The photographer Peter Tomlinson has been kind enough to compose a photo essay for brucechatwin.co.uk. Titled Anatomy of Restlessness: Journey to Chora, the essay charts a journey made to Chatwin’s final resting place.

“In November 2008, I travelled to the Mani in Greece to visit the tiny ruined chapel of St. Nicholas in Chora, “a tenth century Byzantine church on a headland two miles up a mountain,” as described by Patrick Leigh Fermor in Nicholas Shakespeare’s biography of Bruce Chatwin. More specifically, I was making my way to an olive tree very close to the church under which Elizabeth Chatwin had elected to bury the ashes of the writer, her late husband. He came to know the chapel when he stayed in a small apartment at the Hotel Theano in nearby Kardamyli for seven months writing the first draft of his book The Songlines. The ancient church had been one of his favourite places.”

View the whole essay here.

‘Bruce Chatwin — author of Anatomy of Restleness, In Patagonia, The Songlines — was an international art appraiser who became disillusioned with how the Western World overvalued objects. He gave up a brilliant career devoted to art objects spending the rest of his brief but rich life travelling around the globe. He viewed art auctions as having the quality of an arcane ceremony of mystic love. An altar and a pulpit, the missals of service, the priest, his acolytes, the sacrament proffered, the complex relationship between the priest-lover and the suitors, the esoteric numerology — all were to him elements of contemporary auctions: a stage, the auctioneer, the costumers, the sacred object of art, the number/ price.

Here lies the power of objects providing intimations of immortality disguising loss under a veneer of eternal value. Of course, there is something ironic in the fact that most objects will survive its owner, from gold rings, to a pair boots, or even a 2-cent plastic non-biodegradable supermarket bag. Chatwin also wrote: “I have often noticed that in the really great collections the best objects congregate like a host of guardians angels around the bed, and the bed itself is pitifully narrow. The true collector houses a corps of inanimate lovers...”’

Hat Tip: Buenos Aires Herald

Interesting interview with Dan Franklin, who continues to run Jonathan Cape. Franklin inherited what he calls ‘“the best list of authors in Britain" when he joined Cape in 1993: Joseph Heller, Gabriel García Márquez, Doris Lessing, Bruce Chatwin and Tom Wolfe.’ Particularly entertaining is his account of the death of the boozy lunch:

"We now go to Pizza Express over the road. The publisher's lunch was really dying out anyway. Tony Whittome from Hutchinson retired recently; he'd been there 40 years and he did the lunches with Kingsley Amis. Two malt whiskies when you sat down, two bottles of claret and then calvados, but people don't really do it any more."

More at The Guardian.

Our panel at the 2009 Oxford Literary Festival was recorded, and has been released as a what the Bodleian library refer to as a Bodcast. The full hour can be found here.

“A useful recent parallel might be Bruce Chatwin, one of Britain’s leading authors of the travel genre who perished at the hands of what was deemed an unusual Chinese disease transacted through a bat bite (in truth, AIDS). Chatwin’s Song Lines and In Patagonia are descriptive and inventive, ‘embroidered’ and layered. Fellow travel writer Paul Theroux, who felt that the eye’s impressions had to be recorded without lying, had this to say about his late colleague in writing: ‘How had he traveled from here to there? How had he met this or that person? Life was never so neat as Bruce made out.’ Chatwin’s preference, in his own words, was not to ‘believe in coming clean.’”

The full piece here.

For those of you unfamiiar with the story, illumination can be found here.

Nicholas Murray has written an excellent review piece for the Independent on Peter Conradi’s new book on Radnorshire, At the Bright Hem of God: Radnorshire Pastoral. He’s reproduced the piece in full on his blog, which contains myriad other delights, so do head over and check it out.

William Dalrymple writes interestingly on the future of Travel Writing and the golden age of the genre in The Guardian. The full piece can be found here.

"Last year, on a visit to the Mani in the Peloponnese, I went to visit the headland where Bruce Chatwin had asked for his ashes to be scattered.

The hillside chapel where Chatwin's widow, Elizabeth, brought his urn lies in rocky fields near the village of Exchori, high above the bay of Kardamyli. It has a domed, red-tiled roof and round arcaded windows built from stone the colour of haloumi cheese. Inside are faded and flaking Byzantine frescoes of mounted warrior saints, lances held aloft.

The sun was sinking over the Taygetus, and there was a warm smell of wild rosemary and cypress resin in the air. It was, I thought, a perfect place for anyone to rest at the end of their travels.

My companion for the visit was Chatwin's great friend and sometime mentor, Patrick Leigh Fermor, who was Chatwin's only real rival as the greatest prose stylist of modern travel writing. Leigh Fermor's two sublime masterpieces, A Time to Keep Silence and A Time of Gifts, are among the most beautifully written books of travel of any period, and it was really he who created the persona of the bookish wanderer, later adopted by Chatwin: the footloose scholar in the wilds, scrambling through remote mountains, a knapsack full of good books on his shoulder.

