Extracts from the talk "In the Eye of the Storm: Edgar Austin Mittelholzer (1909-1965)" at Moray House Trust on 19 December 2015

FOR VIDEO EXTRACTS PLEASE CLICK ON THE LINKS BELOW

Part One - The Anguish of 1000 Massacred Dreams

Part Two - The Trinidad Years 1941-1948

Please note I am incorrectly referred to as "Associate Professor, London Metropolitan University".  I was an Associate Fellow at the Caribbean Studies Centre at the London Metropolitan University but am now an Independent Scholar.

Identity, 'Afropolitanism and Taiye Selasi's Ghana Must Go

The title of Taiye Selasi's book Ghana Must Go (2013) caught my attention for several reasons.  Firstly when economic crises in 1983 and 1985 resulted in the expulsion, at short notice, of approximately 2 million Ghanaian immigrants from Nigeria, the bags most readily used as ‘suitcases’ were christened ‘Ghana Must Go’.  These large rectangular plastic bags – plaid in design (often white, blue and red) and made in China – were and still are available in most parts of the world.  Generally associated with refugees or traders, they have as a result of being transnational acquired a wide variety of names.  In Trinidad they are, for instance, known as Guyanese Samsonite and in Germany, “Tuekenkoffer” (i.e., Turkish suitcases).  In 2006 the bags having been given the Louis Vuitton stamp of approval then morphed, somewhat unexpectedly, into desirable fashion accessories.  As possible metaphors for migration, displacement, exile, social mobility and transnationalism the title of Selasi’s book appeared to be a stroke of genius.  

I was intrigued but wondered never having previously heard of Selasi, if I would enjoy her debut novel.    I had listened to her reading a passage from Ghana Must Go on the popular American Diane Rehm NPR Show but was left slightly irritated by a description of her Ghanaian character Ama: she sleeps heavily, ‘like a cocoyam.  A thing without senses’ and dreams about ‘sugar plums and Tchaikovsky.’  ‘Cocoyam’, lovely metaphor but ‘sugar plums and Tchaikovsky’?  Really?  The possible authenticity and timeliness of Selasi’s book only became clear to me after researching her background. The product of an increasingly transnational world, Selasi is a self-described Afropolitan.  She explains in her 2005 article ‘Bye-Bye Barbar’ that this term applies to many African people who work and live in cities around the globe: ‘they belong to no single geography, but feel at home in many’; most are multilingual, speak an indigenous language, some sort of urban vernacular and find a sense of self in at least one place on the African continent (‘nation-state, city or ‘auntie’s kitchen’’).  In their cultural hybridity they are ‘Africans of the World’.   

In a moment of self-reflection, I wondered if perhaps I was an Afropolitan?    I speak Hausa and English, a smattering of Twi and French, was born and partially-educated in Nigeria, have a Ghanaian mother, an English father and Guyanese husband; am as comfortable in Guyana as I am in America, Nigeria, Ghana or Britain.  I know London like the back of my hand and am constantly switching between provincial-English, London-English, Nigerian-pidgin, Ghanaian-pidgin and Guyanese-Creole (the latter in a very bad accent) and all depending on whom I’m talking to, or where I am.  More tellingly I am just as likely to dream about listening to Fela Kuti, Florence and The Machines or Beethoven: to dream about eating Kenke and Fish, Gari and Okra Soup,Metegee, or a Sunday roast.   

Perhaps I had unwittingly internalized the notion that identity could only be authentic if bound to a single nation. When I first moved to Britain in 1980 – more specifically the Northern town of Wigton - I found life as a person of dual heritage frustrating and alienating: most people insisted on knowing exactly where I really came from; the question of course implying somewhere other than Britain.  Evidence of this otherness was reinforced by a variety of clichéd refrains: sambo, coloured, half-caste, golliwog, wog, fuzzy-wuzzy or nigger and comments like: “How do you cope with all those flies?”  Back in Nigeria and Ghana my status of mulatto, half-caste, Bature, Jan Kunne, Oyinbo and Obroni Koko had similarly been reminders of my not-quite-being-ness.  With the added mix of motifs - ‘You’ve got a chip on your shoulder’, my father’s instruction to be ‘stiff-upper lipped’, and the Shadists, ‘Is cos you is light-skinned, yuh tink you is better dan me?’ - whatever I felt (injustice, alienation and the negation of my black-white heritage) was silenced by the shame of self-pity.  Shadism, predicated on one’s approximation to white people of course still exists in the black community and in different forms (e.g., the prevalence of skin-lightening and ‘not-Afro-hair’ hairstyles, straightening chemicals, weaves and wigs, that Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie addresses in her new novel, Americanah).  That said it might be as much to do with Western ideals of beauty and their continuing global dominance where means of production is concerned, particularly within the fashion industry.  It certainly seems to me that the effects on ordinary white women are at least, to some extent, similar.   But that is a whole other essay!

In hindsight I had become attached to notions of ‘authentic’ in terms of the ‘authentic’ Nigerian, ‘authentic’ Briton or the ‘authentic’ Ghanaian I later, and for complex reasons tried to be, before realizing I could not.  Perhaps I was also so used to the boundaries of African literature and African people being set by ‘outsiders’ that I had not been able to consider the possibility of presenting my hybrid Afro-Anglo-Sometimes-Wannabe-Caribbean-Human identity as valid literary fodder and in some related way had not been able to accept the literary proposition of Ghanaian Ama dreaming sugar plums and Tchaikovsky.  Adichie’s welcome and prescient warnings about the dangers of being limited to a single story and the need to change the broken record of starvation, war and corruption had seemed obvious to me.  These narrow and warped images of Africa had long been the source of irritation.  But what I had not understood was that the culturally-hybrid voice of transnationals with African roots (though perhaps born elsewhere) would be a welcomed addition to that mix.  

It was perhaps personal experience that led me to the spurious belief most people were still unwilling or unable to accept - in undiluted form - the complex nature of hybrid identities.  Less than ten years ago it was not uncommon for people to ask me which race – black or white – I identified with.  The notion that I had embraced both and was unwilling to reject one or the other was constantly challenged with: ‘Yes, but that doesn’t make sense’.  What Selasi’s ‘Bye Bye Barbar’ imparts, at least for me, is permission to partake in public expression of my own cultural ‘uniqueness’: that my cooking-pot of influences and experiences is a valid dish of its own.  However, having lived outside a clearly identifiable category for so many decades the Johnny-come-lately adoption of the funky new label, Afropolitan, does not feel particularly appropriate for me.  It may just be that while Nigeria, as the place of my birth,  has a special, unbreakable claim on my heart, the equal love I have for both of my late parents, means that I will always prefer to define myself as a person of dual heritage.

The important point however is that the reception of Taiye Selasi’s Afropolitan novel has been, by and large, extremely positive.  This would appear to be one of several markers that times are changing; that publishers are now more open to, and interested in, complex cultural/ethnic identities.  The same applies to the Caribbean where the canon of literature (as prescribed by academics) has until recently given precedence to the folk culture stories of working-class Afro-Caribbeans at the expense of, for instance, those previously classed as ‘Coloured middle-class’ or middle brow (ref Belinda Edmonson’s Caribbean Middle-Brow).  This was in many ways a valid response to the history of enslavement, the colonial demonization of African culture, the need to develop a Caribbean identity and to redress the hegemonic imbalance of the ‘races’.  

But the truth is arguably that the Caribbean community was and remains, one of the most transnational in the world; and that they have much in common with ‘Afropolitans’, particularly in terms of the diverse cultural resources at their disposal.  In the context of globalization, real or virtual transnational migration is on the increase and there is no doubt that we are likely to see more writers like Selasi, asserting their right to embrace the cultural cookie-jars of their various ‘homes’, while remaining deeply attached in some way to their ancestral roots.  That said, it is important to remember that only 3% of the world’s population lives in a place other than the country of their birth.

When I heard that Selasi would be in conversation with Hannah Pool at London’s Southbank Centre on 7^th April 2013 I seized the opportunity to meet her.   Selasi – the epitome of Afropolitan pizzazz – did not disappoint.  Her smooth Boston-accent, rich infectious laughter, her fabulously coiffured raven-black Afro-hair, lithe-figure, clean-lined black top and trousers, and flamboyant high-heeled fuchsia-pink shoes bore the mark of confidence, elegance, and a ‘joie-de-vivre’.  As her conversation with Hannah Pool progressed I discovered that Selasi had a BA from Yale and an MPhil from Oxford; that she had been encouraged to write her highly-applauded short story ‘The Sex Lives of African Girls’ by Toni Morrison whom she’d met while still at Oxford and that, as though she were not talented enough, had launched in 2012 a multimedia project to photograph and film twenty-something-year-olds in all 54 African countries.  Born in England, raised primarily in Massachusetts (hence the accent), Selasi - of Nigerian (Yoruba), Ghanaian (Ewe) and Scottish heritage - has for now, settled in Rome.    Captivated by her charm I somewhat inevitably bought her book and proceeded to read it on the bus home.

