The method of madness

The writer is a brain, that brain is in the body. While the body makes him like others, the brain distinguishes him. The brain gives birth to him, they say in Albanian. The first one to whom the brain gave birth, literally, was Zeus, who gave birth to Athena from his head. That is why she became the goddess of knowledge

For me, this lecture will be more awkward than the others, because I have to talk about myself, that is, about a subject that I still don't know well and that still manages to surprise me. But I do it only to adapt to the invitation that has brought me here, and in which it is clearly written that I must also talk about myself as a writer and about the phenomenological act of creation.  

OPINION

Socrates did not write, because he thought that writing betrayed speech, just as speech betrayed thought. Today Socrates, who never wrote a single line, is considered a great philosopher, when in fact he is only a character of philosophy, a character of Plato, who so much needed his teacher. Why? Because in ancient times, Greek and Roman, to be taken seriously, you had to be old, or to come out and speak according to the teachings that an old man had given you. No one trusted a young man, no matter how learned he was. For this reason, in Athens, as in Rome later, apostrophic speech was practiced. Even in the Middle Ages, philosophers would close the matter by referring to Aristotle: the teacher has said (magister dixit). With this apostrophe, he who lacked academic authority attracted the attention of the public and, since lectures at that time were aimed at persuasion, he convinced the audience with the power of the wise old man, with the wisdom of the proven man. So, the young had to put on the mask the old ones, otherwise no one would listen. You could have an opinion, but you didn't seem credible if you were young. 

Today, people try to gain this credibility through scientific titles, or even in other ways, with great works and work, with appearances on serious shows, etc. So, they try to create an intellectual integrity, thanks to which their word will then have weight. The phrase moral integrity is often used, but since morality among the uneducated masses is only related to sexual behavior, I prefer intellectual integrity. Moreover, moral integrity, as is often understood, belongs to the private sphere, while intellectual integrity to the public sphere (parenthesis: we are witnesses to frequent cases when journalists try to destroy a person's intellectual integrity by publishing their "moral disintegrity". This has become common in the world of cinema and music, but from time to time the media has also sharpened its teeth towards literature, and Philip Roth parodied this best in "Exit Ghost"). 

The writer is a brain, that brain is in the body. While the body does the same as others, the brain distinguishes it. I brain child (mind, head), they say in Albanian. The first to beget a brain, literally, was Zeus, who gave birth to Athena from his head. (That is why Athena became the goddess of knowledge). We must distinguish the brain that begets from the one that teaches and studies. The first originates (from nothing), the second accumulates (everything it can, or needs). Creation ex nihilo, or creation in zero degree, has been discussed a lot, but despite the impulses from the outside, as long as it comes from within, it is called a source. Then we know that literature in first degree (when the author does not invent, but imitates life) and in second degree (when imitating works), although it takes a lot from outside, it derives the greatest amount of text from within, which is why it is called creation.  
I have gone through these three stages with equal care for each, and with Socratic anxiety about the betrayal that language makes of thought. I consider myself first a thinker, then a writer. Not only because I think before I write, but because I have an inextricable connection with philosophy from antiquity to the present day, and I often think that my muse is Sophia, since she is my true love (Note: I am not referring to any woman by this name, but I am alluding to the etymology of the word philosophy!). 
Inspiration, which has an ancient origin, excites thought, but there are also times when a thought inspires you. A work of inspiration without thought does not seem to me to be worth sitting down and writing, or even reading. As far as inspiration is concerned, literature is no different from religion. As soon as we come to thought, our paths diverge. 

Since I am talking about the phenomenological process, I have experienced the mysticism of inspiration as an ascetic: thinking without speaking, for days, weeks, sometimes even months (I have had this opportunity in literary residencies abroad). Often, when I am in a state of inspiration, I escape to the mountains, walk by myself and free myself. I remember that once, repenting for reading too many weak books, I became a Buddhist, shaved my head (I would like to shave it under the skin, to remove some of the readings that were still in my brain), and meditated from time to time, but it was a specific meditation: I prayed cross-legged in silence to forget the weak books that I had read. I do not think I have succeeded. Often it is more difficult for a person to forget than to remember. However, my Buddhist era lasted only four years, but from it I have remained the habit of concentrating on the inner world more than on the outer. 
Albanians taught me to talk and walk, which is why I speak clumsily and walk crookedly, while Greek philosophers taught me to think, which is why I can be awkward in society and unbearable for politicians and other mediocre people, while Buddhism taught me to concentrate, which is why I don't write every day, but only when I think I have fully mastered the problem I am going to talk about. All those in Kosovo remember from my Buddhism is the publishing house I worked for for seven years and which I called Om, maybe someone also remembers my bald head, but I remember the internal battles that were going on inside that head during that period.  

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Poets have indeed overdone inspiration, but even to give up inspiration is like taking away the aura of art. If the artist reveals everything from his art, revealing it as a pure technique, then he becomes like a magician who explains his tricks to the public. Art needs magic, hypnosis, darkness and fog. Da Vinci only slightly blurred the corner of the Mona Lisa's lip, and humanity has been trying to understand that "Why is this lady smiling?", or "Why is this man smiling?” (this last question is asked by those who support the idea that the Mona Lisa is a self-portrait of Da Vinci). 

