An island state
The newcomer can immediately discover the real essence of that stretch of land permanently lurking alone, in apparent oblivion of all, in the middle of the Mediterranean: that rock is equally small and complete. It has consistently attracted the attention of numerous powerful nations. They have left their indelible mark on its character, all layers telling a different story, all leading towards assimilation. History has been equally benevolent and despotic. Since Malta is also a tourist resort, it boasts of its past as it seeks to meet the demands of the present. Being Labourite or Nationalist today is the end product of a whole tradition, midway between the pre-independence and the postcolonial periods. A whole story can be narrated in the light of the past-present relationship.
Malta forcefully illustrates the fact that the past and the present habitually go hand in hand. The dispute between the immobility of the past and the velocity of the present greatly explains what life in Malta is. That is what makes the island a fascinating story to narrate.
The identity of early Malta was shaped by the Phoenicians, the Carthaginians and the Romans. St Paul’s shipwreck in 60 AD gave birth to the strong uninterrupted Christian tradition of the island. The Arabs settled in Malta between 870 and 1090, succeeded by the Normans and then the Order of St John. The Knights of Malta have left a rich architectural heritage scattered throughout the place. In 1798, Napoleon invaded Malta and forced the Order to leave. The uprising of the Maltese against their French occupants led to the British blockade. They asked for British protection in 1802. Malta was annexed to Britain under the Treaty of Paris in 1814, and attained independence from Britain in 1964. In 1979 it became a republic and then it only took Malta a few years to be recognised as a member of the European Union. A success story indeed.
The discovery of roots
The island's heritage is essentially in stone, and man has to be a builder of some sort. Navigation gave way to construction. Maltese history recognises its prehistorical birth in ritual, and since then the islander has not changed substantially. His attitude towards his heritage in stone is still ritual. Churches are built with the same facility as villas. A church may resemble a villa, and vice-versa. A church is not only useful but also symbolical; so is a Maltese house. It is equally an abode and a solid image of the inhabitant.
Different cultures have produced specific psychological traits. The major eras, Phoenician, Carthaginian, Roman, Spanish, Arab, Norman, French, British, illustrate submission to superior forces and the gradual formation of an indigenous identity through assimilation and adaptation.
Narrating Malta, a valiant boat
For a long number of years I have found it intriguing to reflect on the reality of Malta as a sort of image of any other existential situation in Southern Europe.
Such novels intentionally look provincial, historical, tied to a specific time and place, caught in a time warp. That is how the sense of what is contemporary can be unearthed. All this can constitute what may be defined as a ‘Mediterranean novel’. Mediterraneity is an attitude, and then a method of writing.
PN-PL – The great divide
The precariousness of an islander is the fundamental theme from which all variations may emanate. My islander has always lived on the cutting edge and his nature has been moulded by a persistent accumulation of civilisations. The inhabitant of Malta, born on a tiny land, takes pride in being a stubborn survivor, defying time, absorbing the lessons of time. Invasions have moulded such an islander into a crusader in search of a promised land which must be somewhere within.
In my novel Fil-Parlament ma Jikbrux Fjuri (No flowers grow in Parliament, 1986), the protagonist is an average worker, ironically called Karlu Manju, who wearily plods his way towards self-recognition in terms of political belonging. He ultimately understands that both dimensions, Nationalist and Labourite, converge within his conscience. He is a Maltese pilgrim.
The question regarding what it means to be the end-result of so many diverse civilisations is intriguing, and answers can be provided both scholarly and literarily. I have sought both over a period of more than 35 years. It is safe to conclude that both are components of one selfsame interpretation. The awareness of Malta forming part of the southernmost end of a continent, facing the northern frontier of another, and the fact that diverse cultures meet within the Maltese spirit: that has been a continuous source of inspiration.
Political issues
Malta embodies antiquity, but it has to do that in a modern way. Various features of this duality, typified in the PN-PL conflict, can be identified: God is timeless, and history conveys that sense through the transience of time; the land is limited, and it faces the sea, which seems infinite. My Maltese outsider is also existential, but is definitely political, historical, deeply rooted somewhere in the Mediterranean. For instance, the protagonist of Il-Gidba (The Lie, 1978) strives to attain freedom as he instinctively falls in love with chains. Belonging to the Labour or to the Nationalist Party is, however, redemptive and makes a person complete.
Such a frontier country, an ex-colony outwitting history, emerging as a fully fledged nation state, worthy of forming part of the European assembly of nations: that is indeed a novel with a happy ending. For instance, Gizimin li Qatt ma Jiftah (Jasmines that never bloom, 1998) and It-Tfal jigu bil-Vapuri (Children come by ship, 2000) depict life in the past, eventually transforming memory into fantasy, history into fable. The idea of childhood, evoking the smallness of the island, gives rise to a narrative that is equally personal and political.
Such an island stands midway between isolation and integration, representing the condition of the average inhabitant of the place as well as that of any human being. La jibbnazza nigi lura (May Fair Weather Bring Me Home, 2006), a sequel to It-Tfal jigu bil-Vapuri, further delves into the problem of how to reach a compromise between tradition and modernity. The fact that Malta is Mediterranean is never lost out of sight. The third novel of the trilogy, Dik id-Dghajsa f’Nofs il-Port (That boat in the middle of the harbour), proposes a revival of life in the Harbour area.
The setting is a constant: the South of Europe, an island in the centre of the Mediterranean, a country that has to strike a middle course between tradition and modernisation. Smallness is thus seen as a condition, not as a limitation. Hekk Thabbat il-Qalb Maltija (How the Maltese heart beats) is a trilogy conceived and constructed over a period of 10 years during which radical changes occur in Malta at all levels.
It will be indeed a grave mistake if certain issues are dealt with in the traditional way, namely by being identified with specific political blocks. Principles do not have colours; they only have value.
The Department of Maltese at the University of Malta is holding an evening during which Professor Oliver Friggieri will be interviewed by Professor Arnold Cassola in the light of Friggieri's recently launched trilogy 'Hekk Thabbat il-Qalb Maltija'. The evening is being held next Wednesday, 14 November, at Erin Serracino Hall (LT1), University of Malta at 6.30pm. The public is invited to attend.