The Future of Literary Archives : Diasporic and Dispersed Collections at Risk 9781942401575, 9781942401582

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THE FUTURE OF LITERARY ARCHIVES

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COLLECTION DEVELOPMENT, CULTURAL HERITAGE, AND DIGITAL HUMANITIES

This series publishes both monographs and edited thematic collections in the broad areas of cultural heritage, digital humanities, collecting and collections, public history, and allied areas of applied humanities. In the spirit of our mission to take a stand for the humanities, this series illustrates humanities research keeping pace with technological innovation, globalization, and democratization. We value a variety of established, new, and diverse voices and topics in humanities research, and this series provides a platform for publishing the results of cutting-edge projects within these fields. The aim is to illustrate the impact of humanities research and in particular reflect the exciting new networks developing between researchers and the cultural sector, including archives, libraries and museums, media and the arts, cultural memory and heritage institutions, festivals and tourism, and public history. Acquisitions Editor Danièle Cybulskie

Evaluation and Peer Review The press has every proposal independently evaluated by expert reviews before any formal commitment is made by the press to the author. Further, all submitted manuscripts are subject to peer review by an expert chosen by the press.

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THE FUTURE OF LITERARY ARCHIVES: DIASPORIC AND DISPERSED COLLECTIONS AT RISK

Edited by

DAVID C. SUTTON with ANN LIVINGSTONE

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British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library © 2018, Arc Humanities Press, Leeds

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons AttributionNonCommercial- NoDerivatives 4.0 International Licence. The author asserts their moral right to be identified as the author of their part of this work.

Permission to use brief excerpts from this work in scholarly and educational works is hereby granted provided that the source is acknowledged. Any use of material in this work that is an exception or limitation covered by Article 5 of the European Union’s Copyright Directive (2001/29/EC) or would be determined to be “fair use” under Section 107 of the U.S. Copyright Act September 2010 Page 2 or that satisfies the conditions specified in Section 108 of the U.S. Copyright Act (17 USC §108, as revised by P.L. 94–553) does not require the Publisher’s permission.

ISBN: 9781942401575 e-​ISBN: 9781942401582 https://arc-humanities.org

Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

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CONT ENT S

Acknowledgements Contributors

Introduction: Literary Papers as the Most “Diasporic” of All Archives DAVID C. SUTTON

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PART ONE: DIASPORIC LIVES, DIASPORIC ARCHIVES Chapter 1. Caribbean Literary Archives and the Politics of Location: Challenging the Norms of Belonging ALISON DONNELL

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Chapter 2. The Huntley Archives at London Metropolitan Archives MAUREEN ROBERTS

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Chapter 3. Conserving Private Literary and Editorial Archives: The Story of the IMEC ANDRÉ DERVAL

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Chapter 4. Migration, Freedom of Expression, and the Importance of Diasporic Literary Archives JENNIFER TOEWS

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PART TWO: THE CHALLENGES OF LITERARY ARCHIVES Chapter 5. The Universal Dimension of Diasporic Literary Archives JENS BOEL

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Chapter 6. Namibian Literary Archives: New Beginnings and a Possible African Model VENO V. KAUARIA AND DAVID C. SUTTON

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Chapter 7. Francophone Archives at Risk SOPHIE HEYWOOD

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Contents

Chapter 8. Italian Literary Archives: Legacies and Challenges DANIELA LA PENNA

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PART THREE: THE WORLD BEYOND LITERARY ARCHIVES Chapter 9. Unknown/​Unknowns and Known/​Unknowns TRUDY HUSKAMP PETERSON

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Chapter 10. Publishers’ Archives, Authors’ Papers, and Literary Scholarship ANDREW NASH

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Chapter 11. Diasporic Archives in Translation Research: A Case Study of Anthony Burgess’s Archives SERENELLA ZANOTTI

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PART FOUR: CONCLUSION Conclusion: The Future of Literary Manuscripts— An International Perspective DAVID C. SUTTON

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Appendix 1. Authors and Their Papers: A Guidance Sheet for Authors and Writers Index

