Tales Of Fifi and the Truth Fairy

Admissions of distraction, or maybe I should say an ‘admission of distractions’ is the only way I can explain the second, or is that the ‘third’, woefully long gap since my last post. Not ‘woeful’ at all some might say, rather blessed relief. But, of course, any sojourn by visitors to this blogsite is entirely voluntary so there would have to be some kind of expectation which would not be satisfied by a ‘gap’. Whatever else ………

I have been distracted in the writing of a volume of short stories which has taken my attention away from “Fragments from the lost & Profound” temporarily. I haven’t abandoned support for the earlier work but simply turned away from it for a short while. In doing so I offer an insight that conveniently bridges across to the new book. There is no real comparisons between the two books beyond that fact that they are both ‘existential’ …….. in essence, in spirit and in style. Which is why both are potentially, and probably, very annoying.

There is always ‘thought’ at play, and ‘play’ in every thought. There is a strong elements of ‘stream of consciousness’ in the plotting and style, and an almost obsessive concern not to seek resolutions (or purposely avoid them). There is equally no responsibility felt to ensure that all loose ends are tied up, or that full explanations and feasible pretexts offered. But, believing in the capricious, I have always tried to be amusing and entertaining which is where the ‘play’ is exercised in the thought, irrespective of whether the thought is serious, profound, whimsical, inane, or even mawkish! And where any offence to my doubtful principles is not too great, I have provide conclusions as tidy and entertaining as I could. Though it does need to be borne in mind that I really don’t understand conclusions ……. which is probably where all the problems start, in this form of writing.

Like "Alice in Wonderland" - my favourite book - things change, to the extent that nothing can be relied upon; "anyway is the right way" as the Cheshire Cat wisely points out. So, in such an unsupportive environment, progress is somewhat like travelling through mist. In such circumstances, the only sustenance; the only glimpses of understanding we can forage; the only depth we can find is in the commonality, or universality, of certain elements or experiences; like ..... like ....... like ..... like. And this is why the book (Fragments ....) is peppered with descriptive analogies, operating like foghorns, beacons, balustrades or, perhaps, 'cat's eyes'. Not only in this book, but generally, this is the only way we capture insights and it is the accumulation of such insights that brings the confidence to start constructing a kind of wisdom.

And so, we come to “Tales of Fifi and the Truth Fairy” which, as you will have guessed, is the collection of short stories I mentioned at the outset. I propose, at this stage, to say no more about this book beyond its availability on Lulu.com In the fullness of time - hopefully not too long a ‘gap’ -  I will, of course, pass comment and offer some gloss but for the moment, all you need to know is what appears on the cover.

And, in closing, I am aware that I reported the ‘distractions’ at the outset in the plural but have so far declared only the one. You are quite right to assume that there were others …………..

Did you mind the gap ..................... ?

……… if you did then I am terribly sorry, but I am given to pauses, the which I approach without the remotest fear of pregnancy. As for the reasons for this particular considerable pause? I think they are best left a mystery – a tactic I usually employ to mask my frequent periods of indolence and infertility – any account of the distractions that have seduced me over the intervening months would be so elaborated and dissembled as to produce mystery anyway. In any event, be assured it wasn’t boredom! Indeed, I have been in the process of birthing something else, but more of that in a while. I would make reference to gestation periods but I think I may have already overstretched the gynaecology beyond tolerance! …………

……… so why are all the characters basically the same? It has all to do with the promises on the first page - “two dimensional; like a cartoon” – and, sub-atomic physics – challenging any understanding of identity. Our differences are massively outnumbered by our similarities but we all swim in the shallows where our clothes, our vocabulary, our appetites and the scars we bear (etc.) are arrayed to define us.

I don’t mean ”shallows” in any pejorative sense or to indicate a lesser state. This is undeniably where life, quite properly, occurs. That is where the beauty lies, the love, the joy, the good and evil, the laughter, and all else. It is what the book is about and where truth lives, albeit in an entirely inaccessible state. It is the differences that provide the colour, richness and the impossible complexity of life and our encounter with it. The narrator, however, has to cheat ……… for his own purposes.

However carefully the character is ‘designed’, they drift towards stereotypes immediately they are described; in whatever form, a list of their main characteristics, and eccentricities, achievements and frailties

We are all, in general terms, more similar than different. And the working template we all use, as a measure against each other, to secure a rational world reflects that. Even in ‘events’ we escape any definitive description since we rely on observers to construct the description …….. and so pollution strides in……variations and inaccuracies of perception and understanding …….. and we return to sub-atomic physics.

Since, being fictional, the characters in “Fragments from the lost & profound” cannot customise themselves they have been customised randomly, or by events, or by me ……… for humour, devilment or convenience – quite literally “like flies to wanton boys”. The characters are not real. But their credentials for reality are as real as any other fictional character, insofar as a portrait in oils is no more real than a line drawing, or indeed a photograph?

And, as with real people, they are often ill… or un… informed, unreliable in truth and judgement, and varied in their ability and desire to make sense of it all. The narrator is equivocal and existential in allowing the characters to drive the plot which evolves in a gestalt fashion; a collection of fragments constantly mutating in search of an accommodating ‘whole’; a jigsaw pursuit of the inaccessible truth.

Any lack of credibility is because they are cartoons; not fully formed. Like children, they are accepting, and never questioning, nor daunted by, their constant bewilderment. None of the characters are troubled by the notion that there is actually something to be understood. The sole exception being Gabbler, himself, who, in his complete darkness, is simply looking to map the territory of the ‘unknowing’ with no real expectation that a meaningful picture should emerge.

Gabbler’s condition automatically furnishes the insight. Or, was it the insight, coming first, that led him to construct the condition. And does it really matter. From the variety of conditions in which we variously find ourselves, are any of us better positioned than others to arrange the fragments in the right order ……….. to solve a puzzle which may not consider itself to be a puzzle?

The ‘rational’ denouement in the final act is the amiable monster of a child’s drawing; too many eyes; limbs attached in the wrong places; beguiling colours; enchanting sincerity and the gnawing
awareness, the uneasy fear, that there is some truth in there ……. somewhere. And such is Whisper’s insight with Jane’s song on the penultimate page.

Ultimately, you can only feel cheated if you didn’t find the journey interesting ………… and bloody funny!

But enough of this probable nonsense! To the future and the promised birthing ………..



………. My capricious muse, the enchantingly naughty but increasingly elusive Fifi, has left me to my own resources from which I am labouring to produce a collection of stories on a variety themes …… comical, nonsensical, whimsical, perhaps metaphysical, and perhaps, simply physical …………. in which even the absent fairy may yet make an appearance! But more later ……….