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The Camino is full of strange and wonderful experiences, and this is just another one of these moments. I’m not known as someone who bestows blessings on strangers, or one who appreciates poorly made timber products for that matter. But here in Spain, these things become so much more than just superficial. Somehow I catch the emotion behind what I see, the true spirit behind the words, and in this case, the actions, and it seems to make all the difference. Things become vibrant and the world becomes alive.

The second time I came to Australia, I thought of it as my great adventure. I had travelled around the world in pursuit of a relationship, leaving family, friends and employment behind. It was a big risk. So when my relationship with Stephanie continued to grow from strength to strength and I had successfully established myself in Sydney, I really thought that risk had paid off quite nicely.

Then two friends of mine announced that they were climbing to Mount Everest base camp. Suddenly my grand adventure seemed little more than a exchange of one homogenous environment for another, my lifestyle just a generic middle-class wage-slave existence in a metropolitan city.

One of the great pleasures of writing this blog is that occasionally I get to share in someone else’s adventure, read their thoughts and feelings while undertaking incredible challenges.

Brad Kyle explains in the book’s opening the circuitous journey taken by the eventual inspiration that led to him setting off along the Camino trail in Spain. Initially he learned of the pilgrimage trail from an anonymous girl one summers day in London, who introduced him to Paulo Coelho‘s The Pilgrimage. Following the death of his father eight years later, Kyle is reminded of that happy evening when he encounters a second book – Shirley MacLaine’s The Camino – A Journey of the Spirit, which finally sets him on the path to Santiago.

Between jobs, feeling adrift and in possession of some savings, Kyle flies from Melbourne to London and then across the water to the eventual starting point Saint Jean Pied de Port. Suddenly conscious that he may well be unprepared for the road ahead – the foul weather, steep terrain, blisters! – he also becomes acutely aware of just how alone he is, having set himself the challenge of marching across two countries over a period of five weeks.

Physical discomfort and the vagaries of hostel curfews aside, Kyle soon begins to get the hang of life on the pilgrim trail. Initial fleeting encounters with fellow travellers soon grow into genuine relationships. The spectacular scenery and encounters with some local animals – at one point Kyle gives a silent thank you to Dr. Harry for his advice on greeting horses – soon dwarfs the aches and pains. There are even stirrings of romance. In effect, this is a story of one man’s rediscovery of what makes life worth living.

Kyle describes his journey in a very personable and thoughtful manner. Often his reminiscences are grounded in terms that can be easily understood. For example he has a tendency of comparing certain experiences to popular films, such as Finding Nemo, Men in Black and Amelie.

In fact the style of writing here is deeply personal, with the emotions described obviously keenly felt. At times it reads much like an attempt by Bill Bryson to rewrite Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther. The travelogue has moved on from overtly literary fare designed for the consumption of 19th century high class salons, evolving into personal accounts leavened with a lot of humour. I had a strong sense of familiarity while reading Memoirs of a Pilgrim – it felt as intimate as reading a friend’s blog on some far-flung adventure.

This is a touching, heart-felt and engaging story of an incredible journey through a timeless landscape.

With thanks to the author for my review copy.

I begun and begun again; and though I had nothing to say, and that nothing might have been express’d in half a dozen lines, I made half a dozen different beginnings, and could no way please myself.

In short, I was in no mood to write.

So this is the story. For the last three weeks I have taken on an additional challenge for the month of November. No, not to grow a moustache. That ship has sailed and made a few round trips already.  I joined NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month.

Write 50,000 words in a month. That’s the challenge. Anything you want. Then once it is all over, you can take a gander at your ‘masterpiece’, and see if there’s anything worth salvaging.

This afternoon I finally hit 40,000 words. I am cutting it close, as the deadline is this Tuesday. But books don’t read themselves, so a delicate balancing act has occupied me for the last few weeks. (I am also nursing one sick cat. That takes up a lot more time than any invertebrate ‘novel’).

Approach a student of English letters and say the words ‘Tristram Shandy’. Observe how the shibboleth brings a look of despair and panic to their eyes. Personally I rather like Sterne’s ground-breaking novel, but then I came to it from the opposite direction, as a related text to La Peau de Chagrin by Balzac. The French literary scene were quite taken with Sterne’s device of writing a novel that never properly starts.

By its completion, with several volumes concerning the ancestry of Tristram, our hero’s story has yet to begin. It’s as much a novel about the difficulties in writing a novel as anything else. There are also a few visual quirks thrown in, such as the page that is entirely black (a device supernatural authors became fond of in the 19th/early 20th centuries).

I would also recommend Michael Winterbottom’s film ‘adaptation’, A Cock and Bull Story which concerns a film production of Shandy that itself can’t quite get off the ground.

A Sentimental Journey is equally digressive, a travelogue that is entered into on the whim of the narrator, Yorick, which is more concerned with his thoughts on travelling than the journey itself. Crossing France from Calais he relates the various encounters he has with people of interest, although the peculiarities of the French language and the differences in social conventions prevent Yorick from developing any real relationships. He somehow manages to be oblivious to the fact that England is at war with France during the first half of his journey!

His one constant is a hired manservant named La Fleur who is lacking in qualifications, but has an innate understanding of what is required to protect monsieur’s honour. Yorick is continually caught in his own complicated thought processes, at one point naming the various devils that prevent from entering any course of action – Avarice, Caution, Cowardice, Discretion, Hypocrisy, Meanness and Pride. These personal forces at all times in conflict with one another, leaving Yorick a more comical procrastinator than the eponymous hero of the play from which Sterne gave him his name.

To Sterne’s credit not only is Hamlet referenced in the text, the play is mocked mercilessly, or rather the regard with which it is held by the English. To illustrate Yorick’s confounded thought processes Sterne writes mostly in a stream of consciousness style. The frustrated flirting of the hero – for it would not do to approach a woman in France as one would in England – occasions much of the suspended plot.

Perhaps this is a stumbling block for readers of Sterne. Nothing much happens, but what does occur is poured over and agonized by the characters in a mockery of authorial insight.

This is a witty, inventive and above all, fun book.

 

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