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ACKN OW L ED GEMENTS

Grateful acknowledgement is made to the six founding members of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network for their institutional support: the University of Reading; the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library; Yale University; the Centro per gli studi sulla tradizione manoscritta di autori moderni e contemporanei at the University of Pavia; the Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine (IMEC) in Caen; and the National Library and Archives of Namibia; and to institutions in Trinidad including the National Archives of Trinidad and Tobago, the University of the West Indies at St. Augustine, and the University of Trinidad and Tobago. In addition to the authors of the essays in this volume, very many contributors to the workshops organized by the Network assisted in developing the ideas on diasporic literary archives which are discussed here. The inauguration of the Network by Sir Michael Holroyd and Professor James Knowlson helped provide both inspiration and confidence in the value of this work.

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CONT R IBUTORS

Jens Boel was Archivist at UNESCO until January 2018.

André Derval is the Director of Collections at l’Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine (IMEC) in Caen, France. Alison Donnell is Head of the School of Literature, Creative Writing and Drama at the University of East Anglia, UK.

Sophie Heywood is an Associate Professor in the Department of Modern Languages and European Studies at the University of Reading, UK. Trudy Huskamp Peterson is a consultant archivist based in Washington, DC.

Veno V. Kauaria is the Director of the National Library and Archives Service of Namibia.

Daniela La Penna is an Associate Professor in the Department of Modern Languages and European Studies at the University of Reading, UK. Andrew Nash is Reader in Book History and Communications in the Institute of English Studies at the School of Advanced Study, University of London, UK.

Maureen Roberts is a poet and short story writer and a Senior Development Officer at London Metropolitan Archives. David C. Sutton is director of literary and archival research projects at the University of Reading, UK. Jennifer Toews is Modern Manuscripts and Reference Librarian at the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto, Canada.

Serenella Zanotti is an Associate Professor in the Department of Foreign Languages, Literatures and Cultures at Roma Tre University, Italy.

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INTRODUCTION: LITERARY PAPERS AS THE MOST “DIASPORIC” OF ALL ARCHIVES DAVID C. SUTTON

The essays collected in this book all derive or continue from the recent work of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network and illustrate the innovative and exciting range of programmes and actions which it generated. The Network was conceived and planned by a team of archivists, researchers and scholars in the University of Reading during 2010–​2011, and came into existence on January 1, 2012, funded by a generous grant from the Leverhulme Trust. Although the Leverhulme Trust’s financial support came to an end in 2015, the Network has continued many of its projects and activities in the subsequent years and retains a clear identity through ongoing cooperation between its members and through regular updating of its website. From the beginning, the Network proposed to take a comparative, transnational and internationalist approach to studying literary manuscripts, their uses and their significance. It took as its prime starting point the notion that literary archives differ from most other types of archival papers in that their locations are more diverse and difficult to predict; they may have a higher financial value which will lead to their more frequently being purchased—​as opposed to being deposited or donated; and acquiring institutions for literary papers have historically had very little by way of collecting policies. Consequently, the collecting of literary papers has often been opportunistic, unexplained and serendipitous. The first points of comparison for this defining view of the unpredictable mobility of literary papers were the existing sections and the proposed future sections within the International Council on Archives. Using these benchmarks, assessments could be made in contrast with national and regional official papers; archives of local, municipal and territorial government; architectural archives; religious and faith tradition archives; archives of sports and games; political, business, and trade union archives; archives of educational institutions, hospitals, prisons, museums, and palaces; legal, notarial, and judicial papers; parliamentary and political papers; and the archives of international organizations. The comparisons

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confirmed that no category of archival material was more subject to uncertainty of location and to haphazardness of acquisition. The question of how to define “literary” for these archival purposes preoccupied the Network much less than it had preoccupied predecessor projects. There was an early working consensus that our subject was the archival manuscripts, correspondence, and personal papers of poets, novelists, dramatists, literary essayists and critics, men and women of letters, biographers, and autobiographers. Our definition would not include journalists, theologians, philosophers, or politicians (even when, like Bertrand Russell or Winston Churchill, they had been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature). The calm ease with which our set of definitions was deemed to be internationally acceptable contrasted with the reception accorded the Location Register of Twentieth-​Century English Literary Manuscripts and Letters in the late 1980s and some of the distinctly bizarre criticism the Register received at that time: Sir,

