Easter Arts Diary

Our cultural picks for the holiday ahead.

Concert

Easter Weekend at Aldeburgh Music, Suffolk IP17 1SP. 29-31 March

The Alderburgh is marking Benjamin Britten’s veneration of Purcell with a weekend of concerts. Providing a snapshot of a powerful musical bond, the concerts will variously delve into musical history, bringing it up-to-date with a present generation of performers and composers.

There are two concert performances of Purcell’s powerful opera, Dido and Aenas, set in Orford Church, while La Nuova Musica connects Purcell with his predecessor, John Blow. Featuring ensembles closely bound to the Aldeburgh, including a leading role for the young artist programme, the weekend is described as “a celebration of the patron saint of music and musicians whose feast day is Britten’s own birthday”.

 

Dance

Sutra, Sadler’s Wells. London, EC1R 4TN. 3-6 April

After touring the globe, showing to audiences as far-flung as New Zealand and Singapore, Sutra returns to Sadler’s Wells on Wednesday for its fifth anniversary. The collaboration between choreographer Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui, Turner Prize-winning sculptor Antony Gormley and 17 Buddhist monks from the Shaolin Temple in China has been described as "outstanding".

Polish composer Szymon Brzóska was specially commissioned to write the score, while Gormley’s set of 21 wooden boxes provides a striking backdrop for a unique artistic production which explores the philosophy and faith behind the Shaolin tradition.

 

Art

Nástio Mosquito: Nastia Answers Gabi. IKON gallery, Birmingham B1 2HS. Now-21 April

Following his appearance at the Tate Modern last November, artist, videographer, poet and provocateur Nástio Mosquito’s latest exhibition reflects on the nature of our globalised world, with particular reference to representations of Africa and post-colonial clichés.

A notoriously irreverent artist, his videos are knowingly politically-incorrect. He picks apart the philosophical language familiar to the art world in order to convey his philosophical scepticism about contemporary society. Including videos in which he talks to his female equivalent Nástia, as well as a short scene in which he answers questions from renowned curator Gabi Ngcobo, Mosquito uses humour to explore post-colonial clichés and expresses an urgent desire to engage with reality on all levels.

 

Theatre

Untold Stories. The Duchess Theatre, London WC2B 5LA. 22 March onwards

The National Theatre’s critically-acclaimed double bill, featuring two auto-biographical recollections by Alan Bennett, is now showing at the Duchess Theatre for a 12-week run.

Hymn, the first of the two plays, is a memoir of music and childhood, directed by Nadia Fall to music by George Fenton. A nostalgic piece, it brings together Bennett’s memories of concerts at Leeds Hall with stories of his father teaching him the violin.

Cocktail Sticks is directed by Nicholas Hytner and was first performed at the National Theatre last year. Described as "tender, touching and sad”, it is inspired by themes and conversations from Bennett’s memoir A Life Like Other People’s. Alex Jennings play Alan Bennett in both pieces.

 

The Life and Sort of Death of Eric Argyle. Soho Theatre. London. 3-20 April.

Nominated for ‘Best New Play’ at the Irish Theatre Awards and off the back of a hugely successful Edinburgh and Dublin run, The Life and Sort of Death of Eric Argyle will be showing at the Soho Theatre throughout April. A play about a man who has barely lived enough to have regrets, critics have described it as “high accomplished” and a “marvellous production”. Written by Dublin-based playwright Ross Dungan and performed by eight Irish actors, this exciting new play is story-telling at its best.

 

Chinese shaolin monk performs in 'Sutra', a ballet by Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui, on July 8, 2008 in Avignon, southeastern France, as part of the 62nd Avignon international festival. Photo: Anne-Christine Poujoulat/Getty Images
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Drama without sensation: A Separation is an unsettling novel of distances

In Katie Kitamura’s novel, it is the distance between the narrator’s two selves that causes her most discomfort.