    So what did I think?  As the vast majority of the reviews have attested Selasi has every reason to be proud of her debut novel.  The story focuses on the interior lives of Kweku Sai and his family.  Kweku, an accomplished Ghanaian surgeon is the husband of Folasade Savage, a Nigerian of Yoruba and Igbo heritage with some Scottish ancestry, whom he had met in the United States.  Together they sired four children: Olu, the eldest son; Taiwo and Kehinde, twins; and Sadie, their last born daughter.   In the opening sentence of part one (entitled ‘Gone’) the narrator explains that: “Kweku dies barefoot on a Sunday before sunrise” and proceeds to replay over and over again the moments before his death in the manner of a musical refrain.    I should clarify that each ‘refrain’ offers incremental insights into the years building up to his death by shifting to-and-fro between different periods of his life.  

In many respects this technique - used by other authors such as the pioneering Guyanese novelist, Edgar Mittelholzer (1909-1965) - is analogous to a sonata, in that the harmonic possibility of the exposition is explored, revisited and developed.  The desire to understand Kweku’s life compels the reader through to the end of the novel.  The second part (‘Going’) focuses on the family members: the impact of their father leaving home without explanation or prior warning 16-years earlier, and their response to news of his death.  The final part (‘Go’) focuses on the arrival of his children in Ghana and the role that this plays in healing the wounds that had been precipitated and/or exacerbated by his first sudden departure.   

The titles of the three distinct sections: ‘Gone’, ‘Going’, ‘Go’ offers a new spin on the clichéd phrase, ‘Going, going, gone’ and alerts the reader to Selasi’s love of wordplay (including metaphor, alliteration, assonance, consonance and repetition) - e.g., “Dewdrops on grass.  Dewdrops on grass blades like diamonds flung freely […]” (Selasi: 2013, pg 8).   Her technique of playing with lexical tenses adds to the musical-cum-poetic nature of her novel.  For instance when Taiye suspects that her estranged artist brother Kehinde has been living without her knowledge in a street near her home, the narrator asks:

“But how could he tell her […] that he doesn’t, doesn’t “live” here, or lives without “living”, […]; that it is […] a way out of the hurting, for her, who is life-full, who lives and has always lived fully on earth, in the world, in and of it, not grounded nor grounding but ground, in her person, the canvas itself? (ibid: pg 165)

Selasi’s choice of often-repeated words appear to be carefully selected for their relationship to the keynote theme of ‘Death’ that runs throughout the novel (e.g., life, ground, gone, leaving, left) in its various forms.  The ‘death’ of Kweku and Fola’s marriage reminds us how quickly a relationship, which takes years to build, can disintegrate in seconds, and indeed echoes many of the novel’s references to the fragility or passing of life.  

But what I like the most about Selasi’s novel is the way in which she subtly highlights the damage created by ‘silences’; the fractures that are wrought by her characters’ inability to communicate openly with each other.  So that while we are told: “So often one knows, without seeing, the truth” (ibid: pg 117), and while ‘knowing’ is presented in some ways as one of the esoteric wonders of human life (e.g., Fola instinctively knows when her children are in pain, as their pain manifests itself in different parts of her body), we soon learn that the divisions in the family have been created by misunderstandings and the lack of open, frank discussion.   Kweku’s son, Olu, provides a classic example of this.  He implicitly interprets his father’s, and grandfather’s, abandonment of their respective families in terms of the prevalent stereotype: the adulterous, irresponsible black man.  This adds to the shame he feels about Africa and leads him to promise his Asian wife, Ling, that he will be better than them.   What he does not recognize is that his father and his grandfather before him had strived to do their best as providers for their families but had been emasculated by their ultimate lack of power within the context of a racist world.   

Kweku had been unfairly sacked for the inevitable death of a patient because the hospital needed to quell the patient’s racist family’s call for ‘justice’.  Olu’s grandfather had similarly been jailed for attempting to protect his grandmother from the sexual abuse of a white officer.  Their crime, if it can be considered that, was an inability to transcend their sense of shame for the greater good of the family.  These episodes are a reminder about the importance of knowing and of talking about our history.  They also operate as an indictment of those who bemoan the ‘state of African families’ without acknowledging the role that institutional racism has played in destabilizing them.   

Selasi’s novel as importantly – and I had not anticipated this – begins a discussion on the issue of authenticity.  Olu is for instance, mocked by Taiwo because he travels with a backpack: she sees it as ‘further proof of the “white boy” who lived inside’ him (ibid: pg 249). Taiwo is herself subjected to the question of authenticity when a Ghanaian cab driver in the US asks: “W-where are y-you from? […] What are you? […]  What are your eyes?”  It is her accent, appearance and ‘strange’ eyes that confuse him: the latter being “an inheritance, the color, from the Scottish great-grandmother” (ibid: pg 137).  

The narrator provides further examples of how easy it is to jump to the wrong conclusion about an individual’s identity and belonging.  For example Taiwo accuses her sister of wanting to be white just because of the company she keeps and the way she speaks, without ever understanding the nuanced nature of Sadie’s inner desires – i.e., to be part of her best friend’s family not because of their race but rather because of the security and stability they offer.  

Similarly when Kehinde offers a hawker in Ghana, 5 US dollars, from the window of a taxi, the driver attempts to discourage him by stating that they are Mauritanian thieves who steal from tourists.  The driver laughs when Kehinde makes the assertion: “We’re not tourists” (ibid: pg 209).  

The irony however is that the driver would “rather be ferrying some tense blond-haired couple in his taxi than them” (ibid: pg 210).  The theme of authenticity is clearly directed (but as relevant to other ethnic communities) at Selasi’s black / African readership.  Though never explicitly stated she is surely asking that we attempt to transcend narrow, divisive judgements about the identity of individuals based on the often-times misleading signifiers of ‘shade’, phenotype, accent and class.  I, of course, could not agree more.  Will I be eagerly awaiting another novel by Selasi?  Most emphatically yes!

Juanita Cox Westmaas is a London-based academic and writer.

This article was first published in New Black Magazine on Tuesday, 23rd April 2013. 

Link to Review in New Black Magazine

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Adichie, C. “The Danger of a Single Story” in TED Talks

Available at:http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html

(Posted October 2009)

Edmonson, B. Caribbean Middlebrow (Cornell University Press: Ithaca and London, 2009)

Mittelholzer, E.  The Life and Death of Sylvia (Peepal Tree Press: Leeds, 2010)

Selasi, T. Ghana Must Go (Viking: London, 2013)

Tuakli-Wosornu, T. “Bye-Bye Barbar” in The Lip Magazine Available at:http://thelip.robertsharp.co.uk/?p=76 (Posted 3^rd March 2005)

Mittelholzer: the Standard-Bearer for Guyanese and West Indian Literature

Click below for the link to Al Creighton's article:

Article by Al Creighton

IMPRISONED by Randall Butisingh (1 Dec 1912 to 9 Dec 2012)

Like a song bird in a cage
that longs for the freedom
of field and sky and air,
So doth the soul trapped by the senses
yearn to soar to infinite freedom.
And like the song bird
that beats its wings
against prison bars of cage
and sings not,
but seeks escape to the world beyond,
So doth my soul strive
to break the bond of senses
and find the freedom of eternity.

Randall Butisingh was highly influenced not only by Eastern thought but also by the Guyanese novelist, Edgar Mittelholzer.  This poem contains echoes of the esoteric Jen (Jinnee in the bottle) narrative that runs subtextually through Mittelholzer's work and speaks to the desire of his spirit to break free from the material dross of his body/the world.

For further information about the poet, click on the following link: Randall Butisingh's Blog

Edgar Mittelholzer Memorial Lecture 2014

 Edgar Austin Mittelholzer’s Creative Genes(is) & the Geni(us) behind it.

 “Let the Divine energy work through you, and express itself fully in your work.” [Ramacharaka, Y.  Advanced Course in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism (1917) p. 23]

A J Seymour, in a 1952 pen portrait of Mittelholzer, stated the author had declared his key themes were ‘sex and religion’.[1]  In my PhD thesis I go to some lengths to demonstration how the two themes are intimately interlinked.  But for the purposes of this paper and because of time restrictions I  focus primarily on the theme of religion.   I’ll provide an overview of his religious influences and hope to show that an understanding of his interest in Oriental Occultism is imperative to an understanding of the man.  It also offers the tools through which his novels can be analysed for deeper meaning.  I ultimately aim however to explore his fascination with notions of the ‘spirit-self’ (in its wide variety of forms) and how this led to the creation of a private and esoteric narrative that runs sub-textually through his novels; and how mythography shaped itself into a pattern that informed Mittelholzer’s life and perhaps his death by self-immolation.

