Author and critic A.S. Byatt died last week, leaving behind a priceless legacy of engaged, richly layered writing.
Byatt’s work stimulated readers to reflect on the stories she told and the complex questions she raised. A recurring one was the extent to which individuals can shape their own destinies and history, and vice-versa. In her fiction she interwove stories, history, material traces, fairy tales, myths, never afraid to cross the boundaries of disciplines: from literature to psychology, from philosophy to museum studies… Her books of literary criticism are treasure troves of dazzling insight.
The detailed material world in her novels and short stories was emblematic of her attempt to capture ‘the hard idea of truth’ – an attempt she believed all language is doomed to fail at, and which therefore demands accuracy, to achieve even qualified success. My mind jumps by association to pages in which Richard Holmes, whilst retracing Robert Louis Stevenson’s steps in the Cévennes, realises the passage of time makes the enterprise’s perfect success impossible – and yet it must be attempted, with passion and care.
The accuracy Byatt admired in George Eliot, who saw it as a moral imperative, was characteristic also of herself: she never aped nineteenth-century realism, however, but asserted the freedom to incorporate lessons from it in her work. Unsurprisingly, she praised Hilary Mantel’s or Pat Barker’s forms of realism as ‘almost an act of shocking rebellion.’ Byatt wouldn’t be slotted into categories, and instead pointed out that literature’s history is discontinuous – ‘there’s loss as well as gain’ even with Proust, she said, though she admired his ability to combine the ‘truth’ of things with conscious narrative form and though she learnt from him, too.
During my Creative and Life Writing MA at Goldsmiths years ago, we each had to produce a long essay on a topic relevant to our writing. I chose to research the use of art and artefacts in Byatt’s work. She utilised art and artefacts to produce and orchestrate an astonishing variety of effects: to render a description vivid and memorable; ground a story in time and place; define characters and relationships; shape and reflect character development; drive the action forward; illuminate key themes… She could even raise selected objects to the status of a near-character, for yet more purposes. Some artefacts offered the potential for motifs, which she exploited to various ends, including metafictional ones. The way she harnessed the taxonomy of gold, silver and lead in The Children’s Book is a virtuoso demonstration of how recurring metaphors can highlight and connect characters as much as issues.
I applied some of those lessons in my novels, and I’ve since taught for various institutions on the narrative potential of art and artefacts. At yet another – deeper – level, I’m grateful for the encouragement Byatt’s work gave me to never stop learning and experimenting.
Some sources behind this short blog post:
Antonia S. Byatt, Passions of the Mind (London: Vintage, 1993)
Antonia S. Byatt, On Histories and Stories (London: Chatto & Windus, 2000).
Jenny Newman and James Friel, An Interview with A.S. Byatt (Cercles.com, 2003), p. 7 from http://www.cercles.com/interviews/byatt.html
Valeria Vescina 