The Angel and the Octopus

by Simon Leys

Extract

The Paradox Of Provincialism

In a homage to Henri Michaux (arguably the greatest poet in the French language this century), Borges raised an interesting point: 'A writer who was born in a big country is always in danger of believing that the culture of his native country encompasses all his needs. Paradoxically, he therefore runs the risk of becoming provincial.' Naturally, the poet from Buenos Aires was in a good position to detect the secret strength of the poet from Namur (Michaux loathed his birthplace Ð the province of a province).

People who live in Paris, London or New York have a thousand convincing reasons to feel that they are 'where the action is', and therefore they tend to become oblivious of the fact that rich developments are also taking place elsewhere. This is something which educated people who live in a village are unlikely ever to forget. (Still, needless to say, there is one thing worse than ignoring the outside world when in New York, and that is ignoring the outside world when in Queanbeyan.)

Culture is born out of exchanges and thrives on differences. In this sense, 'national culture' is a self-contradiction, and 'multiculturalism' a pleonasm. The death of culture lies in self-centredness, self-sufficiency and isolation. (Here, for example, the first concern Ð it seems Ð should not be to create an Aus-tralian culture, but a cultured Australia.)

When modern navigators reached Easter Island, they were confronted with an enigma: what was the meaning of the colossal stone monuments that stood on top of the cliffs? Who had carved these monoliths? By what feats of sophisticated engineering were they erected? Since the local population could not offer the slightest clue to answer these questions, it was assumed that they were late-comers and that the original nation of monument-builders had vanished with their entire civilisation. Archaeological and anthropological research eventually solved the riddle: the early settlers had reached the island by accident; at first they maintained their culture and technology, but then, marooned for centuries in complete isolation, deprived of outside contacts, challenges and stimulations, their descendants progressively could no more muster the energy to cultivate their heavy heritage; eventually they ceased to understand it, and in the end, its very memory was lost. In its lonely and perfectly sterile purity, Easter Island is the ultimate paradigm of a 'national culture'.