ACHIEVEMENTS

But first let’s consider his achievements.  Mittelholzer born in 1909 of Swiss-German, English, French and African ancestry became the first of the Caribbean literati to make a professional career out of writing novels.   Though his first novel, Corentyne Thunder, was applauded by the Times Literary Supplement in 1941 for its gripping storyline, its “odd beauty” and “haunting pathos”, the events of the 2^nd world war prevented it from achieving international recognition.   Its publication was nevertheless highly significant as an exemplar of what could be achieved.   The reality was that while three West Indian novelists had preceded Mittelholzer’s success (in that their novels had been published in the UK), none had achieved this, from within the Caribbean region solely through their own efforts.[2]  As C L R James noted: “We couldn’t make it at home.  Mendes and I had work published before we left, but that was because distinguished people came to the island, we were introduced to them as “literary persons”, and they took our work away and gave it to editors; that’s how I was first published.”[3]   It is similarly likely that De Lisser’s entrance into the UK publishing industry was facilitated by one of the many elite officials he fraternised with.  These included people such as Lord Sydney Olivier, the Governor of Jamaica (1907-1913) to whom his first novel Jane’s Career (1914) was dedicated.[4]  Claude McKay’s novels were notably published in the USA long after he had left Jamaica (never to return) in 1912.[5]  Corentyne Thunder thus became a symbol of hope for other would-be novelists and certainly invited the admiration of fellow writers, like Mendes, who claimed it and I quote “the best novel so far written about this part of the world.”[6]

The significance of his second novel A Morning at the Office (1950) was immediately recognised by Henry Swanzy, editor of the BBC’s Caribbean Voices programme:

“I suppose that the [Caribbean Voices] programme may be indirectly responsible for luring so many young adventurers here […].  Obviously, one does not altogether want to discourage the more promising from chancing their arm…  […] The task is not made any easier by the success of Edgar Mittelholzer, whose novel is really outstandingly good, much the best I have ever read about the West Indies, and very high in contemporary English writing I should think.  […] His novel, and the West Indian cricketers, may give some openings to the writers in London…” [my italics][7]

Apart from the successive publication of his own novels, Shadows Move Among Them (1951), Children of Kaywana (1952) and The Weather in Middenshot (1952), novelists such as Selvon, Lamming and Mais received their first major breaks with the respective novels: A Brighter Sun (1952), In the Castle of My Skin (1953) and The Hills were Joyful Together (1953).[8]    A Morning at the Office (republished by Penguin in 1964) had thus paved the way for the vibrant literary movement of the 1950s.

The measure of his literary success can be deduced by the translation of several of his 22 novels into at least six European languages.    Other published works include an anti-capitalist novella, a travel journal, an autobiography, numerous articles, short stories and poems.   He was known at the height of his career, according to A J Seymour, to millions of English-speaking people across the world.  His novels were indeed the “hottest sellers in the paperback market” with his books selling an average of 8,000 copies.[9]   His prowess as a writer was recognised soon after the publication of his third novel, Shadows Move Among Them (1952), when he became the first Caribbean to be awarded the esteemed Guggenheim Fellowship.  The aforementioned novel, dramatised by Moss Hart, as The Climate of Eden, became the first Caribbean play to be staged on Broadway (at the Martin Beck Theatre, New York) in 1953.   The play, according to Wagner, secured a national television showing in the United States six years later.[10]    His novel, My Bones and My Flute was described by the Daily Telegraph as equal to the novels of Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu (1814-1873), the leading ghost story writer of the 19^th century.[11]  Later dramatised for radio, it is still remembered with awe and trepidation by many Guyanese listeners.  

At the time of his death, Mittelholzer was the most important literary figure that British Guiana had produced.  But this was not just in terms of writing entertaining novels.  In a tribute to the author on 10^th May 1965, the Guianese Prime Minister, L S F Burnham referred to him as: “a great author who had done much to bring our art to the eyes of the world. […] [B]y his work the author had put British Guiana on the map.”[12]  This contention has been widely acknowledged.  Before the publication of Mittelholzer’s Guiana-novels few Americans were aware of the country’s existence let alone its history.  A J Seymour’s interviewer, during a radio programme in Minneapolis, admitted that the city’s knowledge of Guiana had been derived primarily from the Kaywana series.  Mittelholzer’s aim – to record the history of Guiana in the form of popular fiction, with the specific aim of commanding a wide international audience – had worked.[13]  

There evidently remains 60 years after Mittelholzer’s death many supporters of his work.  But it has to be acknowledged that in spite of his pioneering status, he has yet to be given the recognition he deserves by the wider Caribbean.  This can be attributed to allegations of Euro-centrism, race prejudice, fascism, of being out of step with the mid-twentieth century nationalistic agenda of the Caribbean, of being morbidly obsessed with the theme of death and of failing to reign in an obsession with sex.   All of this, from my perspective, lies in an unfortunate misinterpretation of the man and his work.  

And so back to the topic of religion…

CHRISTIAN UPBRINGING

As a young child he attended Sunday school at the New Amsterdam Lutheran Church where Bible stories his grandmother had often relayed to him, were repeated and reinforced in his consciousness.[14]  In 1922 he was confirmed into the Anglican Church and soon after became an altar-server.  The importance of this event is patent:

At home and at school, one was made to feel that one was inadequate, even a little good-for-nothing runt.  But here was the Rector singling one out as first-class material, choosing one to be an altar-server!  It was a revolution in values.  I agreed with solemn enthusiasm to do my best.[15]

Apart from representing a space in Mittelholzer’s life where he could feel “really safe and significant”, it was also a space imbibed with romance.  Notions of being “washed of all sin” by the Holy Spirit, through the Lord’s intermediary, the bishop; his “laying on of hands” and the resultant transmission of the “divine spark”, all charged and nurtured Mittelholzer’s creative imagination.    Christianity undoubtedly played a pivotal role in his early socialisation and certain passages from the Bible seemingly helped Mittelholzer to overcome the negative impact of his father’s extreme Negrophobia.    Note for instance verses 12 and 13 in the testament of John:

“¹²Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God – ¹³children born not of natural descent nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God. [John1: 12-13 - New International Version]”. 

As the eldest of four children, he had been “the Dark One at whom [his father, William Austin] was always barking or frowning”[16]; he was the one whose birth, as a swarthy child, was considered a moment of monumental disappointment.

While he rejects Orthodox Christianity by the time he is an adult, the teachings of the apostle John (in particular John verses 1-14) aid our understanding of his literary genesis.  As someone with literary ambitions, one can appreciate the mystical power of verses 1 and 14: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  // The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.”  [The Holy Bible: New International Version].  John and his brother, James are notably described by Jesus as the Sons of Thunder: apostles whose quick tempers provoke their desire to call “down fire from heaven” (Mark: 3:17 and Luke 9:51-56) when Samaritan villagers fail to offer Jesus the welcome he deserves.   These qualities would have appealed to Mittelholzer’s rebellious nature.

Occult entities in Guianese Folklore

Mittelholzer’s formal Christian upbringing was not his only source of childhood instruction on matters metaphysical.  As he reveals in With A Carib Eye his nurse - or Nana as he called her - entertained him with tales from Guianese folklore: many involving occult entities[17] like the Water People, Jumbie, Baccoo and Kanaima.  Mittelholzer’s love of myth and mystery, clearly born out of the Guianese context, were to dominate his creative thinking.    As he was to note in a non-fictional article about his home in Coburg Street:

You [could] feel the mystery of unknown tracts of land simply by staring east towards the Canje Creek.  There it is all bush where once plantations flourished.[18] 

Like the poet, Martin Carter, he felt that the interior was a “ghostly premise”.[19]   A sensibility for the supernatural finds exemplification in Mittelholzer’s My Bones and My Flute when Rayburn observes that the people living up river: “were always seeing some jumbie or hearing a kanaima”: “an evil spirit of the jungle which sometimes lodges itself in the body of a human being, turning the individual so possessed into a homicidal fiend...”[20] 

But did Mittelholzer believe in the actual existence of these supernatural or occult entities?    The easy answer is yes.  In his autobiography, he claims to have seen “many a robust ghost”[21] and talks in letters to friends, of “presences” from the “Other Side”.    In 1941 he as tellingly observed: “It seems as though some jinnee dwells on my shoulder – a jinnee of unrest”.[22]    It should be noted here that Mittelholzer was variously influenced by the tale of the “Fisherman and the Jinnee” from the collection, One Thousand and One Nights, (or Arabian Nights as it is more commonly known).  This is of course the tale of the Jinnee who had been imprisoned in a bottle for refusing to pledge obedience to his master and embrace his master’s faith.    After hundreds of years of enslavement, he is eventually released by a fisherman - who on casting his net into the sea in the hope of finding something, anything that would help to support his wife and children - pulls out the bottle and breaks off the seal.

