The title has always seemed magical to me, though-- without my ever having really thought about it or known what it was, until I purposely looked it up recently. (How many ideas simply flicker on the periphery of our consciousness?)
In fact, I like all "time and place" titles, such as:
Seven Years in Tibet.
A Night at the Opera (and A Day at the Races).
Weekend at Bernie's.
Last Year in Marienbad.
Of all those works, I've only seen A Night at the Opera and Weekend at Bernie's, though I started watching Seven Years in Tibet-- I can't remember why I didn't finish it. I get the impression I only watched a few scenes.
Why do I find titles like these magical and evocative?
It's a simple answer. Time and space themselves are mysterious and exciting, so titles that evoke them are bound to be mysterious and exciting. But, more importantly, a title like A Year in Provence suggests that a particular time spent in a particular place might be especially memorable and worth writing home about (to use an idiom I love).
And somehow, that also hints to me-- and perhaps only to me-- that every period of time spent in every place might have its own charm, its own character, and its own memorability. That's an immensely appealing idea.
I've kept this blog post as a draft for the last couple of days. I could say so much more. But have I said it all before? In a recent post, "The Magic of Backstory", I tried to articulate the sense of wonder I always (well, often) feel when people share their memories. I can't remember ever getting much of a response when I've written in this vein, though, so maybe it really is just me.
Hello Maolsheachlann,
ReplyDeleteI've only just found your blog (through Bruce Charlton) and I immediately bought your book (it arrived beautifully wrapped by the publisher, I hardly wanted to open it). This idea of atmosphere of memory and time is so well expressed in your writing. Your introduction in the Saints book about Halloween and the feelings it would evoke. Always such a mood at that time and it is oddly the most communal holiday I can think of in the U.S. You would go meet neighbors you'd hardly ever know existed; knock on doors you didn't even know were there. So, just dropping a line to say it is not in vain for this reader. I get a very similar feeling to you with regard to these titles. And, like you, often my imagination of what this title might be about is often better than the "real" story.
Rich W, thank you so much for your lovely comment which has truly made my day. And thanks also for buying my book. Yes, Angelico Press do thing with style!
DeleteAnd I am very, very pleased that you share my feelings about titles and seasons and atmosphere. That means the world to me!
Two exceptions to the place-in-title resonance came to mind just now. Robert Graves' Seven Days in New Crete was published in the US as Watch the North Wind Rising after a line spoken late in the story. Francis Ford Coppola suggested to George Lucas that he title his testament of youth "Blowout in Modesto." Lucas insisted on American Graffiti. Titling is not for the tone-deaf no matter the convention! An enviable gift.
ReplyDeleteThat's fascinating! I'd never heard of Seven Day in New Crete. Thank God Lucas stood firm. American Graffiti is one of the great titles, perhaps especially because its meaning is so elusive.
DeleteApparently there were a lot of bad suggestions for this film's title:
https://www.indiewire.com/features/general/american-graffiti-titles-george-lucas-1202031321/
Speaking of Robert Graves, Goodbye to All That is one of my all-time favourite titles, though again I've never read the book.
Thanks for your comment!
I know what you mean. I guess it has something to do with richness or depth. Richness not just variety or novelty, but value from particular places. And depth as that the title isn't just a juxtaposition of words, but it evokes something more. Here is an example of depth in painting (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ivan_Shishkin#/media/File:%D0%A2%D1%83%D0%BC%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%BD%D0%BE%D0%B5_%D1%83%D1%82%D1%80%D0%BE._%D0%A8%D0%B8%D1%88%D0%BA%D0%B8%D0%BD_%D0%98.%D0%98..jpg)
ReplyDeleteThe effect of the charm of distance, but not just distance, distance with something behind it was something Tolkien wrote about. He mentioned once that he thought the Silmarillion might be hard to write because instead of being a mythological background, he was going into the background, which would make it lose some of that attraction. And in "Leaf, by Niggle", when Niggle is in paradise, "he discovered an odd thing: the Forest, of course, was a distant Forest, yet he could approach it, even enter it, without its losing that particular charm. He had never before been able to walk into the distance without turning it into mere surroundings."
Yes, all that is very much on the wavelength of what I was talking about here. It's a very elusive sort of sensation, but also very potent. Thanks for the link to the picture, it's most evocative.
DeleteI tend to think Tolkien was right about the Silmarilion, although perhaps there are other reasons it's so difficult to read and enjoy on the same level as LOTR. My favourite LOTR chapters are those where the enchantment of distance, of broad horizons, are most evident-- The Shadow of the Past and the Council of Elrond. Thanks for your comment!