Rama and Sita

Today here is some treasure for your viewing pleasure. I'm very pleased with the scans as the capture the fragile, tactile qualities of these salvaged pages. In exchange for some meagre pennies I bought this illustrated copy of Rama and Sita from a book market in Bucharest, Romania. Forgotten and unloved for over a year I discovered it again in a red suitcase and decided finally to bring the woodcuts to light. I have a passion for prints but no money with which to satisfy it. So, for the moment, ripping reproduction woodcuts out of crumbling books shall suffice. These are stunning, mytho-poetic journeys in to a Hindu story of love and its obstacles. I found a short version of the story online and have decided to include it.

This is a story about Prince Rama, the great warrior, who was married to the beautiful Sita. Rama and Sita were really gods in human form.

Prince Rama meant to take over the throne from his father the king, but his wicked stepmother had tricked his father into sending him away into the forest. With him went his wife, Sita. Rama had begged Sita to stay safely in the palace while he stayed in the forest, but she declared it was a thousand times better to be in the forest with Rama than in the richest palace without him.

So Rama and Sita went to live in the forest together. They lived a simple, peaceful life in a small cottage.

But, before long, their peace was disturbed. One day, Sita was spotted by the demon king, Ravana. Of all the demons who lived in the forest, Ravana was the most terrible. He had twenty arms and ten heads, with eyes as red as coal fires and a mouthful of yellow fangs. When Ravana saw the beautiful Sita, he immediately came up with a plan to kidnap her and make her his wife.

One day, when Rama and Sita were walking in the forest, they saw the most beautiful deer you can imagine. Its golden hide was as bright as the sun, its silver antlers as bright as the moon, its hooves shone as black as night, and its eyes were as blue as sapphires.

So delighted was Sita when she saw the deer that she begged Rama to catch it for her. Rama was worried that this was some demon trick to try and split them up, but Sita pleaded with Rama, until he agreed to try and catch the deer for her.

As soon as Sita was alone, the demon Ravana swooped down and swept Sita up into his chariot pulled by winged monsters. Despite her terror Sita thought quickly and scattered her jewellery piece by piece - first her golden anklets, then her earrings, then her glittering scarf - as a trail for Rama to follow. Far below a white monkey looked up and, seeing the glittering jewellery, thought the stars were falling.

In the midst of the forest, Rama tracked down the beautiful deer. But when he caught hold of it, the deer changed into a terrible demon that broke away from Rama’s grasp and flew into the sky. Realising that he had been tricked, Prince Rama ran back to the cottage as fast as he could, his heart filled with dread. Finding Sita gone, he searched frantically until he came upon the trail of jewellery that Sita had left.

Rama followed this golden trail until he met Hanuman, the white monkey, who had seen Sita's jewellery fall from the sky. Hanuman was a very special monkey because he was the monkey king. Hanuman took Rama to the monkey city, that lay under the hills in a giant cave. All the monkeys of the city were called to the marble square in the centre of the city, and messages were sent out to monkeys all over the world. They came in their millions from the woods and caves, and with them came their friends the bears. Twenty-three million animals filled the city and covered the hills like a great shaggy sea. After they had heard what had happened, they spread out to search the world for Sita.

It was the monkey, Hanuman, who came to the island where Sita was being held prisoner. The monkeys and bears with him stared in despair at the giant crashing waves that surrounded the island, but Hanuman, the son of the wind god, climbed to the highest hill, took a mighty breath and leapt into the clouds, and over the crashing waves. He landed on the island and quickly found Sita in a grove of trees near the palace. There she sat refusing to marry the evil Ravana.

Sita was overjoyed when she found out who Hanuman was and she gave him a pearl from her hair to take to Rama. Then, Hanuman bounded away to fetch Rama and Lakshmana, and the great army of monkeys and bears.

But still the giant ocean waves kept Rama and his army away from the island. And so the army began to build a bridge of rocks and grass and sand.

The squirrels came running out of the woods to help, every animal - large and small - contributed to the building, and soon the bridge stretched a hundred miles to the island, and the animals poured across their bridge.

Long and terrible was the battle, as the animals fought the evil demons. Many great deeds were done, until at last Rama faced the demon Ravana on the battlefield. With his arrows Rama struck again and again at the heads of Ravana but, each time he chopped one off, a new one grew.

Then Rama took up his special bow and arrow that had been made by the sky god. He chanted a special prayer and shot. The gods of wind and fire flew guided the arrow and it pierced Ravana's chest in a blinding flash. Ravana fell dead in an instant.

All the world rejoiced. The reign of the demons was over and Rama and Sita returned to their own country to rule. In celebration, the gods showered flowers from the sky, and the people lined the streets with flags and garlands. In every home, an oil lamp was put in the window to welcome back the Rama and Sita and their great army. The royal ruled happily for many years until it was time for them to leave their life on earth and return to heaven.

The greatest mystery about this book which I found in Romania is its introduction and footnotes in Russian and the story in English. It is a strange compilation of unexplained origins and sources, perhaps it is a Russian schoolbook for learning English, I think? But then why the Hindu story? And how did it find its way to this market stall in Romania!? Now, on the next stage of its journey, disembodied prints find themselves framed on my bedroom walls in England.

Nadja

Last night, having succeeded in finishing my dissertation plan, I felt too tired to work but too guilty not to (this is how Cambridge trains you to be!). The situation was resolved as I curled up in bed with a book that had only arrived in the post that day, Breton's surrealist text, Nadja. I stayed up and finished it. Breton's novel is the story of an encounter with a woman, who calls herself Nadja, and their subsequent rendevous in bars and walks across Paris.

