewhat wished my misspent youth had featured Tony's
father, Jeremy. Such a subtle and gentle man he was, he called me 'Precious'
and it never left me. A true gentleman he had been to me in our short time
together. I will never forget him.
Tony, who had seemed uncertain this whole time, begun to
try to tell me something. His words were, despite his questionable oral
affliction, wholly trustworthy as I know that Jeremy would never fail to raise
a honest boy, and the glint in Tony's eye was as strong as Jeremy's was that
night under the stars. We snuggled under a tartan blanket as the stars
reflected from Jeremy's eyes, and yet the natural sparkle gleamed through the
thousands of shafts of starlight that caressed our bodies.
Whilst Tony could see me casting my mind back to this
simpler time, he set down his Gran Reserva and lent forward in such a way that
told me to listen up. I snapped out of remembering my youthful vigour and fixed
my gaze upon him.
Tony produced a leaflet from his jacket. Instantly my
expectations of this man grew tenfold. Not only was he dressed in the finest
linens man can buy, but it functioned as a subsidiary filing cabinet. My mind
boggled at the intricacies of the design, what other secrets did this man hold?
I was surely mystified by his continuing complexities.
I inspected the simple concertina publication; pictured
upon the front was a far more lowly man, upon his feet were mere sandals and a
crude robe adorned his torso and legs. My only thoughts were that this were a
charity, to clothe and house the unfortunate, and construct a new legion of
fine men – as Jeremy had so successfully done with fine Tony, here.
As I accepted this kind gift Tony begun talking, asking
if I know his Holy father. I had never imaged Jeremy to be Holy before, but it explained much of his magical qualities. So, of
course, I explained to Tony the long summer that his 'Holy father' and I spent
together. After a brief period, Tony begun again and explained that the man
upon the paper was his father's son. My heart broke at this point, how could
Jeremy have allowed such a hideous mistreatment of one son, whilst the other
flourished in utterly beauty within my study's walls.
To cut a long story unforgivingly short, Tony explained
to me the tale of the man whom he calls 'God' who is omnipotently and
inexplicably both his father, my father and the father of at least three other
families which I could name at the time. As much as my mind had been challenged
by the previous revelations of the day, I was not prepared for this. I had
understood that my father was a lawyer named Anthony, and yet such concrete
facts of my life were being cast unceremoniously aside for the new knowledge
young Tony delivered to me.
Tony told me of all this things his father had done. He
seemed like a far more complex man that I had first assumed. He had not only
created Tony, myself, William Johnson, James Lipton from two towns over as well
as Oliver Lincoln, but he has crafted the world itself. The stars that shone
from Jeremy's sweet eye had been placed there by this fellow. How he managed
it, I know not, but I surely knew it to be the truth.
I had such a plethora of questions to bestow upon this
man, and yet he seemed keen to leave, and as quickly as this man had entered
into my life, he was gone. Left only with the memory of his spectacular
clothing and a small leaflet depicting Tony's unfortunate, desert rat brother.
Rationale
Papa's Memoirs
discusses numerous issues relevant to modern day society; from suppressed
sexuality and religion to racism and
class ignorance, it bravely wades into the heart of the issues with no bias
based on sociological norms – providing a necessary, unbiased comment,
unrivalled by its contemporaries.
Its placement in Fringe
Magazine would strongly correlate with the magazine's manifesto to
"publish styles and genres that other journals eschew and [...] voices
that are not often included in the canon"(Fringe Magazine 2012) as the satirical style and farce-like
approach is not as well-used in other magazines.
Fringe's mantra
is a modern one – aspirations to change the face of literature after it has
become "too realist, monolithic, corporate, print-bound and locked in its
own bubble" (Fringe Magazine 2012) underpin a lot of the writing, this fits well with the approach
used in Papa's Memoirs. The
postmodern feel that is established through the main character's delusion and
diversions is widely aided by non-linear time and a blurring between fact and
fiction – something that is strongly influenced by modernist writers like Woolf
– and even approaches stream-of-consciousness narrative with the repeating
digressions.
The blurring of fact and fiction goes one step further
and creates a difficult meaning to grasp behind the main character's mental
stability. Freudian work has clearly influenced this piece as neurological
issues and sexual overtones drive action – despite the action being merely
within the confines of the imagination.
This idea of realism and imagination allows a comment on
neuroscience and the interpretation of individuals' understanding of the world
around them. Is an imagining – providing it is truly believed – just as real as
the world around the imaginer? By providing such thought-provoking questions, Papa's Memoirs would appeal to Fringe's readers and manifesto by
experimenting with formal traditions and highly contentious modern thinking.
Class, as an issue, is represented strongly here, but by
subverting the assumed norms of society it provides a fresh look at the topic.
The main character's affinity for material gain and pleasures of the body are
overrepresented whilst Tony's spiritual superiority is largely played down,
something all too often done in modern life. By presenting these things in such
a way, Tony's superiority is largely overlooked by the protagonist, and the
obsession with materialism blinds him to the possibility to find eternal peace
with the message Tony brings.
Tony's position of power and generosity is one often
played down in the media, working class people are often misrepresented and
demonised whilst the rich aristocracy have long been revered. This story
reflects the new uprising of displeasure towards this long-established system
and strives to present a more relevant society, clearly something Fringe is a keep advocate of.
The aims of Fringe are
largely about truth and progress and not merely commercial gain as "nobody is trying to make Money out of it."
By having no affiliation to any money-making company, it is able to be
revolutionary, frank, arrogant, impertinent and "directed against Rigidity and
Dogma". It is "a Magazine whose final Policy
is to do as it Pleases and Conciliate Nobody, not even its Readers" (Fringe Magazine 2012), such forthright intentions provide a
wholly stable grounding for work to be subversive and radical, much like Papa's Memoirs successfully is.
Bibliography
Fringe Magazine, 2012. Manifesto. Available from: http://www.fringemagazine.org/manifesto/
[Accessed 10 May 2012].
