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The stuff of dreams

Criticism of colonisation, western rationalism and globalisation are recurrent themes in French writer Le Clézio's book "Onitsha"

PHOTO: M. VEDAN

AT HOME, ANYWHERE Le Clézio

"I don't remember if I said that," says Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, shrugging off his statement that contemporary literature is a literature of despair. "Or maybe I said that when I was desperate," jokes one of France's most celebrated contemporary writers.

"I am not writing a diary of despair like Søren Kierkegaard, but yes, it's a difficult epoch, and literature may not be contributing to it, but is merely reflecting the despair in society," he says.

Sixty-six-year-old Le Clézio was in the city for the release of the English translation of his novel "Onitsha" published by Roli Books. In the semi-autobiographical novel, the young protagonist and his mother make a sea voyage to join his British father in Africa, where he experiences the injustice under British colonisation. Like the protagonist of the book, Le Clézio started writing his story at the age of seven.

Criticism of colonialism, the dominance of western rationalism and globalisation are recurrent themes. But on this day wandering around the crisply manicured lawns of the Madras Club, looking for a verandah where they would serve a t-shirt and sandal-clad man some tea, Le Clézio wasn't going to draw out his pen and save the world.

Dipping his non-caffeinated tea bag into hot water, he says, "I am not sure writing proves something, or provides an argument for an idea, or ideology. When I was in my twenties, the main preoccupation was the possibility of a nuclear war. Now the debate is about globalisation. I am not against the idea of globalisation per se, but against the monopolisation of one culture over another."

Le Clézio is currently working on a book about Mauritians of French origin who returned to Europe. Like in many of his other works, inspiration comes from very personal space. He belongs to this "vanishing group" consisting of just a dozen or so. The owner of two passports, one Mauritian and one French, says, "I have the great advantage of belonging to this class, which can be at home anywhere."

The other is a collection of `fantastical' short stories, exploring the idea of the soul. His writing has a lot to do with dreams. He thinks his book through and one day it's ready to be written. "I don't even make corrections. Sometimes I am even surprised by the way it turns out," he says

Means of communication

Writing is a need, he says, admitting to not being very sociable. "Writing is my way of communicating. Even if there was just one reader, I would still have to write."

That's hypothetical, of course, because Le Clézio has not only been widely translated but been regarded as a contender for the Nobel Prize for Literature. Success came early, in fact at the age of 23 when his very first published novel "Le procès-verbal" won him the Théophraste Renaudot prize. "But fame," he says, "is just bubbles, and talent doesn't work unless you have luck. Of course, sometimes I suppose authors just outlive their bad luck."The hard times were seen through with teaching assignments at places like Texas, New Mexico, and even at a Buddhist University in Thailand. As a young man, Le Clézio lived with the Embera Indians in the rainforests of Panama, an experience he describes as `enlightening'. "I suppose I must have been a distraction initially, like a comic movie. It took me three years to realise that I was tiring them. When I went hunting I would frighten away the game. And getting firewood wasn't easy because I had to bend over nearly double to carry those heavy logs on my shoulder. I was basically too tall and too clumsy to be of any real use," he says.

Critics accused him of indulging in cheap exoticism. But argues Le Clézio, "I might visit a small place in Normandy today and that would be exotic for me. I was looking for something else. I considered spending time in a Buddhist monastery, but it required too much disciplining."

Yet none of his soul-searching travels brought him to every soul searcher's favourite destination, India. He disqualifies the short visit he made 30 years back. Particularly ironic because when Le Clézio's ancestor left the Revolution and France behind, his ship was headed to India. But the wife decided she had had enough of the rough seas when they reached Mauritius. "Destiny is a strange thing," he admits. The man who could have been born in India wants to know the country better. Maybe spend some time in the countryside, without being a nuisance to the villagers. "Will that be possible?"

MEERA MOHANTY

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