The correspondence about John Meade Falkner prompts me to note that the 100 volumes of Bishop Hensley Henson’s journals, in the Dean and Chapter Library at Durham, are not listed in the Register. Was an atheist in charge? Charles Welldon, Hazlemere Letter to the London Review of Books, September 14, 1989 ***

The choice of the dramatic term “diasporic” was a defining moment in the life-​story of the Network. The established literature of racial, tribal, and national diasporas provided a philosophical framework which gave a highly original set of points of reference for the study of literary archives. Concepts such as the natural home, the appropriate location, exile, dissidence, fugitive existence, cultural hegemony, patrimony, heritage, and economic migration were deployed to provide new perspectives. The essential nature of literary manuscripts was scrutinized and certain key features proposed and reviewed. Early conclusions about this essential nature stressed the differentness of literary papers, and the vital importance of form as well as content: Literary manuscripts are not like other archives. Their importance lies in who made them and how they were made, the unique relationship between author and evolving text, the insights they give into the act of creation. The supreme example of this magical combination of form and content is provided by the manuscripts of Marcel Proust, lovingly preserved in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, 171 volumes of cross-​hatched text, with later additions on small pieces of paper—​the famous paperoles—​glued onto almost every page: a wonderfully dreadful conservation challenge. Literary archives often have a higher financial value than other archives. They are more likely to be found in libraries than in archives offices. In many countries of the world literary archives are housed in private foundations (such as the Fundação Casa de Rui Barbosa in Rio de Janeiro), in literary

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museums (such as the Museum of Japanese Modern Literature in Meguro-​ ku, Tokyo), or in literary houses (such as the Maison de Balzac in Paris). In countries such as the USA, Canada and the UK, university libraries play a leading role, but this is by no means true in all countries. In France, for example, public libraries (often in the author’s home town) are the principal repositories, together with the Bibliothèque Nationale. In contrast with most other types of archives―business archives, medical archives, architectural archives, religious archives or municipal archives―literary archives are often scattered in diverse locations without any sense of appropriateness or “spirit of place.” Sutton, 2014,  295–​96 ***

In the course of the Network’s discussions, some remarkable examples of diasporic literary archives emerged. A particular favourite was the literary archive developed by the Australian Defence Force Academy, one of the most important literary collections in Australia, which was created in order to help to broaden the outlooks of young people undergoing military training. A 1988 article by Graham Rowlands with the captivating title “On Selling Literary Papers to the Australian Defence Force Academy: I’d Just Be Perfect” is now easily found online (www.unsw.adfa.edu.au/​ library/​finding-​aids/​guide-​papers-​graham-​rowlands). The papers of J. R. R. Tolkien, including the manuscripts of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, represent one of the best early examples of North American curators who were able to take advantage of their strong financial position, their freedom to acquire, and their literary knowledge. William B. Ready, Director of Libraries at the Marquette University in Milwaukee from 1956 to 1963, was an admirer of Tolkien and an important figure in a rising generation of US librarians and archivists who were prepared and permitted to follow their hunches and to purchase the papers of authors who were still alive, who were fairly young, and who were out of fashion. Tolkien himself was naturally delighted to be feted by an American university librarian who had substantial funds to back up his praise of the author’s literary output. Although a major Tolkien collection has subsequently been developed by the Bodleian Library in Oxford, all serious Tolkien scholars know that they will have to spend a considerable amount of research time in Milwaukee. Another example of the careful cultivation of an author, with the greatest respect for their circumstances, is presented by the papers of Chinua Achebe held by Harvard University. Regrettably, it has been and remains the case that, despite its extraordinarily rich literary culture, Nigeria has no history at all of collecting literary manuscripts (Sutton, 2016). The authorities at Harvard, seeing a great opportunity in this lacuna, were able to establish an excellent working relationship with Achebe himself, inviting him and (importantly) his family to Harvard, according him appropriate honour and respect, formally and informally, and in due course acquiring the whole of his personal archive. While some of his professional papers and correspondence are to be found in other institutions, notably his papers in connection with