Inevitably, it was a melancholy visit."

At last year’s Bruce Chatwin conference, we had many wonderful papers delivered, some of which will be published on this site in the coming weeks. One of the most interesting contributions, however, was that of Bruce Chatwin’s friend, Kevin Volans who, despite being unable to make the event itself, kindly wrote a fascinating paper which was delivered at the conference by Elizabeth Chatwin. Kevin is one of the world’s leading modern composers, and was one of Bruce Chatwin’s greatest friends, so it is an honour to be able to reproduce Kevin’s paper here:

‘Some Japanese influences on style and structure in Bruce Chatwin’s writing.’

“Some readers will find it difficult to read any more about the region after being subjected to the work of Bruce Chatwin; In Patagonia was a brief success on its first publication. Happily, however, the canny Moss, who himself is a stylish writer, is not to be taken in. He calls the work perfect for an “exercise in self-promotion and reinvention” and his own book is the antidote for anyone succumbing to a bout of Chatwinismo and the ennui it produces.” From Hugh O’Shaughnessy’s article.

Chatwin fans may be interested in Chris Moss’ new book Patagonia: A Cultural History. This from a review in The Daily Telegraph:

“[W]here the book is at its brilliant best is in its unfailingly perceptive analysis of those who have interpreted Patagonia, from the 19th-century ornithologist WH Hudson (one of Britain’s greatest nature writers) to the French philosopher Baudrillard. Moss rightly points to the sheer mediocrity of recent British travel writing on Chile and Argentina; but he is also critical of such hallowed names as Chatwin (“dated and dusty”) and the ever tetchy Paul Theroux, whose failure properly to engage with the region’s unpopulated expanses is perhaps indicative of his fundamental superficiality as an author.”

Two articles of interest over the past week or so; the first questioning famous authors on significant postcards they have received. Nick Shakespeare cites a card sent to him by Bruce Chatwin:

“I have this postcard of a Tiepolo ceiling in Wurzburg, that I was sent in 1987 by the late travel writer Bruce Chatwin, whose biography I wrote. He had driven to Prague in his 2CV with his wife Elizabeth in order to gather more material for his last novel, Utz. His German publisher who saw the Chatwins at this time had the idea that "after all the battle of life they would be together ..." I had the impression of a wonderful couple like Ovid's Philomen and Baucis.” See the card itself here.

Another relevant piece of news in this morning’s Guardian, namely an interview with Francis Wyndham, who was both a great friend and something of a mentor to Chatwin. Asked about what sort of person Chatwin was, Wyndham responds in glowing terms:

'I absolutely loved him. I found him life-enhancing. You wouldn't see him for ages, then he would just turn up. He was a bit like Jean [Rhys]; he would talk about what he wanted to talk about. It was a monologue, but it was a monologue that I wanted to hear.'

Finally, continuing a series of programmes on travellers of the twentieth century, Benedict Allen presents a documentary on the life of another great friend of Chatwin’s, Patrick Leigh Fermor. The programme is well worth watching in its entirety, but Allen does discuss Chatwin at some length towards the end of the show. It has passed by on mainstream television, but can be found for two more days on BBC iPlayer.

Saturday’s conference was an enormous success, and one hopefully to be repeated next year. The conference enjoyed papers from Susannah Clapp, Kevin Volans, Nicholas Murray, Andrew Palmer and many others. See here for Nicholas Murray’s blog entry on the day, below for some photos, and stay tuned for further news from the day.

Buying clothes pains me. I would sooner trek naked through a leech-infested jungle than shop for shoes. But somehow, over the years, I’ve amassed an extensive wardrobe of Patagonia brand clothing.
The fleece from an ex-girlfriend. The windbreaker I found secondhand. The ski pants I “borrowed” from my college roommate. The thermal underwear from Santa. The socks I treated myself to after three days of biking through the Chic Choc mountains in the rain.
Even my daypack is a Patagonia One Bag, with sealed zippers and a pocket that fits my laptop like a men’s R3 glove.
All well and good. Patagonia makes fine gear that blends form, function, corporate ethics and mountaineering chic.
But I wasn’t bound for the Rockies or the Alps. I was headed to the Andes. Patagonia—for six months. And here I was, looking as if I had just stepped out of a Patagonia catalog.
Como se dice ”tacky gringo”?
The Patagonia brand doesn’t distort Patagonia the place so much as it appropriates its image as a marketing tool, distilling stark mountains and outlaws and barren windy plains into a vague perfume of mystic coolness that makes yippies (yuppy-hippies like me) reach for our MasterCards.
Google “Patagonia” and the first result links not to a site about the place, but to the company site, where you can purchase jackets, shirts and footwear.
In the brave new world of a California-based search and technology information company, a California brand takes precedence over a place that is half the size of California.
As my red-eye to Buenos Aires taxied down the runway at JFK, I popped a sleeping pill and balled up my Patagonia fleece into a makeshift pillow. Just before passing out, a thought crossed my mind.
Was my trip nothing more than a logical extension of my brand identity? Did I buy my air ticket to the end of the Earth in the same way I might click on a text-link ad specifically targeted to my interests?
Was I following in the footsteps of Bruce Chatwin, or was I in Patagonia to make a fashion statement on a continental scale?