A Morning at the Office, and the tale of The Jen that is embedded within it, are intertextually informed and influenced by the Arabian Night’s tale.   The Jen, like the Jinnee is viewed as a “dreadful monster” until confronted.  While the little girl Mooney sleeps, the Jen howls a ghost-like: “Whooo-ooo, Whooo-oom”, seemingly imploring her (and the wider society) to give some thought to whom she is; to explore her real, or as Frances Williams terms it, her ‘Genuine Self’.   But these questions are difficult to address and her nanny, Beatrice implores: “don’t let’s talk about it.”  While the jinnee can be thought of in terms of its European cognate – genie, i.e., a magical servant that turns up when summoned and grants wishes, Mittelholzer was evidently more attached to the Quran’s conception of a Jinn, (Djin or Jinnee).  These are said to be good, evil, genius, demonic or neutral spirits, that have the power to influence mankind and are variously portrayed as living independently or as part of an object.  In the Qur’an, they are said to be made of smokeless flames or ‘scorching fire’ but also importantly referred to as Children of Fire. 

In recognition of Mittelholzer’s love of word play, of word association, I ought to point out that Jen or Jenny (originally pronounced Jinny) was a common hypocorism of names like Johanna, Jane, Jean, Joan and Janet: all of which are feminine forms of the male name, John.  So that it is generally possible through ‘name’ association to work out which characters in his books he privately associates with a ‘fire spirit’, e.g., Jannee of Corentyne Thunder, Jacques Van Groenwegel of Children of Kaywana and Jack Sampson of The Life and Death of Sylvia.  The latter, described in the novel, as a “spirited”, young black man who is anti-British, anti-monarchy, anti-capitalist, communist and shouts: “Rule Britannia me backside!” while pointing out some difficult truths:

“Look, Sylvie, you know why we in dis colony can’t develop all de jungle-country we got? You know why over eighty thousand square miles of dis land lying fallow and untouched?  It’s because we mesmerized.  It’s because we walking about in a dream.  And dat’s why we’ll always be kicked around and exploited by dose imperious sons of bitches in de Colonial Office in London.”[23]

Before I return to Mittelholzer’s literary use of the John-Jinnee-Jumbie-Jen matrix – and these for him are all connected through sound and by their inherent characteristics – I need next to talk about his belief in Oriental Occultism.

Oriental Occultism

Mittelholzer adopted Yoga and Oriental Occultism at the age of 19, following an introduction to a Yogi whom he describes as: “Outwardly…no impressive specimen – he was careless in dress and habits – he nevertheless, was highly intelligent and intensely sincere.  To listen to him logically and earnestly rending to bits orthodox beliefs and conventions was, to me, a feat to marvel at.”[24]  Though he never explains what the term Oriental Occultism means, we know from an unpublished article At Forty-Three: A Personal View of the World[25] - that his yogic practices involved dieting, rhythmical breathing, contemplation, physical posturing, and abstinence from smoking, alcohol and “fleshy pleasures”; the objective of which was to conquer “the Flesh so that the Spirit might finally be released from mortal rebirth, from mortal pain and suffering”.[26]   Other articles in the Barbados Advocate (circa 1953-1956) meantime reveal that he believed, or was interested, in concepts of reincarnation, karma, astral projection, telepathy and nirvana. 

So what made a previously devote Christian convert to Oriental Occultism?    Perhaps key to Mittelholzer’s rejection of orthodox Christianity was, as implied by the aforementioned quote, a deep sense of suffering.   His autobiography reveals a far from happy childhood: his mother frequently punished him with a whip she called “Tickle Toby” while his father, physically affectionate to his siblings, tended to ignore him.  As an adult ambitiously aiming to become a writer, in what many have termed a philistine society, the problems in his life merely intensified.  Writing in 1941 he disclosed:

Life has given my heart a pretty rough time […].  If disappointments used to leave tangible physical scars on one’s heart, my heart would be found to be nothing but one great blurred tough mass of calloused flesh.[27] 

Christian prayer had presumably done little to change the painful circumstances of his upbringing or his frequent bouts of melancholy.   Writing in 1954 for the Barbados Advocate on a similar theme, Mittelholzer stated:

Isn’t it inevitable that as the child develops and discovers for itself what life is really like, bitterness and disillusion must result?  How soon doesn’t the poor creature realise that “Gentle Jesus” doesn’t protect him from starvation or the stalking sex-maniac in the park![28]

Perhaps too, he had never felt particularly loyal to a single tradition.  Whilst his paternal grandfather had been a Lutheran Pastor, his Uncle John became a Roman Catholic and his father, an Anglican.   His maternal grandmother with whom his family lived was a Congregationalist.  Within this family set-up, no monolithic interpretation of the Bible was agreed upon.     An article in the Barbados Advocate, entitled “God on Earth” offers this supposition some credibility but also indicates why Oriental Occultism was appealing: “How chaotic and childish western people appear when contrasted with the calm and detachment of the truly noble men of the East.  How much more credible and satisfying – and peaceful – is the Nirvana of Buddhism than the vulgar “heavens” of the Occident – and I make it plural, for, so far as I can see, no two Christians have coincided in their definitions of heaven.”[29]

While Oriental Occultism was to remain a life-long source of inspiration and constant study for Mittelholzer, he felt unable to continue living like a Yogi because of the unwelcome pillorying he received from the coloured middle class community of New Amsterdam – they thought him mad.  He had also discovered (note his honesty): “…that the pleasures of the world were not so bad as [he] aesthetically wanted to think”[30].   It is important to highlight that Mittelholzer was also familiar at this stage of his life with the Mahabharata and was presumably struck – given the Christian and Islamic themes of ‘fire’  - by descriptions of the Pandu prince, Arjuna, as a “swarthy young man, a burning cinder hidden by ash”; and by that of Draupadi; the beautiful dark-skinned young woman who together with her brother had emerged from a smokeless sacrificial fire.  These religious texts led Mittelholzer to believe that issues of race, colour and class – material notions of who we are – were to be transcended by the search for our ‘Real’ spiritual selves. 

Mittelholzer’s religious beliefs did filter through into the themes of his early work but only in esoteric form.  His novel Sylvia has death as one of its central themes but few would appreciate that it is in many respects a ‘Buddhist’ meditation on death.  The only real hint in the novel that Oriental Occultism may be a key influence appears in the abstruse words proffered by Grantley Russell:

This business of living can be a barren affair.  Pleasure, Goo-Goo, without an oriented outlook, affords no satisfaction.  That may be above your head, but never mind.  I like saying profound things to you. [my italics][31]

The first of Mittelholzer’s novels to deal explicitly with the theme of Oriental Occultism was his tenth novel, A Tinkling in the Twilight (1959).  Mittelholzer explains in a letter to A J Seymour :

It is the first time that I’ve cared to bring so clearly into the open my strong attachment to Oriental occultism and Yoga.  I’ve held these beliefs since I was 19, but in my writings have never liked to reveal them because I know perfectly well I can prove nothing I say on the basis of plain logic (and unfortunately, the Western World can only be convinced by “rational” arguments).  Belief in the teachings of the Orientals, I realise, must come from within.[32]

So like the key protagonist of his ghost story My Bones and My Flute, Mittelholzer was reluctant to put occultist/psychic experiences into print because of modern day attitudes to phenomena that could not be scientifically measured.[33] 

But like Esmeralda of The Weather Family[34] and the Oriental Occultist and ex-Church of England priest, Tom Dellow, in The Wounded and The Worried the author’s desire to share his beliefs became overwhelming:

I won’t be completely happy until I get you all to believe in what I believe.  If I could even get you to a point where you won’t sneer, you won’t be sceptical, won’t tell me I’m mad, I’d be content. [...]  The sneers, the sceptical smirks, of people who are supposed to be intelligent, enlightened.  It gives me a terrible feeling of despair – an exasperation and frustration beyond all endurance – when I’m sneered at for what I know to be the truth. [35]

The fear of being scoffed at lead him to portray his characters as “a little nutty”.  Their nuttiness, he believed, would enable readers to excuse any views they might otherwise consider implausible[36]. The author’s fears were not unwarranted for many of the reviews of A Tinkling in the Twilight were disparaging with one notably wishing that “Mr. Mittelholzer would come off his astral plane”.[37] 

A Tinkling in the Twilight importantly provides the first comprehensive list of Oriental Occultist texts that Mittelholzer had, like his character, Margaret Beaver, undoubtedly read and absorbed: namely, “Fourteen Lessons in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism. . . Hatha Yoga. . . The Bhagavad-Gita . . . Advanced Course in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism. . . Science of Breath.”[38]  What becomes apparent is that while Mittelholzer did not believe in the orthodox Christian conception of God, he did believe in the existence of an all-pervading spiritual power: variously described by Ramacharaka as ‘The Absolute’, Nature, God, the Divine, and by Buddhists as the Supreme Buddha.  Though the notion of the Arabic Jinn with its multitude of personalities/projections (evil, good, demonic) remained with him it should be noted that the Islamic conception of the ‘children of fire’ became more closely associated with Mittelholzer’s ‘Jen’; notion of the ‘divine spark’ within; and the ‘Real Self’.