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the Heinemann African Writers series, which are in the University of Reading Library in England, anyone who wishes to study the man described by his fellow Nigerian Ezenwa-​Ohaeto as “the father of modern African writing” will expect to conduct much of their primary research in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The case of Carlos Fuentes and his literary papers in the Firestone Library at Princeton University is more complex and more controversial. Mexico does have a strong tradition of collecting literary papers and respecting its own literary culture. It does not, however, have institutions which are well funded or well placed to make these sorts of high-​profile acquisitions. As a writer who saw himself as a citizen of the world as well as a citizen of Mexico (the colophon to his novel La Campaña, for example, indicates that it was written in Berlin, Madrid, Cornwall and Argentina), Fuentes had no problem about selling his archive to an institution which would pay him very well for it and which had a strong reputation for its custodianship of the archives of Latin American authors. In Mexico, however, this particular acquisition by Princeton was widely seen as an imperialist outrage, and phrases such as “cultural theft” and “wholesale appropriation of literary patrimony” were used (Leovy, 2001). A more neutral diasporic example is the story of how the papers of Ernest Hemingway arrived in the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum. On Hemingway’s death in 1961, most of his papers remained in his house in Cuba. With the improbable combined assistance of President Kennedy and the Cuban Prime Minister (later President) Fidel Castro, Mary Hemingway was enabled to travel to Cuba and to retrieve the papers. In exchange, she donated the Hemingway family home, the Finca Vigía, to the people of Cuba. In 1962 Mrs. Hemingway was deeply moved by the honour paid to her late husband at a dinner at the White House and by the continuing attention of President and Mrs. Kennedy. After the President’s assassination, it was an understanding reached between the two widows, Mrs. Hemingway and Mrs. Kennedy, which brought the Ernest Hemingway Collection to the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library. In general, as would have been expected, the movement of diasporic literary archives was found to be from poorer countries to richer countries, but with this general truth being modified in ways that were highly dependent on the language used by individual writers. While literary manuscripts in English by authors from countries such as Nigeria, Trinidad and Tobago, and Jamaica would be actively collected by well-​funded institutions in the USA, Canada and (rather later) Britain, literary manuscripts in other languages might be virtually ignored. The major market in the USA was, and remains, for manuscripts in the two principal languages of that country, English and Spanish. The archives of Nobel Prize-​winning authors such as José Saramago (mostly in Portuguese), Orhan Pamuk (mostly in Turkish) or Elfriede Jelinek (mostly in German) had much less market attraction in North America than the papers of authors who had written in English or Spanish. As a result Saramago’s papers are almost all, appropriately, in Lisbon and Jelinek’s papers are almost all in Vienna. A country like Brazil, with a proud literary culture and a wide range of institutions collecting literary papers, had experienced very little competition in the

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acquisition of literary archives, principally because the papers were almost all in the Portuguese language. One surprising example of what might be regarded as “reverse diasporism”—​ an English-​language author whose papers have ended up in Spain—​is provided by the satirical comic author Tom Sharpe, whose archive arrived in the Universitat de Girona in 2015. Sharpe had lived in Catalonia for many years, although he notoriously refused to learn either Spanish or Catalan. In his will he left all his literary archive to Doctor Montserrat Verdaguer and she in turn passed them on to the university in Girona, which has a very strong and varied collection of literary papers, but is not the first place where one would expect to look for the manuscripts of the Porterhouse Blue and Wilt novels. A final example, in this section, brings us closer to the primary meaning of “diaspora,” and forms part of the expanding work on “archival safe havens” in which the Network has fully participated. The archive of the Syrian poet Ali Ahmad Saïd Esber, known by the splendid cognomen of Adonis, has been acquired and housed at the Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine (IMEC) in Caen, where it has a place of honour alongside the archives of Jean Genet, Louis Althusser, Irène Némirovsky, Michel Foucault, and Erik Satie (see the essay by André Derval below). While the exact terms of the deposit are not in the public domain, it has been widely reported that the acquisition was a form of safeguarding of literary heritage and left open the possibility of a return of the archive to Syria at a time when its safety and the safety of its rights-​owners there could be assured. ***

