In-Nar Għandu Isem
by Gioele Galea. Published by Horizons and available from Agenda and other leading bookshops
A book I have just read overwhelmed me with its intensity, a feeling of awesomeness such as I experience after reading Franz Kafka or Yann Martel. The allegorical nuances that weaved through the account of a young Maltese adolescent snapped up by a totally unexpected supernatural experience truly knocked me.
What gripped me was not so much the description of what the adolescent author went through, as much as the allegorical style in which it was rendered, and the depth of the passion with which it was exposed in all its nakedness.
The author’s style reminded me of a seasoned artist executing an intimate self-portrait.
With the final effect in mind, he starts with seemingly random brushstrokes in dark colours on the outside of the painting, moving into the picture in spiral form with calculated brushstrokes deliberately finer and more colourful, until he defines the central intimate theme in the most exquisitely illuminating, fiery colours.
With the precision of a master sculptor, the skilful artist rivets the viewer’s eyes on this centre of vision.
In In-Nar Għandu Isem, Gioele Galea achieves a similar effect through in-your-face biographical accounts rendered in the shape of vibrant tableaux that vividly capture the mood of the raconteur: like haunting stills in a visual drama, they depict the angst, the anger, the ennui, the rebellion, the loneliness, the inward screaming of the protagonist.
These evocative tableaux are thrown at the reader seemingly nonchalantly by the author, but as in allegory, the objects in each picture are rife with hidden meaning.
For example, the sitting beneath the kitchen table where the stove is ablaze, symbolises the daring of the rebellious protagonist who lingers beneath the danger because he is afraid of nothing; the finger-spelt name on the frosted window, meaningfully losing its shape when the rain stops, represents the frustration of the lonely adolescent, searching unsuccessfully for his true identity; the brutally-severed apple destroyed by two angry hands, prefigures the upcoming abuse so graphically exposed; the underground writhing in the dead of night allegorises the darkness and nakedness lived to the dregs by the restless protagonist.
His parents are target walls for his non-stop existential questions, as he blasts out one ball after another, though they bounce back to him unanswered, with the same vehemence with which they were thrown.
In the kitchen, at the window, in his room, in the garden, anywhere he goes, the restlessness is deep, seething and unforgiving.
One still that verges on pathetic fallacy is that of the young protagonist propped in an open doorway, as the rain falls in torrents, while he defies the weather by placing paper boats on the rushing streams of rainfall waters: a requiem for broken dreams? An unflinching determination to relentlessly stake the odds?
The fire, the leaves, the garbage, the volcano, the eyes – all seethe with connotations in each of the contexts in which they are deliberately placed.
At times the meaning is so deep, it is quite breathtaking.
The aphorisms are no less riveting, as in: “ismi li issa beda jċarċar” (my name which now began to wash out); “il-mewt ma tkunx waqfa” (death will not be an end); and “għax jiena ħofra” (because I am hollow).
Redemption comes towards the end of these biographical snapshots in an exquisite twist that unexpectedly takes centre stage.
For the spiritually savvy, it describes the movement of the soul that is suddenly swooped up by its Maker from the outer walls of the Interior Castle, and spiralled into its central room where He dwells in all His glory, there to impart to His astonished creature the dignity of being formed in His image.
In this secret exchange between the creature and His Maker, a transformation occurs and the creature is catapulted onto the course of the spiritual life which up until that moment had been hidden from his sight. It is a special moment of life-changing grace. In the language of Teresa of Avila, such a meeting “remains engraved in the memory” and “only the person who has this experience will be able to understand its value.” (The Interior Castle VI: 5, 9-11)
Gauged in this light, the twist unveils the series of tableaux as nothing less than the leaves surrounding a palmetto whose kernel provides its tastiest edible part. For “the things of the soul must always be considered as plentiful, spacious and large.” (The Interior Castle I: 2, 8) Hence, the unforgettable moment of conversion for the struggling adolescent of In-Nar Għandu Isem.
At the end of the book, the now silver-haired author looks straight into Mirela’s eyes and humbly agonises as to how far he has been faithful to this prime grace, freely entrusted to him by his Maker so early in his life.
At face value, In-Nar Għandu Isem makes a flowing read. But what one reads is not susceptible to definitive interpretation. In a subtle way, the author first captures our attention through narrative, then startles us into the surreal experience that suddenly changed his life. In the end, the reader is mysteriously drawn to reflect on his own life, the ‘if’, ‘what’ and ‘why’ of the author becoming his own, and we find ourselves propelled to read the book all over again, eyes peeled for what we missed in the first read. Does the author turn the tables on us intentionally? Is the finale the keyhole through which this work can be unlocked?
Strolling along the promenade, mulling over how to approach this appraisal, I heard a man telling off his young son firmly: “If you are a good boy, I will buy you ice cream but, if you are naughty, we will go straight back home!”
It made me ruminate about the nature of God as portrayed in Galea’s final twist, who having watched an adolescent clearly at his very wildest, decides to give him ice cream anyway! It was an uncanny moment, throwing me deep into the mystery of God, as creator and lover of humankind. So much for the logic of human reasoning!