THE GENI(US) IN CHILDREN OF KAYWANA

It is an understanding of Ramacharaka’s texts and Mittelholzer’s creation of the esoteric John-Jinnee-Jumbie-Jen matrix that - when used in conjunction with knowledge of the author’s socio-religious upbringing, and non-fictional writings - can help critics to anchor meaning in Mittelholzer’s novels. While time prevents me from going into detail here I would like to expand on what I mean, by exploring aspects of Mittelholzer’s novels with particularly attention being given to Children of Kaywana. 

In the Arabian Night’s story of the Fisherman and the Jinnee, the fisherman asks of the jinnee: “But what is your history, pray, and how came you to be imprisoned in this bottle?”[39]  Is this the question that prompted Mittelholzer to consider his own identity in terms of the physical as well as the spiritual Karmic world: to later on write a trilogy about the turbulent history of British Guiana, beginning with Children of Kaywana?  Perhaps.  What I can say is that the trilogy which commences in 1611 and traces the social, political and economic history of the Van Groenwegel family, contains sub-textual traces of the story of “The Fisherman and the Jinnee”, while also attempting to answer the call of the spirit Jen, “Whoooo, Whoooom”.  

Given Mittelholzer’s known love of word play, the Children of Kaywana can be read as the history of the ‘Children of Fire’ for whilst Kaywana is said to mean “Old Water”, other characters frequently allude to her ‘Fire Blood’.  Indeed the first chapter of the novel, “A Jet of Fire” [my italics] points paradigmatically to the symbolic connection between Kaywana and Mittelholzer’s idea of the Jen/Jinnee and this, reinforced in the words of August Vyfuis who passionately loves her:

Yes, you have spirit.  From the first day I saw you I knew you were an unusual person.  A jet of fire. [40]

 As a “half-breed” of mixed English and Amerindian ancestry she represents for Mittelholzer the starting point of modern Guianese history.   August Vyfuis her first lover importantly points out that she is different from other Amerindian girls (on account it would seem of her mixed blood); she is clever, “everything better and different”.[41]   As his first name suggests, he is like Kaywana, an awe-inspiring character, impressive and someone to be respected.   August dies in battle, and leaves Kaywana pregnant with a son that she names after him.   August junior - who later adopts the surname of Kaywana’s second partner, Adriansen van Groenwegel - becomes the father of the mulatto slaves, Hannah and Katrina.  Using the standard notion of genetics, Kaywana’s fire-blood (or jinnee-spirit) appears to be passed on to later generations.    The point I want to make here is that while Mittelholzer sticks to the standard historical portrayal of slavery, many of the so-called ‘inferior’ characters (e.g., Janny, the illegitimate mulatto grandson of Henrickje) are privately and on an esoteric level viewed as heroes.   In other words, all the negative stereotypes that are associated with their mulatto heritage are transcended, in Mittelholzer’s mind, by actions that are in keeping with their ‘Real Selves’, their fire-spirits. 

Far from viewing the world in terms of binary opposites – in this instance – spirit and flesh – Mittelholzer’s aim was to explore his themes holistically.   Gilkes has argued that Mittelholzer’s novels are preoccupied with “two-ness”[42]: black versus white, hereditary versus environment, strong versus weak and so forth.  On one level Gilkes’ assertions are correct.  However, it is important to recognise that Mittelholzer’s themes, rooted in the teachings of the Bhagavad Gita are about the need to transcend these conceptual limitations.   As Krishna tells Arjuna most people fail to seek unity, nurturing instead their ‘otherness’:

Blinded by the pair of opposites, O Prince their eyes filled with the smoke of illusion – seeking instead of Unity, the opposing forms of like and dislike; men walk in the field of the Universe, deluded, all.  Nay, not all – for there be a few who have freed themselves from the pair of opposites – who have discarded attachment – who have cleared their eyes of the smoke of illusion; such as these, O Prince, know Me to be the One – the All – and hold to me, steadfast and constant, in their love and devotion. [my italics][43]

There are those who may criticise Mittelholzer for giving especial attention to the fate of the mixed race characters (which for him perhaps represents the holistic blending of ‘binary opposites’ – black/other with white) in this novel.  His reposte would be that he considered himself a member of the “world’s human community”[44] but that “[It] is the complex nature of […] social origins, and the conflicting loyalties involved in the scheme of […] race, class and economic status, which dictate that each [novelist] must tread his own lone-wolf path of literary expression.”[45] 

Mittelholzer importantly rejected pseudo scientific theories of race; the notion that race biologically determined such things as intelligence or strength.   The contention, according to Sparer, that he had internalised Western ideologies of race, is patently false.   While issues of race dominate his Caribbean-set novels, it is an attempt at social realism, not an attempt  (conscious or sub-conscious) at perpetuating negative stereotypes.   It is an attempt, having born the brunt of his father’s misguided Negrophobia, to force his contemporaries to question their attitudes toward each other.   It was also sometimes an attempt to provoke anger, reflection and change as suggested by his poem, “Pitch-Walk Mood”.  While looking at the curved belly of a pregnant girl, the poet ponders on the purpose of life and wonders if the unborn child will grow up to be a fool or “with pen or voice contumely hurl / upon his fellows […] and slash awake a thousand fears to quicken the leaven of his native land? –“[my italics].[46]   And it is of course sometimes the result of irritation at being bound, restricted in the material world, by the dross of race. 

Talking in Oriental Occultist terms in the Barbados Advocate he notably attributes Churchill’s greatness not to genes but to the accumulated experience of previous lives:

What manner of man could this be upon whom the Fates decided so haphazardly to bestow so many virtues of character?  Could it merely be the result […] of a change arrangement of chromosomes?  Or could the Orientals be right in that he is a being who lived before and who has merely returned, bringing all the attributes of his past selves, to carry on where he left off?[47]

Without wanting to labour the point, it should be noted that in the Children of Kaywana the narrator attempts to demonstrate that white blood is not automatically an index of strength of character.   Griselda van Groenwegel, wife of Willem, is ‘pure’ German and described as soft, as weak.   Their similarly weak son Reinald marries a Flemish woman, Juliana and they in turn have their son, Ignatius.    The fiery protagonist Hendrickje, who has inherited black blood from her mother, Katrina, chooses to marry her cousin, Ignatius, falsely believing it will help to retain the family’s ‘fire-blood’.  Ignatius, a mix of Carib and European, turns out to be as weak in character as his father and grandmother before him.   Ignatius’s ineffectual personality provokes the wrath of Hendrickje who feeling the need to hurt “all soft and weak things” crushes his will to live.  So while Mittelholzer’s novels address the issue of heredity, at a subtextual level it is not about the genetic traits pseudo scientists associate with race but rather those associated with Karma, or Jen(etic) heritage.

I turn now to Mittelholzer’s theme of strength (and linked notions of the brutality of life), which has at times been interpreted as ‘right wing’.  In Corentyne Thunder, Stymphy’s romantic conceptualisation of nature prevents him from recognising the real hardships of country living until he is exposed to the frowsy smell of Ramgolall’s hut.  In Sylvia, the eponymous heroine is forced to change her idyllic view of working-class society when her own economic downfall becomes a struggle for survival.  In Children of Kaywana Jacques van Groenwegel was instinctively drawn like Mittelholzer to think of nature in romantic terms - “If only…life could be just a soft, cool breeze at night-time and the fragrance of dry-weather plants”[48].  He soon, however, comes to “the depressing truth that it takes strength to make a secure world”[49] and eventually learns to cultivate the ‘warrior’ side of his personality.  This, though the uninitiated reader will not know it, is in keeping with the Oriental Occultist teachings of Yogi Ramacharaka that state: ““Look for the warrior, and let him fight in thee.”  Look for him; believe in him; trust him; recognise him – and let him fight the battle for you.”[50]

 Jacques’s grandmother, Hendrickje, is in her ruthless adherence to the family tradition the ultimate paragon of fighter blood:  “No van Groenwegel must ever run from an enemy.  We stay and fight.”[51]  It is through her actions that the author’s theme of strength is pushed to an extreme:

No one who thinks and observes what goes on around us can believe in such a myth as God or the teachings of the Church.  Life is brutal, Adrian.  The stronger survive, and the weaker get crushed.  It isn’t pleasant to think of it, but it’s the truth, and one must not avoid the truth.   [my italics][52]

The ‘strong versus the weak’ theme that Gilkes et al identify as Nietzschean is more importantly a concept that is central to the teachings of the Bhagavad Gita. 

