UK author Will Buckingham reinvented the tale of Orpheus in The Descent of the lyre. He talks to Shrabasti Mallik about returning to India after 17 years and striking a balance between philosophy and myth
Please share with us something about The Descent of the lyre.
The Descent of the lyre is a story about music, myth and banditry set in 19th century Bulgaria. At the centre of the story is the strange figure of Ivan Gelski — a young man whose bride is taken from him, and who becomes first a bandit, then a guitarist, and finally a saint.
This was one of those books that took a long time to write. Some books come more quickly, some more slowly. I started thinking about writing a book about guitar music something like 20 years ago. I’ve always enjoyed playing the guitar. But it wasn’t until I went to Bulgaria in 2005 that I thought that perhaps the story would work well there. Even though the guitar is not a Bulgarian instrument, the feeling of Bulgaria was right for the kind of things I wanted to evoke about music and myth. And Bulgaria is also said to be the legendary home of Orpheus, so this setting felt quite natural. I am happy that the book is finally being launched at the 39th International Kolkata Book Fair.
The story of Orpheus is a mix of myths and legends. How much does your book reflect upon mythIJ
All storytelling (even the news) is myth, in one way or another. And I tend to think in terms of myth, so this side of the story came quite naturally. This isn’t really a retelling of the Orpheus myth, but I see myth as a theme, and the book as a set of variations upon it.
How do you build charactersIJ Are they based on people around youIJ
I don’t know if my characters mirror people around me that closely. But I’m sure that there are echoes of people I know in all the characters I write. In terms of philosophy, I love stories that explore ideas, and I know that my concern with philosophy is very closely linked to the people I spend time with. I became a philosopher through conversations with my philosopher friends. So in some ways I think I mirror the philosophies of people around me more closely than I mirror their characters, and the characters I write are more fully invented.
Do you draw inspiration from your own lifeIJ
Yes! I don’t know where else to draw it from. There are lots of things in this book that grow out of my preoccupations — concern with religion, stuff about the guitar, my immense affection for Bulgaria and occasional philosophy aside, the concern with stories and storytelling. I don’t often write directly from my life. But indirectly, I am writing from my life all the time.
How difficult is it to write something philosophical rather than writing fiction, which generally has a wider meaningIJ
It’s a different kind of discipline, I think. I actually rather enjoy writing philosophy. There are difficulties, but there are also pleasures. I like balancing ideas and tracing the threads of thoughts to see where they lead. And I like the way that writing philosophy allows you to make particular kinds of philosophical jokes. I confess that I’m not a very sophisticated or systematic philosopher, but I like the way that philosophy can be used to navigate better through the world. I’m probably more a philosopher in the sense that somebody’s granny might be a philosopher, than I am a philosopher in the sense that Immanuel Kant was a philosopher.
You are more active on your blog when you are on the go. Just a few days ago, you travelled a part of the Buddhist trail. In what ways has Buddhism influenced your writingsIJ
I’ve been practising Buddhist meditation for a couple of decades now — sometimes very seriously and sometimes with rather less commitment. Buddhism is so very fascinating. There are so many traditions and they are all so very rich — culturally and philosophically. I don’t tend to identify as a Buddhist these days — I have some philosophical problems with certain apparently ‘core’ notions. For example rebirth, but having said this, I still practice and I often find myself thinking (unwittingly) within Buddhist frameworks. Buddhism is not often a theme in what I write these days, but it is an ineradicable part of who I am.
And you also mentioned a lot about the bicycle and the ‘thunk, thunk, thunk’ of the bicycle during the journey…
The guest house in Bodh Gaya had three bicycles. They were all strange and perilous in different ways. I thought of them as Hinayana or the lesser Vehicle (that was the one that thunked), Mahayana or the Greater Vehicle (probably the best bike, although not without its problems) and Vajrayana or the Diamond Thunderbolt Vehicle (it had the words ‘real passion’ on the frame and the brakes didn’t work, which made it exciting but unpredictable). Having access to these bikes meant I could explore however I liked and follow my nose. I like cycling, even through Indian traffic (traffic back home in Britain is more sedate). However, I do not have the courage, or the foolishness, to risk cycling in Kolkata.
As a writer, what is your guiding lightIJ
It is a demanding question but I am often concerned with power and with its abuse. To put it very simply, I dislike violence, injustice and cruelty. But the fiction I write often explores these themes. The things that we dislike are often our greatest preoccupations, perhaps. But I also believe strongly in the value of kindness. So I don’t want to write books that are just an exercise in gloom. I want to celebrate kindness as well — even if it is in the face of the worst that human beings can do. I’m not a pessimist. I don’t necessarily think that the world is getting better but I think that kindness can almost always help to redeem even the worst situations.
During your PhD, you explored the curious ways of obscure Indonesian Gods. Tell us about it.
My PhD was a strange combination of storytelling and philosophy and was about how stories might help us think through ethics. I’m not sure that the argument was wholly successful; but along the way I still like to hope that I made at least a couple of interesting points. The Indonesian God who featured most was Ubila’a, who was the supreme God of the Tanimbar islands. I did some anthropological fieldwork in Tanimbar back in 1994-95. I tried to get Ubila’a talking to Immanuel Kant, just to see what they made of each other. I still don’t know whether this was one of the points where I was successful or not, but in their dialogue, Ubila’a got the better of poor old Kant.
How does it feel like coming back to India after 17 yearsIJ What are the changes that you have come acrossIJ
Mainly, I’m asking myself why on earth I didn’t come back sooner. It’s lovely to be back. And I’m hoping that my next visit will not be 17 years in the future. I live in leicester in the UK, which has a huge Indian community and so in some ways India feels quite close to home. As for wider changes, I can’t really comment on India as a whole. But speaking personally, there is much that feels really familiar. The changes don’t seem as radical as I had imagined they might.