It was a dark and stormy night…
Hierdie inleiding word oor die algemeen beskou as seker een van die grootste clichés in die geskiedenis van die Engelse letterkunde. Maar, glo dit of nie, daar was ‘n tyd toe hierdie frase ‘n leser dieper onder sy duvet kon laat inkruip het.
Die eerste skrywer wat hierdie frase gebruik het, was die Victoriaanse Gotiese skrywer Baron Edward Bulwer-Lytton in sy 1830 roman Paul Clifford. Maar, hierdie was slegs die begin van Bulwer-Lytton se misdryf met die geskrewe woord. Die res van die sin is net so erg:
It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents — except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.
En ek is nie die enigste een wat so dink nie!
Sedert 1982 bied die Universiteit van San Jose die jaarlikse Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest aan. Die tong-in-die-kies uitdaging? Om die eerste sin van die swakste roman denkbaar te skryf. Van die vorige wenners is nogal indrukwekkend swak:
The corpse exuded the irresistible aroma of a piquant, ancho chili glaze enticingly enhanced with a hint of fresh cilantro as it lay before him, coyly garnished by a garland of variegated radicchio and caramelized onions, and impishly drizzled with glistening rivulets of vintage balsamic vinegar and roasted garlic oil; yes, as he surveyed the body of the slain food critic slumped on the floor of the cozy, but nearly empty, bistro, a quick inventory of his senses told corpulent Inspector Moreau that this was, in all likelihood, an inside job.
Bob Perry, Milton, Massachusetts (1998 Winner)
Through the gathering gloom of a late-October afternoon, along the greasy, cracked paving-stones slick from the sputum of the sky, Stanley Ruddlethorp wearily trudged up the hill from the cemetery where his wife, sister, brother, and three children were all buried, and forced open the door of his decaying house, blissfully unaware of the catastrophe that was soon to devastate his life.
–Dr. David Chuter, Kingston, Surrey, England (1999 Winner)
They had but one last remaining night together, so they embraced each other as tightly as that two-flavor entwined string cheese that is orange and yellowish-white, the orange probably being a bland Cheddar and the white . . . Mozzarella, although it could possibly be Provolone or just plain American, as it really doesn’t taste distinctly dissimilar from the orange, yet they would have you believe it does by coloring it differently.
–Mariann Simms, Wetumpka, Alabama (2003 Winner)
Dis egter nie die enigste vreemde literêre toekenning wat ‘n skrywer op sy rak kan kry nie. Die Britse tydskrif Literary Review se jaarlikse toekenning van die Bad Sex in Fiction prys is self nogal indrukwekkend. Die meeste van die vorige wenners is so icky dat ek amper té skaam kry om selfs die makste een uit die stal op my blog te sit. Maar, ter wille van lesersvriendelikheid sal ek dié een vir julle gee:
Her hand is moving away from my knee and heading north. Heading unnervingly and with a steely will towards the pole. And, like Sir Ranulph Fiennes, Pamela will not easily be discouraged. I try twitching, and then shaking my leg, but to no avail. At last, disastrously, I try squeezing her hand painfully between my bony thighs, but this only serves to inflame her ardour the more. Ever northward moves her hand, while she smiles languorously at my right ear. And when she reaches the north pole, I think in wonder and terror…she will surely want to pitch her tent.
2000 Kissing England by Sean Thomas (Flamingo)
Anders as die BLFC, kom die Bad Sex in Fiction nominasies almal uit boeke wat op die boekrakke te vinde is!
Maar, ek wil ook ‘n lansie breek vir die uitgewers, redigeerders en die res van die produksiespan. Ek weet na dese ook dat dit soms nie saak maak hoeveel ‘n stelling, beskrywing of sogenaamde ‘feite’ jou dwars in die krop steek nie, soms het ‘n mens eenvoudig nie ‘n keuse nie en moet jy maar jou oë toeknyp en nog een laat verby gaan. Maar, Sean Thomas, ek wil tog asseblief nooit aan een van jou boeke wil werk nie!
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