In the Bhagavad-Gita Arjuna and Krishna, (the Supreme Spirit) are overlooking a battle that takes place between family members.[53]   Overcome with grief, Arjuna expresses the desire to die rather than defend himself against one of his kinsmen[54].  Krishna responds by telling him his “utterances” contain the seeds of outer wisdom but reveal a lack of knowledge about the inner doctrines of the wise.    As a member of the warrior caste it is his duty to put aside “childish grief”, pursue victory and “fight well”:

If thou chance to be slain in the battle, the warrior’s heaven wilt be thy reward; if victorious thou emergeth from the fray, the joys of earth await thee.  Therefore, O Prince of Pandu, arise and fight! being willing to take whatever betideth thee – be it pain or pleasure; loss or gain; victory or defeat; thine only concern being whether thou has done thy best […].  That is your plain Duty! [my italics][55]

I’d like to highlight here that Krishna’s battle cry Victory or Defeat, seemingly influenced Mittelholzer’s adoption of the German military refrain Sieg Oder Tod[56] (meaning Victory or Death).   

LAWS OF NATURE

If this all seems harsh, to Mittelholzer’s mind it merely represented the universal laws of nature.  As the character, Tom Dellow explains to Gwen Wellings in the Wounded and the Worried (1962):

“The law that controls human destiny is a neutral law.  It leaves us free to use it either for good or for evil.”

“But what about God?  Isn’t God love?

“God is the Law.”[57]  

For Oriental Occultists it is Nature (in which the Absolute is manifest) that provides the principles or laws upon which human lives should be based:

Hatha Yoga is first, nature; second, nature, and last NATURE.  When confronted with a choice of methods, plans, theories, etc., apply to them the touchstone: “Which is the natural way?” and always choose that which seems to conform the nearest to nature.[58]

Modern civilized races, Ramacharaka asserts had forgotten the existence of nature in their “rush towards externals” and were by implication on the wrong path.[59] In other words, human practices that did not “square with nature” needed to be discarded.[60]   

This in many ways explains Mittelholzer’s carefully rendered descriptions of environment, descriptions for which he is famed and which on the one hand describe the beauty of nature, but on the other hand illustrate it’s destructiveness as in Hurricane Janet of The Weather Family and it’s indifference to human life as depicted in Corentyne Thunder:

Ramgolall was dead. […] A frog squeaked somewhere behind the mudhouse.  […]  No, nothing had changed at all.  Surely the savannah must know that Ramgolall was dead and that there were pebbles and pieces of dried mud lying scattered on the floor of the mud-house.  It looked so untroubled, the same as they had been yesterday and all the days before: the sky blue, the wind cool, the sun red because it was low in the west.  // Ramgolall was dead, but the whole Corentyne remained just the same.[61]

Psychic Projections

In The Jilkington Drama the key protagonist, Garvin expresses a mystical affinity with all weather, which Mittelholzer as an Oriental occultist and amateur meteorologist shared:

‘Do you sometimes feel yourself a projection of the weather?’ said Garvin. ‘As if you might be an emanation of rain falling, or sunshine in the trees?  Or fog?  Or even thunder and lightning? … / … that’s how I feel sometimes. … Perhaps it’s something mystical in my make-up.’

[…] And God is in the weather – as in everything else.  Well, it’s the weather that acts as my link with God.  I feel I have a kinship with every kind of weather.’ [my italics][62]

The notion of psychic and or astral projections takes various forms in the Mittelholzer canon and were again influenced by Ramacharaka’s Fourteen Lessons in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism: the topics of which include “Human Aura”, “Thought Dynamics”, “Telepathy, Clairvoyance”, “Human Magnetism”, “Psychic Influence” and “The Astral World”.  

But notions of psychic projection may also have been influenced by the doctrines of The Tibetan Book of the Dead, which according to Mittelholzer’s eldest daughter was a book he often read, perhaps seriously, perhaps for literary inspiration.    The Tibetan text asserts that when an individual enters “bardo” (the time period between death and reincarnation or enlightenment) they will be faced with terrifying self-projections: how they respond is critical to their final destiny.   This interval, if enlightenment is not attained, determines which of the six realms they will be reborn into and in what form.  Those hoping to attain liberation from rebirth need to explore the contents of their “unconscious” minds[63]: the contention being that individuals who learn to face and overcome their fear of psychic projections will be prepared for the moment of bardo.  One of the mantras that is to be recited in the moment following death appears to have captured Mittelholzer’s imagination:

Now when the bardo of dharmata dawns upon me,

I will abandon all thoughts of fear and terror,

I will recognise whatever appears as my projection

and know it to be a vision of the bardo;

now that I have reached this crucial point

I will not fear the peaceful and wrathful

ones, my own projections.[64]

The essence of this mantra, present in Arthur Lamby’s allegorical story of “The Jen” in A Morning at the Office, is more fully explored in My Bones and My Flute.  In the latter novel, the adventure that takes Milton Woodsley and the Nevinson Family beyond Goed de Vries into a jungle interior can be construed as a metaphorical journey into the unconscious or a story about the supernatural.  The manifestations (good and bad) that the characters face are projections of the Dutchman, Jan Pieter Voorman; his restless spirit seeking release from a life of purgatory.   The diary entry of the dead Dutchman explains:

It is I myself who plague myself in several forms projected and created by my errant will.  These presences bear the essence of me Jan Pieter Voorman.  When they call it is I would severally call.  The evil I have created calls at the good in me.  There are no demons but the demons our own wills evoke.  […] Holy candles and clean flames they shudder and shrink from, shriek and writhe before, and thunder tumultuously, they of the Dark, who are me and who attempt to conquer the good me.[65]

The story of Jan Pieter Voorman alludes, like the story of “The Jen”, to the inner demons that we all have to face and also to the Oriental Occultist belief that:

… those who pursue the descending path [i.e., practice black magic] meet with a terrible punishment by reason of their own acts, and are often compelled to labour for ages before [finding] their way back to the Path upon which the sun of the Spirit shines brightly.[66] 

As a musical inventor, Jan Pieter Voorman had called “to those of the Dark”[67] in a bid to add three more keys to his flute and suffered the Karmic consequences.

The notion of bad Karma, of astral beings inhabiting other planes of existence is similarly alluded to in Shadows Move Among Them.   Believing in psychic phenomenon, Mr Harmston tells Gregory about the legacy of the 1763 Berbice Slave Rebellion:

Berbice was a flourishing colony.  But the Dutch were cruel masters. […]  Two or three thousand slaves took charge of affairs practically overnight and the few hundred whites were slaughtered… […]  Later on when the Government gained control again, the rebel leaders were burnt at the stake and broken on the wheel.  Berkelhoost teams with passionate, cruel spirits.  The whole neighbourhood bristles with the residual effluvia of past violence. [my italics][68]

The author presents a different but related scenario in Morning at the Office. 

Sitting at her desk fantasising about a paramour, Miss Henery suddenly feels rough, calloused hands rubbing her thighs: hands of the dead carpenter who made her desk[69] and this was “no daydream”.   As Gilkes recognised this scenario reflected: “Mittelholzer’s […] belief in the interpenetration of … material and spiritual worlds”.[70]   It did not however, given Mittelholzer’s esoteric beliefs serve “to illustrate the unpredictable terrifying aspect of the suppressed, libidinal self”.[71]  This analysis is substantiated in My Bones and My Flute (1955).   When Mrs Nevinson insists her nightmare felt real, Milton Woodsley counters that Freud only explained dreams “as being symbolic of the functionings of the subconscious mind; he never tried to suggest that [it] might be connected with a supernatural event.”[72]  Milton is crucially rebuffed by Mr Nevinson who asks why they “should not be justified in entertaining the belief that [her nightmare] might actually be connected in some way with the events of actuality”[73] simply because it was scientifically inexplicable.[74]  Mittelholzer’s belief in Karma and the reality of a non-material psychic world explains his well-established contempt for psychology[75] and his belief that Jenetics (the spiritual kind) plays a greater role than social environment in the formation of an individual’s character.    

Death

So finally what about death?  Another of Mittelholzer’s key themes – death is not only meditated up but also portrayed as nothing to be afraid of.  In Sylvia, the drunk protagonist Bertie Dowden reflects on the “thousands – hundreds of thousands – of people all over the world who […] are unhappy” and wishes he could tell them there is no need to despair for there is death.  “Death.  A pale blue plumbago in the shade of the guava tree.”[76]   Mittelholzer’s attitude to death was undoubtedly drawn from the Bhagavad-Gita:

“How can a man who knoweth the truth – that the Real Man is eternal, indestructible, superior to time, change and accident, commit the folly of thinking that he can either kill; cause to be killed; or be killed himself? […] “Or if, perchance, thou believeth not these things and liveth in the illusion of belief in birth and death as realities – even so, asketh thee, why should thou lament and grieve?  For, if this last be true, then as certain as it is that all men have been born, so it is certain that all men must die; therefore why grieve and fret thyself over the inevitable and unavoidable?[77]

It is perhaps this that informs the author’s attitude toward criminals in his later English-set novels: i.e., his vehement support for capital punishment. 

