In search of a literature
There is a wave of new writing in Maltese literature that began in the latter half of the 1990s and has developed a literary voice, or rather voices, that are somehow distinguishable from those of the post-Independence generation that fast-forwarded...
There is a wave of new writing in Maltese literature that began in the latter half of the 1990s and has developed a literary voice, or rather voices, that are somehow distinguishable from those of the post-Independence generation that fast-forwarded Maltese literature, both in terms of style and content, into the 20th century.
We love to explain complex human developments by organising them into convenient timelines composed of simple historical sequences that allow us to see a clear beginning, protagonists and secondary figures, causes and effects. These simplifications are not only about reducing detail: They are also, possibly, a misrepresentation of the "facts" precisely because not telling the whole story is quite literally changing it. With this note of caution, I will proceed to simplify, to reduce the irreducible to a series of names and characteristics in an inevitably very subjective take on recent developments in our literature.
As I see it, the work that marks the beginning of the new wave of Maltese literature is Henry Holland's largely unknown short collection of poetry, L-Artist tat-Trapiz (1996). It is not Mr Holland's fault that the book hasn't attracted the attention it deserves. A literature is so much more than a body of works written over a stretch of time "by" a community: It is, perhaps first and foremost, about that body of works being read, coming alive in the consciousness of individuals in the community in a very real way. And this cannot happen if that community lacks a solid infrastructure that first produces the book and presents it to its potential readers.
The book infrastructure is as important in the creative process as the writer: Good editors, publishers, critics, TV presenters, school teachers, cultural officers, festival organisers, literary magazines make the book. Can we have a literature if we don't have any of that? Isn't it telling that the fate of what is arguably one of the most interesting books of Maltese poetry of the 1990s so eloquently sums up the predicament, or should we say "challenges", to choose a popular euphemism, of Maltese literature today?
I am not saying, of course, that Mr Holland's book, with its crisp new voice and perspectives, with the honesty of its new language and the personal stories he tells about recent Maltese history, had a profound effect, as it certainly could have had, on the literature that came after it. What I am saying is that in his book, and in the poems that he has published since, you will find new Maltese poetry, a literary voice that you cannot place among those of the established writers.
Another significant development in literature written in Maltese is the emergence of at least three (there are more) women writers. With her strong commitment to Maltese writers and Maltese literature on a personal but also on a national and international level, and with the publication of five collections of poetry, three of which are in Maltese, Maria Grech Ganado has helped to shape the language and the themes of the new literature. Clare Azzopardi, with her intelligent, highly innovative and often trenchant prose, and Simone Inguanez, with her engaging poetry, have opened up our literature to new literary experiences. Two other significant voices among those who are taking Maltese poetry into unchartered waters are Norbert Bugeja and Walid Nabhan, but there are others.
The best-known writer of the new generation is Immanuel Mifsud. His five collections of short stories and three selections of poetry (apart from his publications abroad) have established him as a brave narrator of strong emotions and tough, often distressing experiences. But his success lies also, if not mainly, in the fact that he has proved to be a versatile writer, both in terms of the breadth of the stories he tells and the structure, metaphor and tone he employs. The prose works of Bernard Micallef, Guzè Stagno and Karl Schembri, for different reasons, have also given new voices and dimensions to Maltese literature. But then so has Trevor Zahra, with his insatiable thirst for breaking new ground in content and form. His, too, is new writing.
One last point before the unavoidable disclaimer: Much of this new literature has either been self-published or supported by Inizjamed, Klabb Kotba Maltin and Merlin Library.
Many of those whose work I have not mentioned here will rightly feel that I have wronged them, and I apologise in advance. I was aware from the outset that with a limited wordcount, this article would be partial and that it would hint at specific issues to the inevitable exclusion of others. The new wave of literature needs more space than this - but that's another story. Or perhaps the story.
• Dr Grima is a poet and lecturer in Maltese literature at the University of Malta.
We love to explain complex human developments by organising them into convenient timelines composed of simple historical sequences that allow us to see a clear beginning, protagonists and secondary figures, causes and effects. These simplifications are not only about reducing detail: They are also, possibly, a misrepresentation of the "facts" precisely because not telling the whole story is quite literally changing it. With this note of caution, I will proceed to simplify, to reduce the irreducible to a series of names and characteristics in an inevitably very subjective take on recent developments in our literature.
As I see it, the work that marks the beginning of the new wave of Maltese literature is Henry Holland's largely unknown short collection of poetry, L-Artist tat-Trapiz (1996). It is not Mr Holland's fault that the book hasn't attracted the attention it deserves. A literature is so much more than a body of works written over a stretch of time "by" a community: It is, perhaps first and foremost, about that body of works being read, coming alive in the consciousness of individuals in the community in a very real way. And this cannot happen if that community lacks a solid infrastructure that first produces the book and presents it to its potential readers.
The book infrastructure is as important in the creative process as the writer: Good editors, publishers, critics, TV presenters, school teachers, cultural officers, festival organisers, literary magazines make the book. Can we have a literature if we don't have any of that? Isn't it telling that the fate of what is arguably one of the most interesting books of Maltese poetry of the 1990s so eloquently sums up the predicament, or should we say "challenges", to choose a popular euphemism, of Maltese literature today?
I am not saying, of course, that Mr Holland's book, with its crisp new voice and perspectives, with the honesty of its new language and the personal stories he tells about recent Maltese history, had a profound effect, as it certainly could have had, on the literature that came after it. What I am saying is that in his book, and in the poems that he has published since, you will find new Maltese poetry, a literary voice that you cannot place among those of the established writers.
Another significant development in literature written in Maltese is the emergence of at least three (there are more) women writers. With her strong commitment to Maltese writers and Maltese literature on a personal but also on a national and international level, and with the publication of five collections of poetry, three of which are in Maltese, Maria Grech Ganado has helped to shape the language and the themes of the new literature. Clare Azzopardi, with her intelligent, highly innovative and often trenchant prose, and Simone Inguanez, with her engaging poetry, have opened up our literature to new literary experiences. Two other significant voices among those who are taking Maltese poetry into unchartered waters are Norbert Bugeja and Walid Nabhan, but there are others.
The best-known writer of the new generation is Immanuel Mifsud. His five collections of short stories and three selections of poetry (apart from his publications abroad) have established him as a brave narrator of strong emotions and tough, often distressing experiences. But his success lies also, if not mainly, in the fact that he has proved to be a versatile writer, both in terms of the breadth of the stories he tells and the structure, metaphor and tone he employs. The prose works of Bernard Micallef, Guzè Stagno and Karl Schembri, for different reasons, have also given new voices and dimensions to Maltese literature. But then so has Trevor Zahra, with his insatiable thirst for breaking new ground in content and form. His, too, is new writing.
One last point before the unavoidable disclaimer: Much of this new literature has either been self-published or supported by Inizjamed, Klabb Kotba Maltin and Merlin Library.
Many of those whose work I have not mentioned here will rightly feel that I have wronged them, and I apologise in advance. I was aware from the outset that with a limited wordcount, this article would be partial and that it would hint at specific issues to the inevitable exclusion of others. The new wave of literature needs more space than this - but that's another story. Or perhaps the story.
• Dr Grima is a poet and lecturer in Maltese literature at the University of Malta.