About the Book
Margiad Evans (1909 - 1958), essayist, memoirist, novelist and poet, was born in Uxbridge but got her inspiration from the Herefordshire Welsh Border country. First published in 1932 her writing career was curtailed in 1950 when a previously asymptomatic brain tumour induced an epileptic response whose effects became increasingly serious over the last years of her life. This book of three unpublished works spans that last period, and sheds light on the cruel fate which befell this talented young author and robbed us of 'one of the finest prose writers in English' of the 20th century.
Review :
The first part, Journal in Ireland (1949) tells of a joyous and inspirational holiday, free from epilepsy. The second, Letters to Bryher (1949-1958) is a selection from letters to Evans friend and benefactor Winifred Ellerman (the English author Bryher). They contain a vivid account of her pregnancy, the birth of her daughter, her frustration at the impact of her illness on her writing, and finally resignation at the terminal nature of her condition. The third part, The Nightingale Silenced (1954), is an evocative and harrowing memoir describing her experiences as an inpatient after her condition became acute. The book closes with five of her poems, written during her final months in hospital, which she intended to publish with The Nightingale Silenced. She died at only 49 in 1958.
This volume fills a gap in the work and understanding of the Anglo-Welsh poet, novelist and artist. It was transcribed by her nephew, Jim Pratt, who contributes a substantial introduction giving the context of the manuscripts. The two principal works are Journal in Ireland and The Nightingale Silenced. The first chronicles a sponsored holiday taken by Margiad Evans and her husband Michael in August 1949, first to his family in Fishguard, then touring Ireland. The second is a remarkable and harrowing account of her experience of epilepsy. Between them, there is an edited selection of letters (1949-58) from Evans to Bryher (author Annie Winifred Ellerman), who sponsored the Irish trip and gave Evans friendship and financial support for the rest of her life.
Evans often refers to her reliance on and identification with nature, its power, beauty and flow through all life, although in her novels her characterisation of human life is generally tormented. In Journal in Ireland, which she wrote for herself and the (then unknown) benefactor, her style is light, even jaunty, humorous and full of delight, but her descriptions show the cinematic qualities evident in her novels. She had been living alone through the war. Rationed, post-war Britain was bleak and the couple were poor. The sudden liberation of travelling and not having to watch every penny is intoxicating. Her descriptions are snapshots and sketches, instant impressions with immense liveliness. Her comments on those she meets suggest someone curious and quickly responsive to all sorts of people. Around Fishguard, she notes family stories and how everything seemed trying to keep under the wind. In Ireland, she is struck by the mixture of relative wealth (after rationing at home) and surprising poverty. The artists eye notes a fishing-boat with its half-opened, vivid sails with the sunrise on them, giving them the soft pile of old velvet. When it was too wet or windy to paint I was painting with my mind. She delights in a spontaneous concert and, on a holy day, the draining of souls from mountain to church. Something ancient and whole. She drops in poems where they occur to her in the immense outspace of the mountains. In Dublin, she delights in her Scottish landlords tales, the beauty of the city, the fun of shopping and the company of new artistic and literary friends. Because she is often painting, her descriptions are full of subtle colour and shade, but not so emotionally loaded as those in her novels; it is not thinking but seeing writing and none the worse for it.
The Irish holiday was perhaps her last truly happy time as, soon after, she suffered the first identifiable epileptic fit. She was fortunate in her doctor, Fredrick Golla, who became a close friend and valued her insights into her disease. Her first account, A Ray of Darkness was published; The Nightingale Silenced is a continuation, detailing her sensations in the later, acute stages. This was both for her own clarification and to explain the sufferers experience to clinicians and thus improve their treatment. In A Ray of Darkness, she wrote that, Language is demanded by epilepsy, as by poetry, that simply doesnt exist. She wrestled with this paradox because she was desperate to change medical perceptions. She describes the horror, triggered by the epilepsy but seeming manifest in her normal surroundings. While it is distressing to contrast the two states of her experience, one is left with great admiration for her courage and determination as she worked through those harrowing years still producing art and poetry.
Caroline Clark
It is possible to use this review for promotional purposes, but the following acknowledgment should be included: A review from www.gwales.com, with the permission of the Books Council of Wales.
Gellir defnyddio'r adolygiad hwn at bwrpas hybu, ond gofynnir i chi gynnwys y gydnabyddiaeth ganlynol: Adolygiad oddi ar www.gwales.com, trwy ganiatd Cyngor Llyfrau Cymru.