Let us not forget that it was precisely the loss of faith in the lunatic inspiration of the Symbolists, who followed the Parnassians, that led Paul Valéry to abandon literature for twenty years, and to devote himself to the sciences, only to return forcefully to poetry, the most lunatic genre of literature. So, inspiration alone is not enough, but a book without inspiration is like a body without breath. If it is only inspiration, it is not noticeable, so much more is needed for the understanding and construction of the inn of inspiration. I believe in the inspiration that comes from the mountain of the muses, from the real world and from the library. 

As a mystical creator, I do not claim to be a writer of revolutions, but of revelations. Each of my writings is a revelation. Whether an angel or a devil proclaims, I cannot say, but perhaps my work says it. Each of my works, in addition to the impulse of inspiration, is also shaped and informed by reading.

reading

I was not a preschool reader, and I didn't even read literature in the first six years of elementary school. It was possible to get a good grade even without reading books, just by engaging in class. 
In the 90s, the political situation in Kosovo was getting worse day by day. One day, when I was ten years old, my father told us that he had arranged a job so that we could illegally cross into Germany. The bus took us all the way to Prague and left us there. From Prague, we boarded the train to Plzeň. From the Plzeň station, my father called the two people he had arranged with when we were in Kosovo to come and pick us up at the border. But they pretended not to hear the phone and did not call. We spent that night at the station, shivering from the cold and fear. An illegal immigrant is afraid of everything, even his own shadow. Because we were three small children, my mother refused to let us go out into the mountains in the dark, because we might be torn apart by border dogs, we might fall into a river or stream, or some other unforeseen disaster might happen to us. So, in the morning, we returned to Kosovo in despair: me, my two brothers, my mother, father, and grandfather.

Meanwhile, my close classmates left for Germany, my father too, and my grandfather died, and I began to feel lonely. I went to the city library and took a book. I didn't choose it, but the librarian. The book was called "Robinson Crusoe". I read it in one sitting. Then I took a few more books that the librarian suggested to me. I remember that the first book I chose (because of the beautiful covers, of course) was Goethe's "Faust". I will never forget that magic. Until I got my doctorate, I read that book every year. Much later, after that "first meeting", I realized that Goethe is an inventor and an exemplar of world literature. 

However, until I was 18, I read everything I could get my hands on. If a complete work by a genius was on the library shelf, I would read it in its entirety. If a complete work by an idiot was on its shelf (because in my country, even idiots publish complete works), I would read it to the end. I thought it was a sin to discriminate in reading. 

In high school I gave up reading. with shelves. I was taught to skip some Albanian authors and focus on foreigners. During my studies, I focused only on reading masterpieces. Then, at the age of 30, after finishing my doctorate, I started reading with a map. Reading with map has enriched me more than any other reading. I try to know the literature of every nation, and in my mind to create my own world literature. Thus, I know many authors from all over the world. Some I keep only on a map, and some in my heart.  

This year, when I was in Bucharest, I visited the Museum of Literature, where Mircea Eliade occupied the main place. I learned that this great writer and scholar, when he was young, had risked his health by trying not to sleep, because he thought that during those hours he slept, he did not exist. And so he had tried to read, without sleeping either day or night. He had not succeeded, of course. 

This effort of his reminded me of myself when I was young. I tried to read a lot, I don't know if I broke his record, although I did lose sleep over it one night. Then my commitments deprived me of these "dangerous races". For years, I have been asked everywhere for promotions, presentations and lectures, and I find it impossible to keep up the pace of reading as I used to, but I still read, and often the hours spent without reading, I replace with listening. So, on the street, in the park, at the airport, on the plane, on the bus, on the train, in the car, I put on my headphones and hear literature. I become like one of Homer's former listeners. But unlike the Greek poet who had no eyes to see those to whom he told stories, I do not see the one who tells me the story in my ear. I have often said that literature is a drug that is taken with the eyes and the ears. Alas, I did not succeed with my nose, I even smelled "Perfume" with my eyes. 

Borges said that “while others boast about what they have written, I boast about what I have read”. You cannot imagine how proud I am of all those masterpieces that I have devoured with a wolfish hunger. Seneca, the wisest Roman, said that a person cannot read a hundred books in his entire life. He may be right about the shape and dimensions of the book of that time, while in today's time no one should enter into discussions of ideas without having read at least a hundred books. 
Since this lecture obliges me to speak in the first person, I must tell you that before I enrolled in college, I had read over a thousand books, of which no more than ten were children's books. I have read hundreds of children's books since I entered college. I was a serious child, and my infantile naivety made me nervous. 
I am not saying these numbers to boast or to train you, but only to show you my connection with the book. I have never been able to find the key to communicating with the living around me, while I communicated brilliantly with the distant and the dead. Because I have read their works and biographies that have been written about them, I feel as if I have assisted in the writing of ancient plays; I have illegally visited the island of Lesbos; I have accompanied Seneca to the bathtub and worn his sandals; I have accompanied Khayyam through pubs; I was there when Marlowe was killed over a bill; I have informed Shakespeare about Illyria; we cried with Goethe over Charlotte; we have walked through cemeteries with Poe; we have gambled with Dostoevsky; we have traveled by train to Astapovo with Tolstoy; we have gone with Hesse to Jung for therapy; I have tried to turn off the moon so that the Francoists would not shoot Lorca; and don't even ask where we were with Baudelaire. All the classic and contemporary writers seem to me like my friends, with whom I have unforgettable moments. (I have a little more difficulty remembering such moments with the living).  