See here for the full piece.

Granta magazine, perhaps the most influential literary journal of recent decades, celebrated the publication of its 100th edition this month. Granta was instrumental in the renaissance seen in the genre of travel writing in the 1980s, featuring contributions from most of the major players in the field, including Bruce Chatwin, often in dedicated travel editions, the first of which included Chatwin's 'The Coup.' The Guardian observed of that edition: "[It] featured almost all the names we now regard as the masters of the genre, most of them in some absurd and compelling situation of their own making: Redmond O'Hanlon, Bruce Chatwin, James Fenton, Jonathan Raban, Martha Gellhorn, Paul Theroux and Norman Lewis. Buford regards this edition as the culmination of all he was striving for in the first three years. Or as he puts it: 'Finally I fucking did it.'"

Chatwin's books issued with new design by Vintage
The Bookseller

'Vintage Books has repackaged the backlist of travel writer Bruce Chatwin in a bid to bring his books to a new generation of readers. The new books will all have striped covers in vivid colours, which "represent images and themes within the books," the publisher said. The black and white bars across The Viceroy of Ouidah represent the slave trade, while the colourful stripes on Utz recall a Meissen harlequin (the protagonist is a devoted collector of Meissen porcelain); the stripes on In Patagonia, On the Black Hill and Songlines are designed to reflect the landscapes described in the books. "This stylish, elegant re-design is intended to bring the much-loved and admired Chatwin to a younger audience and also highlight the sophistication and vivid nature of his work," the publisher said RH designer Michael Salu added that the covers are "an exercise in the evocation of a time, place or emotion through the most basic application of colour and shape. They are a riposte to the culture of decadence prevalent within much visual communication." The move comes in line with plans by the imprint—which is part of Random House's CCV division—to move into classics territory with the launch of a new list, Vintage Classics, to house out-of-copyright works.'

Review of Charles Way's adaptation of 'On the Black Hill'
Taken from the Western Mail, October 19th 2007; review by David Adams.

'BRUCE CHATWIN’S marvellous novel, set just outside Abergavenny, has proved to be a minor classic. Andrew Grieve’s film of the book was vivid and much admired and Charles Way’s stage adaptation for the Made in Wales Stage Company, was one of that company’s finest hours. Now Way, a quarter-of-a-century on, has adapted it again for the ajtc Theatre Company and Guildford Yvonne Arnauld Theatre. How times have changed during that time is evident, not so much in the script but in the form – a play that had a cast of 12 is now a two-hander plus accompanying cellist.
Way was in many ways the ideal writer to adapt On The Black Hill. Not only is his home in Abergavenny, but his plays take that same long view, seeing a world of change in the lives of a few.
And Gwent Theatre’s small space in Abergavenny, the Melville Theatre, was the perfect place to catch the show on its UK tour.
I think this pared-down version, where that broad sweep is seen through the eyes of the two twins, could have worked. It is their relationship, their honest, uncluttered views, their unambitious coping with the vagaries of life, that is at the heart. But Iain Armstrong and Mick Jasper, while clearly committed, just don’t capture the essence in any way, rarely escaping their very Englishness, their simple cloth clothes and bare feet hinting at a dated pseudo-classic poor theatre, their scampering style at odds with the tenor of the narrative.
There is the inevitable accent problem – that border one isn’t easy to catch, but we are expected to accept here that two twins seem to come from two different parts of Wales.
But it isn’t just that, or the sub-Dylan Thomas- esque comedy of some scenes, or the difficulty of the actors playing the joint narrators, the two central characters and their parents and neighbours, including mother, sister and girlfriend.
It’s that the performance in general just doesn’t grab you, rarely moves you, and quite certainly doesn’t have the epic scope of the book or the original play. The short scenes and exaggerated playing of so many characters look like a cut-down comic-book version of a classic.
And the cello in the corner? Lewis Gibson’s music (performed by Harriet Bennett) was predictable and unnecessary – the Black Hill is raw and earthy, and the choice of a cellist rather than an actor who might have played the women in the story does, sadly, seem typical of a production that is far too fey.'