In establishing the Diasporic Literary Archives Network our idea was to explore the implications of improbable and unpredictable archival locations, such as: the power of the market, imbalances between richer and poorer countries, the power of serendipity, and the magical attractiveness and collectability of literary manuscripts themselves. The intention was not to indulge in lamentations, in the style of Philip Larkin and others, about the loss of UK heritage materials to wealthy North American institutions with no apparent ethical collecting policy, but rather to formulate a set of definitions and truths about literary manuscripts and literary correspondence and then to look at desirable actions, activities, and acts of solidarity. What I have elsewhere called “the Larkin trap” should by now be regarded as a historical attitude formed in the 1960s and 1970s by admirers of Philip Larkin and of his dismal and pessimistic essay “A Neglected Responsibility: Contemporary Literary Manuscripts.” The futility of this approach, and its whingeing wistfulness, in the digital 2010s ought to be self-​evident: In talking about locations of literary manuscripts, we always need to be aware of the “Larkin trap.” This involves falling into the Eeyore-​like gloom and pessimism which Philip Larkin regularly manifested when talking about literary papers—​usually spiced with a carping tone of anti-​Americanism.

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Commentators who fall into the “Larkin trap” have two main laments: first, that virtually all modern British and Irish literary manuscripts have been acquired by US institutions; and second, that this is a disaster for scholarship. The crude overstatement of these laments is more of a hindrance than a help to those of us who work to emphasize the importance of literary manuscripts and their key place in our own cultural heritage, and who want to encourage international cooperation. Sutton, 2010

Larkin was simply wrong about the collecting of literary manuscripts in Britain and Ireland in the 1960s and 1970s (Sutton, 1985 and 1987). In particular, he seems to have had no awareness of the fine literary collections which were beginning to develop in the National Library of Scotland, the National Library of Ireland, and the National Library of Wales. Certainly, there had been many dramatic acquisitions of British literary collections by institutions in the USA and Canada, but less well-​ funded institutions in the British Isles were nonetheless quietly and determinedly building important literary collections. As the Location Register of Twentieth-​Century English Literary Manuscripts and Letters concluded its first round of research in the late 1980s, it had identified over 400 British and Irish institutions holding some literary papers, including, of course, the University of Hull’s own collections (now held in Hull History Centre). Moreover, as has frequently been pointed out, representatives of a country which has repeatedly found pretexts not to return the Elgin Marbles to Greece nor the looted Egyptian treasures of the British Museum to Cairo are poorly placed to claim any moral high ground in respect of North American acquisition of British literary manuscripts. ***

It was important for the emerging Network to engage with other languages and other continents. The recruitment of partners from France, Italy, Namibia, Trinidad and Tobago, and the United States made possible a much wider and more varied set of perspectives than had been usual in previous literary and archival research partnerships, and the Caribbean and African perspectives within the Network were to prove particularly original and enriching. In a series of five international workshops, beginning in 2012, the Network explored its chosen themes, with the workshops headlined as follows: 1) Questions informing scattered legacies: an introduction to the ideas of diasporic literary manuscripts (at the University of Reading, June 2012). 2) Examining split collections (at the Centro per gli studi sulla tradizione manoscritta di autori moderni e contemporanei, Pavia, February–​March 2013).

3) The stakes of public/​private ownership: including the ways in which literary manuscripts are represented in business, publishing and other non-​literary

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collections (at the Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine, Caen, May 2013).

4) The politics of location: a workshop on sensitive issues of acquisition, including the “loss” by less wealthy countries of their archival literary heritage (at the National Library of Trinidad and Tobago, Port of Spain, March 2014). 5) Diaspora and possibilities for digitization (at the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, October 2014). This was a meeting which covered some of the exciting new initiatives which are opening up in respect of born-​digital and digitized archives, especially in richer countries, but also explored some of the more controversial areas for poorer countries—​not only as regards technological problems, but also issues relating to equalities, human rights, and the politics of purchasing power.