While death is something we must all accept, what about suicide: a condition to which many of Mittelholzer’s characters are drawn?  In Hinduism, it is said suicide out of cowardice results in reincarnation to the lowest realm.  A ‘warrior’ can however vow that if he does not achieve victory (or perform a certain act) within a given time, he will end his life.  The act of prayopavesa becomes an option for Arjuna when in the Mahabharata he vows to revenge the death of his son by Jayatradha: “If I do not kill Jayatradha by sunset tomorrow, I will perform prayopavesa, by falling into fire.”[78]  In the posthumously published novel, The Jilkington Drama, the ‘nutty’ character, Garvin commits suicide by setting himself on fire.  He had hoped to find meaning in the material world through marriage to Lilli but when he discovers that she is sullied – she had slept with his father – he feels as though he has been set free: “Now what am I fit for?  Only to soar away.  To ignite a light to light my way into the dark.  The dark of Darkness where lies the true path to Reality”.[79]  He starts letting off rockets and is found by his family, standing in a “ring of fire”.   Rejecting their attempts to save him he shouts:  “Can’t you see all this is planned?  […] I have my own destiny to work out…”[80] and “other dimensions to investigate”.[81]   Severely burnt, he is taken to hospital but soon after dies.

Of course, as most of you will know, our author committed suicide in a similar way.  But Mittelholzer’s decision appears to have been influenced by the well-publicised, material events of 11^th June 1963, in which Thich Quang Duc, a Buddhist monk committed suicide by self-immolation as protest against religious persecution.    The act of writing, and then of being published, was for Mittelholzer an important expression of his freedom: his right to a voice.  It was the medium through which his spirit, his geni(us) could be channelled.  But total freedom was never his and it is this that forced him to subtextually sublimate and/or esoterically communicate his unorthodox ideas; it was this that ultimately killed his creative urge.   Though popular in the 1950s, Mittelholzer was by 1963 not only battling a crisis of confidence but also fighting for his literary survival. [82]   When he attempted suicide in July 1963 it was also because he was facing financial ruin.  Pride prevented him from accepting the financial support of his wife and friends.  When he committed suicide on 5^th May 1965, he left a note for the police explaining that: “For the past two or three years my financial situation has been hopeless and I have found it difficult to support those who depend on me. […]   As I’m unable to obtain cyanide, and in order to avoid the fiasco like that in 1963, I am resolving to the drastic method of a petrol bath and a lighted match.”[83]  In a letter to a cousin he more candidly admitted that:  “he had always been a fighter but he was tired in spirit, and the burden of disappointment and discouragement and insecurity had become too heavy”.[84] 

CONCLUSION

  To conclude, Mittelhozler’s work reflected a complex range of hidden objectives: fearing censorship, his style was deliberately abstruse.   When Grantley Russell in The Life and Death of Sylvia, for example, proclaims -

Darwin and Nietzsche knew a few sound truths.  They may not be palatable, they may not conform with Christian teaching, but the truth is the truth.[85] 

- it would have been easy to conclude, as many did, that he was Anglo-centric; that he was in support of European notions, precisely because they were European.  And as any reader of Mittelholzer’s work will have noted, the author references, or quotes from, a wide range of texts and authors, who are largely European (e.g., Clive Bell, T S Eliot, Omar Khayyam, Baruch Spinoza, Arthur Schopenhauer, William Shakespeare, Sigmund Freud, Charles Dickens and Richard Wagner).  But this has nothing to do with being so-called Anglo-centric.  On closer inspection many like Nietzsche, expressed ideas that corresponded at least to some extent, with those of Oriental Occultism.  It should be explained that Mittelholzer believed like Ramacharaka that ‘Truths’ (albeit partial or inadequately explicated) appeared in the works of some writers – Western or otherwise, even “the writer [who] may not fully understand what he has written”, courtesy of “Divine Inspiration”.[86]  Ramacharaka observed that internationally recognised Western thinkers could be cited as a means of helping the more spiritually conscious or advanced reader absorb Oriental thought and this (as a close analysis of his novels reveals) was Mittelholzer’s modus operandi.[87]

By challenging Orthodox Christianity (however jarring Christians may find this), he was subtly mocking Guyana’s colonisers; subtly rejecting the Occident, subtly elevating the importance of Orient, of the ‘Other’.  By writing about the psychic, by believing that the Id of psychology could more properly be understood as the suppressed ‘Real’ or Inner Self, it is patent that he was not mesmerised by the West or the concomitant idea that they were the bearers of superior knowledge.   It instead reveals strength of character: shows that he was a free-thinking individual.  By seeking and believing in the ‘Real Self’ he made ‘a nonsense’ of the ideologies of race.  By writing about concepts of spirit that were universal – were to be found in all communities, across all religions he created novels that are both universal and quintessentially Guyanese.

If in the end myth and imagination appear to have merged with the real, he had at least led a life that was true to his own beliefs and according to his own lights.   He had remained an individual to the core and in the process written many novels, which without question, deserve a high place in the canon of Caribbean literature.

I leave you with a quote from Ramacharaka’s Advanced Course in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism:

“Do not be a bigoted follower of teachers – listen to what they say – but apply the test of your own soul to all of it.  Do not be a blind follower.  Be an individual.  Your soul is as good a judge as any other soul – better, for you, in fact. […] Heed the voice of the Something Within. […] Look within – for there is the spark from the Divine Flame.”[88]

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[1] Seymour, A. J. “West Indian Pen Portrait: Edgar Mittelholzer” in Kyk-Over-Al (Vol. 5 No. 15, 1952) p. 16.

[2] The authors and the novels referred to are: C L R James’s Minty Alley (1936), Mendes’s Pitch Lake (1934) and Black Fauns (1935) and De Lisser’s Jane’s Career (1914), Susan Proudleigh (1915), White Witch of Rosehall (1929), and Under the Sun (1937).   H G De Lisser was a ‘pass for white’ Jamaican supporter of the colonial order, whilst C L R James and Alfred Mendes were both Trinidadians.

[3] James, C. L. R. “Discovering Literature in Trinidad: The 1930s” in Spheres of Existence (Allison and Busby: London, 1980) p. 239.

[4] Morris, M. “Jane’s Career and Susan Proudleigh” in Making West Indian Literature (Ian Randle: Kingston, 2005) p. 52.

[5] McKay’s first novel was Home to Harlem (1928) was published in New York where he lived on and off for many years.

[6] See letter dated 5 May 1942 in Ruth Wilkinson’s private collection: Letters from Mittelholzer to Ruth Wilkinson (circa March 1941 – 15^th June 1962).

[7] Letter to Frank Collymore dated 17^th May 1950 in Henry Swanzy (Caribbean Voices) Collection (Ref: Box 1: MS42 1945-1952) held at the University of Birmingham.

[8] Victor Stafford Reid published New Day in 1949 in the USA and had little impact on the UK market.

[9] Cited in Lewis P, “Mittelholzer Found Dead” in Guiana Graphic (Georgetown: 7^th May 1965) p. 6.

[10] See footnote no. 2 in Wagner, G. “Edgar Mittelholzer: Symptoms and Shadows” in BIM (Vol. 9, No. 33; July-Dec. 1961) p. 29.

[11] Cited in Mittelholzer, E. “Our Readers Say: My Bones and My Flute” in Sunday Advocate (Barbados: 6 December 1955) p. 4.

[12] Anon. “A Great Author” in Daily Chronicle: Mail Edition (Georgetown: 11^th May 1965) p. 1.

[13] Mittelholzer had recognised the need for a history of Guiana but realised that he would be unable to convince any publishers to take on the risk of a non-fictional text about a so-called colonial backwater.   See Hogarth Press Archives (Ref: MS2750/284, 1949-54) – 18 unpublished letters between Mittelholzer and his publishers held at Reading University.

[14] Mittelholzer had been sent to the Lutheran Sunday School, as the Anglican Sunday School run by ‘Negro’ teachers, was considered unsuitable. See Mittelholzer, E. A Swarthy Boy: A Childhood in British Guiana (Putnam: London, 1963) p. 47.

[15] Ibid; p. 83.

[16] Ibid; p. 28.

[17] See Mittelholzer, E.  With a Carib Eye (Secker & Warburg: London, 1958) p. 141-142.  Mittelholzer explicitly remarks in his travel journal to his nurse and the many folktales she told him including the story of the Water People.  He again refers to his nurse’s storytelling abilities in A Swarthy Boy and also in a short article, “Masquerades” in Seymour (ed), My Lovely Native Land.