In a 2013 interview with Guernica, the online magazine, the novelist Katie Kitamura discussed how publishing’s “deeply patronising attitude” towards female readers results in overtly feminine book covers, featuring, for instance, women in bathing suits. “That’s not the kind of book cover that makes me want to buy a book,” she said.

The cover of Kitamura’s latest novel, A Separation, does, surprisingly, feature a woman in a bathing suit. But there is something quietly unsettling about this picture: the woman, who has her back to us, is awkwardly cropped out of frame from the elbows up, and she is sitting at the edge of an oddly shaped pool. Most of the cover is solid turquoise – a bright wash of negative space.

Kitamura’s unnamed narrator is a poised literary translator. As the novel opens in London, we learn that she is married to Christopher (a charming, haphazard non-author) but, in secret, they have been living separately for the past six months. When she receives a telephone call from Christopher’s mother, Isabella, informing her that he has seemingly gone missing in Greece, she doesn’t let on about her disintegrating marriage but boards a plane to look for him.

Much of the rest of the novel takes place in Greece: at a “very pleasant” hotel, in “perfect weather”, the pool “heated to a very comfortable temperature”. The area has recently experienced a string of devastating fires, leaving patches of scorched earth. The location has an almost eerie surface stillness that jars with the mystery at its heart. In this way, Kitamura (an art critic as well as novelist) creates a setting somehow reminiscent of David Hockney’s A Bigger Splash, Christopher’s sudden disappearance leaving behind no visible ripples.

The narrator, too, has a glassy composure at odds with the tumultuous events. On deciding to end her marriage formally, she shows neither despair nor relief, but anxiety about the etiquette. “I assumed – I had no prior experience to go on – that asking for a divorce was always discomfiting,” she says with typical understatement, “but I could not believe it was always this awkward.” Of her feelings for her new partner, Yvan, she notes that they seem more like “administration rather than passion”, and then offers a moderated gloss of Hamlet, “You cannot say you did it out of love, since at your age romantic passions have grown weak, and the heart obeys reason.

Her emotional separation from the trauma of her circumstances allows the narrator to examine the facts of her husband’s disappearance. She knows Christopher was unfaithful and she immediately identifies the hotel receptionist as the object of his attentions. We never see the narrator professionally translating, but the novel is concerned with her attempts to read the deeper meanings behind the remarks and behaviour of those around her. She finds it easy to imagine unseen contexts to conversations: an argument between Christopher’s parents, an embrace between her taxi driver and the hotel receptionist. As she writes, “Imagination, after all, costs nothing.”

Her propensity for projection is such that some things remain lost in translation. Even the most minute interactions can be misread. When Christopher’s mother comments that the two women’s love for her son connects them, “she was looking over my shoulder, as if watching someone approach . . . she was staring at nothing”. The novel occupies this imaginative negative space: the gap between what people think and how they appear.

Ultimately, it is the distance between the narrator’s two selves that causes her most discomfort. How long will she allow others to read her as the concerned, loving wife? Should she admit she wants to find Christopher in order to request that they separate officially? As her search continues she notes, “There was a small but definite wedge pushing between the person I was and the person I was purporting to be.”

There is a suspenseful and menacing tone to Kitamura’s prose that might trick a reader into thinking, at first, they are in the territory of thrillers such as Gone Girl and The Girl on the Train. Both these novels, like A Separation, have narrators who defy readers’ attempts to fathom their emotional depths and to deal with questions of how well you know anyone – even your own partner. But this is a work free of sensation, or even resolution. As the narrator notes, in the shock of an event it is natural to look for a more dramatic narrative. “But in the end,” she says, “this is only chasing shadows. The real culpability is not to be found in the dark or with a stranger, but in ourselves.”

A Separation by Katie Kitamura is published by Clerkenwell Press (231pp, £12.99)

Anna Leszkiewicz is a pop culture writer at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 23 March 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump's permanent revolution