Reports on these workshops can be found on the Diasporic Literary Archives website, and many of the presentations can be viewed in an unedited state (sometimes embarrassingly so) on YouTube. Some conclusions emerged more strongly than had been anticipated. The theme of “split collections,” for example, came to be seen as really central to all discussion of archival research in literature and the nature of literary manuscripts. This aspect of our diaspora attracted considerable critical attention: Literary archives, then, tend to travel much further than other types of papers and to be housed in unpredictable locations—​often in locations determined by market forces rather than by internal archival logic—​making the work of literary researchers more complex, more dependent upon careful research travel plans, and often more expensive. This situation is compounded by the way that literary papers are usually found, for any one author, to be divided between several collecting institutions. This phenomenon, which we have come to call “split collections,” will be familiar to most literary researchers. My own university in Reading has an outstanding collection of papers of Samuel Beckett, but it is a collection which can only make archival sense by constant cross-​referencing to the Beckett holdings in Trinity College Dublin and the Harry Ransom Center in Austin, Texas. In 2013 at a workshop in Pavia, Italy, Michael Forstrom of Yale’s Beinecke Library gave a very complete description of the ways in which literary collections can be “split.” Forstrom identified for his Diasporic Literary Archives audience no fewer than fourteen ways in which literary fonds might be divided: • Split between different collecting repositories; • Split between fonds and what survives;

• Split by collecting strategy or agreement;

• Split between early portion of papers and (living) creator; • Split by relocation and change in custody;

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• Split between collected portion of papers and component in private hands; • Split by provenance: papers versus artificial collection; • Split by accession(s);

• Split within institutions;

• Split between personal, professional, and family papers; • Split between papers and media;

• Split between papers and born-​digital; • Split by reproduction;

• Split between collection(s) and national interest.

“Split collections” represent an essential part of the world of literary manuscripts. We are starting to see a small number of digitization projects which are able to bring split collections back together again (such as the online Shelley-​ Godwin archive), but these remain rare and special (well-​funded)  cases. Sutton, 2016

Scholars, editors and critics commenting on the workshops stressed the difficulties that split collections brought to their work. Typical examples from the published volumes of the original UK Location Register had emphasized the scale of the problem, in its brief descriptions of collections outside the British Isles:

GRAVES, Robert, 1895–​ 1985 There are five large collections of papers of Robert Graves in North American libraries: Lockwood Library, State University of New York at Buffalo—​Southern Illinois University Library—​Humanities Research Center, University of Texas at Austin—​University of Victoria Library, British Columbia—​University of San Francisco Library KIPLING, Rudyard, 1865–​ 1936 There are collections of Rudyard Kipling papers in the following North American libraries: Houghton Library, Harvard University—​ Cornell University Library—​ Humanities Research Center, University of Texas at Austin—​Rosenbach Foundation, Philadelphia—​Library of Congress—​ Syracuse University Library—​ Bancroft Library, University of California at Berkeley—​Berg Collection, New York Public Library RUSKIN, John, 1819–​1900 The major collections of Ruskin manuscripts and letters outside the United Kingdom are in the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University and the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York. There are also Ruskin papers in the following North American libraries: Humanities Research Center, University of Texas at Austin—​Henry E. Huntington Library, San Marino, California—​Princeton University Library—​Rosenbach Foundation, Philadelphia—​Houghton Library, Harvard University—​Berg Collection, New York Public Library—​Boston Public Library—​Columbia University Library—​McGill University Library, Montreal—​University of Arizona Library—​Duke University Library—​Library of Congress (Sutton, 1988)

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Building on this early work, the Network’s own website now includes a set of pages headed “Diasporic Collections,” illustrating the international scale and span of split literary collections from many other countries, languages and literary cultures. At the Network’s first workshop, the Kafka archive, whose ownership is shared by the Bodleian Library in Oxford and the Deutsches Literaturarchiv in Marbach, came under close scrutiny as one possible way of avoiding split collections. The conclusion, however, was that, while fascinating, the Bodleian–​Marbach cooperation was unlikely to be a model for the future which would be widely followed. ***

