Papa's Memoirs

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.

Strap in.

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].

 Wow.