Nadja is an illustrated novel; containing photographs of locations along the walks, the facades of bars they go to, objects found at flea markets, important surrealist works which Breton and Nadja discuss including Chirico's paintings and the drawings which Nadja herself makes for Breton. These drawings are the most exciting part, and these are the images I have included in this post. Nadja imagines herself as a mermaid with her back to the viewer, she draws strange symbols like a tribal mask which can't be explained and Breton describes them with his affection for her. Why can't all novels be illustrated? It turns it into this beautiful thing, this book object.

In terms of my dissertation, Breton's pursuit of the woman in the street is something the women I am reading are reacting against. I should condemn his fanciful affair with a woman whom we are later told ends up in an institution. Breton without sympathy or nostalgia wavers all responsibility for pushing her over the brink. But in a way its surrealism has captivated me, I think its romantic.

'Beauty is like a train that ceaselessly roars out of the Gare de Lyon and which I know will never leave, which has not left. It consists of jolts and shocks, many of which do not have much importance, but which we know are destined to produce one Shock, which does. [...] Beauty, neither static nor dynamic. The human heart, beautiful as a seismograph. [...] Beauty will be CONVULSIVE or not be at all'

Virago Green Spines

The Cambridge University Library are offering a £500 prize for a collection of books put together by a student. With £500 as temptation and motivation I thought I might have a try. As the collection will not be judged on size or monetary value perhaps I have a fair chance. Many years ago I joined a website called ReaditSwapit, and one of the books which came rushing through my letterbox on a whim was Elizabeth Taylor's Angel. The book fascinated me; the feel of its binding in my hand, it's green spine, the silhouette of an apple at its top and then the Portrait of Madame Lacroix by Giovanni Boldini which acted as its cover illustration. A little research only increased my fascination. What I had stumbled upon was a feminist printing press established in 1973 by Carmen Callil to publish the work of forgotten or overlooked women writers from the literary canon and to promote the writings of new and emerging women. Virago has been an obsession ever since.

Part of my fairly modest collection.

I felt sure I was the first to have made this discovery and began a treasure hunt in local charity shops, second hand bookshops in Cornwall and London and internet swapping communities. I was under the impression that they were difficult to find (they were in Harlow!) and that I must be the only woman on earth who actually wanted them. Since moving to Cambridge I have found that I can no longer buy eeach one that I find as the Virago press was genuinely prolific, (Heffers even reprints the originals to add to its stock). I have to be a little more selective in my search now that I am a student.

A picture of a larger and more impressive collection, stolen from Fleur Fisher

For the University Library prize my collection requires a coherence and an intellectual strain of thought to support it. My collection is of the early originals, published in the 80's with portraits of women for their covers. My interest is both literary and artistic; the cover paints a portrait of the central character just as the books themselves are studies of the female voice which leads them, these novels are word- portraits.

Cover: 'The Bather' Kees van Dongen

'I wanted to live at the centre of a focus of pleasantness, and harmony, and things coming right. And instead I was tossing about in a whirlpool of useless passion and frenzy.' The Thinking Reed

Cover: 'Portrait of Ira P' Tamara de Lempicka

' "Hardly anyone is dancing," said Charlotte to the unknown man beside her, "yet whenever I put out my hand, I touch someone," But the stranger seemed not to have heard her.' Strangers

Tamara de Lempicka was an amazing painter during the 20's and 30's who had her own distinctive and feminine approach to Cubism. Working in Paris she was associated with Pablo Picasso, Jean Cocteau and Andre Gide. The portrait used for the cover of Strangers is a powerful portrait in red and white, between innocence and passion.

Cover: 'Catherine Carrington' Carrington

'I am forward-looking girl and don't stay where I am, "Left right, Be bright," as I said in my poem. That's on days when I am one big bounce, and have to go careful then not to be a nuisance. But later I get back to my own philosophical outlook that keeps us all kissable.' Novel on Yellow Paper

I just finished reading Stevie Smith's Novel on Yellow Paper for my London dissertation and I love her loose writing style. It is like a 'stream of consciousness' but with an innocence and enthusiasm to it that is completely independent of the fluidity of writers such as Virginia Woolf.

I won't pin all my hopes on that book collecting prize, but I think I have a story and a chance, so wish me luck.

Jean Rhys at her melancholy best

I might suggest that these beautiful covers may lure you in to a false sense of literary security, but if you fail to miss the dark heavy eyes of these cover women then you are naive enough that no luring is needed. The beginning of reading for my second dissertation has been a melancholy, if beautiful, affair. These women face us alone on these covers, but not because they are independent. But because men have destroyed them and the only consolation left is solitude.

After Leaving Mr Mackenzie is introduced by an illustration by Faith Jaques, who was most famously an illustrator of picture books. Here her pen and ink portrait captures Julia's abject nature, her sense of shame and despair as life has beaten her down. Quartet is presented by a photograph by Sue Wilks. Marya stares at us coldly from the bleak desolation of the French sea. She asks us how things have ended this way? But she is completely distanced from us, beyond our care or hope. If I had judged the books by their covers I would have been unsurprised by the torpid misery of the narratives of these women. Unfortunately the excitement of finding Jean Rhys in the Amnesty bookshop made me careless and uncritical.