[18] Mittelholzer, E. “New Amsterdam” in A. J. & E. Seymour (eds.) My Lovely Native Land (Longman Caribbean: London, 1971) p. 39.

[19] Ibid; p. 47.

[20] Mittelholzer, E. My Bones and My Flute (New English Library: London, 1974 [1955]) p. 98.

[21] Op. cit., Mittelholzer, E. A Swarthy Boy p. 20.

[22] Op. cit., Ruth Wilkinson Collection - letter dated 15^th September 1941.

[23] Mittelholzer, E.  The Life and Death of Sylvia (John Day: New York, 1954) pg.174

[24] Mittelholzer, E. At Forty-Three – A Personal View of the World (unpublished, typed manuscript, ref: 108, held in Beinecke Rare Books & Manuscript Library at Yale University – version on of two) p. 2

[25] One version was sent to Carl van Vechten in 1953 and is now held in the Beinecke Rare Books and Manuscript Library; the other was sent to Mittelholzer’s youngest brother, before being inherited by his surviving sister, Lucille Mittelholzer.  There are slight differences between both manuscripts but the essence of his message is essentially the same.

[26] Mittelholzer, E.  At Forty-Three – A Personal View of the World (Typed manuscript, ref: 108, held in Beinecke Rare Books & Manuscript Library at Yale University) p. 2.

[27] Op. cit., Ruth Wilkinson Collection - Letter dated 29 May 1941.

[28] Mittelholzer, E. “The Cure for Corruption” in Sunday Advocate (Barbados: 4 April 1954) p. 8.

[29] Mittelholzer, E. “God on Earth” in Sunday Advocate (Barbados: 8 August 1954) p. 8.

[30] Mittelholzer, E. At Forty-Three – A Personal View of the World (Typed manuscript, ref: 108, held in Beinecke Rare Books & Manuscript Library at Yale University) p. 2.

[31] Mittelholzer, E. The Life and Death of Sylvia (Secker and Warburg: London, 1953) p. 55.

[32] See letter addressed to A J Seymour dated 20^th January 1959 in A J Seymour Collection – unpublished letters between Seymour and Mittelholzer held at the University of Guyana.

[33] See Mittelholzer, E. My Bones and My Flute (New English Library: London, 1974 [1955]) p. 148.

[34] See Mittelholzer, E. The Weather Family (Secker & Warburg: London, 1958) p. 316 where Esmeralda states: “I shall die happy if I can feel that I have succeeded in convincing one mortal – even one – of the truth of these teachings [i.e., Oriental Occultism]…”.

[35] Mittelholzer, E.  The Wounded and the Worried (Putnam: London, 1962) p. 75.

[36] See Ives, J. The Idyll and the Warrior: Recollections of Edgar Mittelholzer (unpublished version in the possession of Mrs J. Ives).  p. 34.

[37] See Daily Telegraph article dated 31 July 1959 by Peter Green “Recent Fiction: Dilemmas of an Irishman” in Edgar Mittelholzer’s Newspaper Cuttings Scrap Book (in private possession of Michael Gilkes).

[38] Mittelholzer, E. A Tinkling in the Twilight (Secker and Warburg: London, 1959) pp. 118-119.

[39] Dawood, N. J. (trans.) “The Fisherman and the Jinnee” in Tales from the Thousand and One Nights (Penguin Books: London, 1973) p. 80.

[40] Mittelholzer, E. Children of Kaywana (Secker & Warburg: London, 1960 [1952]) p. 12.

[41] Ibid; p. 12.

[42] See Gilkes, M.A. The Caribbean Syzygy: A Study of the novels of Edgar Mittelholzer and Wilson Harris (1973-74 A8j Ph.D., Kent, 24-332).

[43] Op. cit., Ramacharaka, Y. The Bhagavad Gita p. 86.

[44] Mittelholzer, E. At Forty-Three – A Personal View of the World (Typed manuscript, ref: 108, held in Beinecke Rare Books & Manuscript Library at Yale University) p. 13.

[45] Mittelholzer, E. “Color, Class and Letters” in The Nation (New York: 17 January 1959) p. 57.

[46] Mittelholzer, E. “Pitch-Walk Mood” in BIM Vol.2, No. 7 (1946) pp. 52-53.

[47] Ibid; p. 6.

[48] Op. cit., Mittelholzer, E. Children of Kaywana p. 508.

[49] Ibid; p. 507.

[50] Op. cit., Ramacharaka, Y.  Advanced Course in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism p. 111.

[51] Op. cit., Mittelholzer, E. Children of Kaywana p. 70.

[52] Ibid; p. 246.

[53] In the original version of the Bhagavad Gita both of these characters are given different titles and names at different stages of the narrative: all are different projections of themselves but nevertheless confusing from the point of view of the Western Reader.

[54] Ramacharaka, Y. The Bhagavad Gita or The Message of the Master (The Yogi Publication Society: Chicago, 1911) p. 26.

[55] Ibid; p. 33.

[56] Op. cit., Mittelholzer, E. A Swarthy Boy p. 151.

[57] Mittelholzer, E. The Wounded and the Worried (Putnam: London, 1962) p. 119.

[58] Ramacharaka, Y.  Hatha Yoga (L N Fowler: London, no date [c. 1960]) p. 10.  Hatha Yoga is a branch of Oriental Occultism that addresses the physical wellbeing of adherents.

[59] Ibid; p. 9.

[60] Ibid; p. 11.

[61] Mittelholzer, E. Corentyne Thunder (Heinemann: London, 1970 [1941]) p. 229.

[62] Mittelholzer, E. The Jilkington Drama (Corgi Books: London, 1966) p. 30.

[63] Rinponche, G. The Tibetan Book of the Dead (Shambhala: Boston & London, 1992) p. 77.

[64] Ibid; p. 94.

[65] Mittelholzer, E. My Bones and My Flute (New English Library: London, 1974 [1955]) p. 174.

[66] Op. cit., Ramacharaka, Y. Advanced Course in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism p. 48.

[67] Op. cit., Mittelholzer, E.  My Bones and My Flute p. 172.

[68] Mittelholzer, E. Shadows Move Among Them (Peter Nevill: London, 1951) p. 67.

[69] The psychic vision or sensation that is opened up by contact between a material object and living person is termed ‘psychometry’.  Ramacharaka, Y. Fourteen Lessons in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism (The Yoga Publication Society: Chicago, 1903) p. 110.

[70] Gilkes, M. “The Spirit in the Bottle: A Reading of Mittelholzer’s A Morning At The Office” in Caribbean Quarterly (Vol. 21: No. 4, 1975) p. 9.

[71] Ibid; p. 9.

[72] Mittelholzer, E. My Bones and My Flute (New English Library: London, 1974 [1955]) p. 92.

[73] Ibid; p. 92.

[74] See Ramacharaka, Y. Fourteen Lessons in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism (The Yoga Publication Society: Chicago, 1903) p. 18 for his similar view of the inadequacy of Western intellectual studies.

[75] Op. cit., Mittelholzer, E.  A Swarthy Boy p. 30 & p. 62.

[76] Mittelholzer, E. The Life and Death of Sylvia (Peepal Tree Press: Leeds, 2010) pg 32)

[77] Op. cit., Ramacharaka, Y. The Bhagavad Gita  pp. 30-31.

[78] See Anon. “Arjuna and his Vow” in Time Management in Mahabaratha http://www.chennaionline.com/festivalsnreligion/Articles/epicstory41.asp (posted date unstated: site visited 5 August 2006).

[79] Ibid; p. 178.

[80] Ibid; p. 186.

[81] Ibid; p. 184.

[82] Guckhian states Judge Hallinan (the founder of the literary club Mittelholzer attended in Trinidad): “who was staying in London in the early sixties, had a visit from the author, whose anxiety over the failure of his creative faculty evoked the judge’s sympathy.” See Guckhian, P. Failure in Exile: A Critical Study of the Works of Edgar Mittelholzer (University of West Indies: Barbados, 1970) p. 59.

[83] See suicide note in inquest notes from H M Coroner’s Court in Surrey.  Quoted with permission of Mittelholzer’s widow, Jacqueline Ward.

[84] Seymour, A.  “Edgar Mittelholzer: The Man and His Works” in The 1967 Edgar Mittelholzer Memorial Lectures – First Series (Georgetown, National History and Arts Council, 1968) p. 17.

[85] Mittelholzer, E. Sylvia (Four Square Books: London, 1963 [1953]) p. 208.

[86] Ramacharaka, Y. Advanced Course in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism (L N Fowler: Ludgate Circus, 1917) p. 78.

[87] Ibid; p. 320.

[88] Op. cit., Ramacharaka, Y.  Advanced Course in Yogi Philosophy and Oriental Occultism p. 59.