I read them and became friends with them. Therefore, when someone criticized a writer I had as a friend, such as Shakespeare, then I got on that person's nerves. Because if someone came out to criticize Goethe, I would certainly be left in his hands. I did not allow, and still do not allow, my friends to insult me. 

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Even though for years now reading, for me, that means interpretation, I like to enjoy the work more than to analyze it. And when I analyze it, I do it only so that someone else can enjoy it. So, I never do the analysis for myself. And the pleasure of interpretation is very small compared to the pleasure of reading. 

At the University of Prishtina, I have been lecturing for years on “Methods of the Study of Literature”, that is, interpretation on interpretations. Of course, it is not comparable to reading, but I do it because of the salary, with which I then go buy books and lose myself reading them. If you remember Markus Mesner in the novel “Rage”, you know that he did not like to clean chickens according to kosher rules, but it was something that had to be done. For me, too, lecturing is something that has to be done, it does not matter if I want to or not. 

I told you about my reading, with a bookshelf and with a map. Don't think that I read with a map to expand my reading geography. No, I read because I want to know all cultures and understand the psychology of humanity. Why am I interested in understanding humanity? Maybe because I want to know which of us is the stupidest.

Writing

I am aware that, even if one reads all the books in the world, a writer is remembered for what he has written, not for what he has read. However, unlike many of my colleagues today who are preoccupied with their own eternity, I do not worry about it. Even if they forget to bury me, I will not be sad. A writer should not forget, and we have enough examples to show us that writers are often forgotten. 

Writer? The word writer itself is not very accurate to name the artist of the word, because it is related to writing, while “writer” is beyond writing. Homer did not write, but he is the father of literature. How can we call someone a writer who did not write? (Here I am talking about the supposed Homer, without entering into the Homeric issue, because we would have to continue the discussion in the next semester). 

The Greek Aed and the Celtic bard are storytellers, artists of the word. So, when we say writer, it's as if we reduce our work, but, as the ancient linguists said, we have agreed to call a dog a dog, even though this arbitrary decision leaves no mark on him; even if we called him a sheep, he would bark, not bleat. So, let them call us writers, great work, we continue the art of the word. We, the descendants of Homer, continue through writing. 

From most biographies I have read, I have understood that writers write in the morning, sometimes early in the morning. For myself, despite my name, I write at night, mainly after ten o'clock, often around midnight, sometimes until morning. An insignificant fact, what facts often are. In those moments I do not know what the weather is like outside, but inside me a storm begins, ghosts are awakened, myths are recreated. Believe me, despite my thoughts and readings, the white page makes my body shiver! It seems more frightening to me than the shroud. I am not terrified by everything that boils inside me, but by the nothingness that lies ahead. I have only one goal before it: to remove the white nothingness and from it to extract the meaning of the living world.  

If I were to write about my experiences with writing, a great book like "War and Peace" would come out. Of course, I don't plan to do it, because it would be like taking the magic out of art, but I can only say this: I don't write in peace, but in war. It is an epic war with writing, with characters, with myself, with the environment, with the other, with the world. The creator is Zeus who gives birth. When Athena came out of his head, she was not a child, but a grown woman dressed in armor. So too, when a literary work is born, you can't say that this year it is still weak, but after twenty years it grows and becomes a masterpiece. No. The book and Athena are born grown and armed. And they neither age nor die. Faust is a professor, Hamlet is a student, Dolgoruky is a teenager, Lolita is a minor. But the works in which they reside are works of adults for adults. At that age they were born, they remain. It is the fate of Athena that follows all head births. 

As far as I can remember, I have no children, except the one inside me that refuses to grow, and those who have been born from my head, and who are also the same age as when they were born. Of course, these children of mine do not appear on demographic lists. However, I have brought them into existence, having a deep faith not in life, but in literature. You may, but you must not, see literature as something complementary, not essential. If you do not believe me, I will tell you that the teacher Ezra Pound said: “A civilization is founded on Homer, a civilization and not just a puffed-up empire.” 

I have believed and continue to believe that there is nothing more precious than literature. It has enabled me to cross the borders not only between countries, but also between worlds. A few years ago I was in hell, then I went through purgatory and finally filled my lungs with the air of heaven, and returned. Literature is this world that we know and the other that we imagine. The literary universe is a unique universe, larger than the one that science tries to know. 

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I told you about my literary method (thinking, reading and writing). You may think of me as everyone thought of Prince Hamlet when he put on the mask of a fool, but you do well to doubt the same as Pollio, who, after seeing the prince's follies, said: Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.  

Lecture given at the University of Prague, during the period October-December 2024. Footnotes removed by the Editorial Team. Published with permission of the author.