The Greek city of Chalcis (also known as Chalkida) is built on the two coasts of the straight of Evripos. As
such, it’s a city of water and bridges. Perhaps the most famous is the
sliding Negroponte Bridge, where tourists gather to watch the tidal phenomenon
that has made Chalcis famous since ancient times. Here, the currents reverse
direction every six hours. The water flows from the north Evian Gulf to the
south for six hours, then becomes still for approximately eight minutes, then
reverses direction. Because the currents can reach up to nine miles per hour,
the churning visible from the bridge earned the nickname “mad waters” or “crazy
waters.” The flow of the currents is entirely dependent on the moon and is
directly connected to the duration of each lunar month.
There’s much to contemplate about this natural occurrence—scientifically,
nautically, philosophically. Maybe you can relate to a time when you were
between acts and seemed to be spinning endlessly, or stuck in a dormant lull.
From all sides, the competing pulls of inspiration and obligation, as you churn
in place, deciding. Or, an ominous surface as smooth as glass, too lacking in
impressions to fully enjoy.
I’m between writing projects. Taking a break. Changing
course. Attempting to appreciate the waves, the periods of calm. I read about Chalcis
while doing research for a short story. Online, much information can be found. There are tourism sites touting the incredible sight of the “crazy waters.” Former visitors have posted
videos and photos of the phenomenon. One website breaks down the entire
lunar schedule for the changing of currents, minute by minute, hour by hour. But
my favorite site about the amazing waters of Chalcis waxes philosophic about
the whole thing:
“The continuous function of the phenomenon in accordance
with the laws of nature, for thousands of years, shows us that each and every
day is a carrier of eternity."
And...
"Some have believed they have explained it—and remained
with this illusion. Some others have comprehended its infinity and
insolubility. Explanations are for mortals. The Universe never requires
explanation in order to carry on its course in the infinite space."
And…
“Observing the tidal phenomenon one discovers, each and
every time, that he has never been there before, even though he may have
witnessed it so many times.”
Yep. Pretty much sums up the routine and surprise of creativity,
its endless cycle of changing course, dormancy, and maelstrom. For now, I’m
trying to enjoy the churning.
I listened to the author Samantha
Harvey on our local university radio station yesterday. She spoke about her novel,
Dear Thief, which received several
awards, including being longlisted for the Baileys Women’s Prize for Fiction
this year. Harvey talked about her early studies in philosophy. She seemed to
be headed for a life in academia, she said, but soon realized it wasn’t for
her. She turned to fiction-writing as another outlet for her interest. Writing
a novel, she claimed, seemed to be a comprehensive and longform way to work out a
philosophical idea. She said that the inspiration for her writing is, at first,
the idea and then, the way it can be expressed through the lives of characters.
(I’m paraphrasing here, because I lost my notes or should I say…my notes
vanished after an unnamed child used my computer. A podcast of Harvey’s
interview isn’t available online as of today but it will be, eventually, and is
certainly worth a listen. Check here.)
Dear
Thief isn’t an easy read. As implied by the title, the novel takes the form
of a long letter written over a period of several months. The letter-writer brings
up memories and questions she’s brooded over the many years since she and
the addressee have seen each other. There was a betrayal and much
misunderstanding, a tumultuous friendship that eventually ended. Her letter
deals not only with what actually happened, but also with her musings of what
might have happened and what the ex-friend may be doing now. It is perhaps one
of the more intimate things I’ve read, as the entire purview is this woman’s
tortured mind and hurt feelings, and the gulf left by what the other woman has
stolen from her. But there’s a sort of puzzle to be made of it and isn’t that
the way with any memory, any impression? The twists between what happened and
what we’ve made of it since, peppered with the perspectives of everyone else. I
thought the novel was brave, engrossing, and metaphorically in line with the
process each of us writers goes through to create a fictional world.
So that’s the novel. What really stayed with me after Harvey’s interview was
her comments about philosophy and the initial spark for her writing. The
exploration of a philosophical idea, manifest in the actions and minds of
characters. This comes very close to how I’d describe my own process, and I
felt a comradery with Harvey for what I know is a solitary, mind-draining
experience. A moment of writerly sisterhood, if you will. And then I turned off
the radio and went back to work.
"As soon as we express something, we devalue it strangely. We believe ourselves to have dived down into the depths of the abyss, and when we once again reach the surface, the drops of water on our pale fingertips no longer resemble the ocean from which they came...Nevertheless, the treasure shimmers in the darkness unchanged." ---Franz Kafka
