PIRIN

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE “As ivy climbs upon these walls...”

Clive Staples Lewis in 1954, after the press release of The Fellowship of the Ring by John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, commented the book by stating, in a rather excited tone:

The Fellowship of the Ring is like lightning from a clear sky. (…) Here are beauties which pierce like swords or burn like cold iron; here is a book that will break your heart. (C.S. Lewis)

Such enthusiastic remarks may well be applied to Sebastiano B. Brocchi's romance Memoirs of Helewen, a title sorting a similar response from both Swiss and Italian readers, flabbergasted before the young author's talent and the magnitude and scope of his work. By the originality of the concept. By the sheer ambition manifested in each word, never betrayed by the pen. And, above all, by the power of a prose which is able to enchant us, to bring us above what we are used to in literature nowadays, as high as the Nhirklordi Mountains encircling Lothriel, or even the Pélori chain surrounding Valinor in The Silmarillion.

Besides being awestruck at my very first opening the book, I actually met the author face to face, as soon as we agreed I would be the translator of his work into English. We met at lunchtime, in a restaurant in the peaceful Swiss village of Ponte Tresa. Mr. Brocchi immediately strikes one's attention as a smart person, humorous and full of inventive. I asked him about his sources of inspiration, and he made a joke about thieves stealing from churches. Perhaps, I gather from the hints, he is alluding to the bitter observation based on the human condition, according to which, despite our freedom, we are compelled to make a choice: either we steal from the Gods' fire, like Theoson, or Prometheus, or we shall never accomplish anything really impressive, such as the present work undoubtedly is.

Although I have a confession to make: it was not the first time I was asking the same question to Mr. Brocchi. In fact, I had already interviewed him, about eleven months earlier, on behalf of the Società Tolkieniana Italiana, the Italian branch of the broader Tolkien Society, based in Oxford, but counting members worldwide. That time as well, Sebastiano had been quite dismissive concerning my guesses as far as sources went: he was really clear it never ran across his mind to rewrite Tolkien, on one hand, while on the other he suggested how, perhaps, one may better get on the right track by rather surveying the Eastern traditions, as he specifically mentioned the Arabian Nights.

Tolkien heads West, while Brocchi goes East. Is it the breaking of a fellowship? Or the revelation of the Union of the Opposites, when West is East, and East is West? After all, to quote from Tolkien, how do we count “East of the Sun, West of the Moon”, line stolen from a popular folktale, if both celestial bodies, and the Sun in particular, even constitute the very reference upon which our cardinal points are based? And did not Dante Alighieri classify the Earthly Paradise as the place which “neither West did ever know, nor East”? Did we not even hear something related when watching Game of Thrones on TV, as Daenerys received the terrible reply from the witch Mirri Maz Duur, according to which she would meet her beloved once more only “when the sun rises in the West and sets in the East”?

But Brocchi's poetry is indeed Eastern in a sheer, auroral sense, as proved by the title of one among many fine compositions, which was the funniest part of my job as his translator to render. The poem, or rather hymn, I am referring to is titled “ Atthùdimth Nhalnar”, in the Pirin language, while in English it sounds: “Remember, Dawn”. It is usually reputed that poetry is highly subjective, although one honestly wonders according to which point of view might the idea of addressing Dawn itself as a living person, perhaps a Goddess, result distasteful. Prosopopoeia, the ancient Greeks called it, meaning “personification”. A word, I have to recall, strictly related to Tolkien's concept of Mythopoeia, at least in their second half, - poeia, from poesis, “making”, or, more specifically, “poetry”, indeed.

I hope I am not guilty of haughtiness, a risk often unavoidable for whoever wishes to check, or mention, an etymology, or a figure of speech. But, even in the case when my blame was actually proved to be unquestionable, Mr. Brocchi would instead be innocent, nonetheless: each and every of his page is a treasure of immediacy and straightforwardness, even so much so to be exemplar, and, again, “Eastern” in its purpose to be always essential, precisely as the beauty of swords cutting hearts to pieces.

And, maybe, as in Lewis' remarks that the book will “break your heart”, perhaps Memoirs of Helewen may also be itself that lover who within its pages sings:

As ivy climbs upon these walls,

Heading toward their summit,

My heart shall find its only end in you,

Struggling, in the attempt to reach your own

And Memoirs, like said lover, like Theoson, like Prometheus, like Fëanor, like Aladdin, like ivy, in attempting to reach the reader's heart, eventually always gets over the wall's top.

Giovanni Carmine Costabile

Gemonio, 06/03/2020