While the “hub” of the Network was scholarly and archival work on the diasporic nature of literary manuscripts, a number of “spoke” projects developed as the Network’s wide-​ ranging workshops explored related issues. As the Network brought in a rich variety of experts from around the world, a number of unforeseen work-​programmes evolved, notably joint work with UNESCO and PEN International on “archives at risk”; joint work with swisspeace and UNESCO on “archival safe havens”; and joint work with the Society of Authors and the National Archives on creating guidance for authors considering disposing of their personal archives. The work on archives at risk began in a francophone context, from the work already begun by the Network’s IMEC and ITEM partners (Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine and Institut des textes et manuscrits modernes), but also drew upon good working relations with the Endangered Archives Programme, based at the British Library (see the essay by Jens Boel below). It quickly became clear that there were numerous projects, actual and proposed, mostly based in Europe, working devotedly and altruistically on ways of saving endangered archives and the archives of dissident authors and developing proposals on archival safe havens. Some of these proposals were presented in 2014 on behalf of the Network to the governance bodies of the International Council on Archives, where they caused some controversy and concern. It was clear to the core members of the Network that all of this work needed to be brought together under a single validating umbrella organization (the obvious candidate being UNESCO), probably with another organization providing the office support and driving the project forward. This model finally began to take shape in 2017, with UNESCO in the validating role; swisspeace (a wonderful partner organization, a “practice oriented peace research institute,” based in Bern) in the dynamic organizing role; and the Diasporic Literary Archives Network playing a facilitating role. The Network’s commitment to working with professional colleagues in the Caribbean region and in eastern and southern Africa has been sustained. From the acquisition of the Monique Roffey Archive by the University of the West Indies (St. Augustine) in 2014 to the acquisition of the Anthony C. Winkler Archive by the National Library of Jamaica in 2017, the Network has played another facilitating role which has been generously acknowledged by our Caribbean partners. The work with colleagues in the National Archives of Namibia, described in Chapter 6, was very consciously designed as a template which could be adopted and

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adapted by other colleagues and partners in the region. The working assumption has been that every country with a strong literary tradition owes it to itself to develop a strong tradition of collecting literary manuscripts as well. Best-​practice models have been publicized by the Network and by the Section for Archives of Literature and Art (SLA) within the International Council on Archives, and range as widely as Brazil, Uruguay, Finland, Austria, France, South Korea, and Hong Kong. A significant output from work begun by the Network was a document entitled Authors and Their Papers,1 jointly created with representatives of the Society of Authors, the National Archives, and the Group for Literary Archives and Manuscripts (GLAM). The document assumes that many literary authors are interested in the eventual disposal of their personal archive, but have little idea of the practicalities which might be involved. It provides a step-​by-​step guide for authors, under headings such as “Rationale”; “What to keep”; “How to keep it”; “Transferring papers to an archives service: gift, bequest, permanent loan or deposit”; “Sale of papers and archives”; “Valuation”; “Offsetting value”; “Terms of transfer: storage”; “Terms of transfer: copyright”; “Terms of transfer: digitisation”; and so on. The identification of the characteristic problem of split collections was a fascinating exercise, full of delightful anecdotes and strange puzzles and mysteries, but the Network is determined that it should lead on to work on best-​practice protocols for sharing and cooperating with collections in the best interests of archival researchers. Clearly in the digital era, there are already more options for cooperation than there were in the past, and the likely development of collecting born-​digital literary archives at some future time and storing them in “the cloud” opens up the intriguing possibility of a literary archive having two permanent homes, not following the Bodleian–​Marbach Kafka model of an archive regularly in transit, but rather a stored and searchable digital archive which could be simultaneously fully available in two countries (say, Mexico–​USA; Namibia–​South Africa; or Jamaica–​UK). Discussion about digital futures in respect of literary archives has formed an important, if necessarily thus far inconclusive, part of the Network’s deliberations. An early shock, at the very first workshop in 2012, was to receive the clearest possible expert opinion that in the present decade the valuation of digital literary collections is largely based on guesswork and hoping for the best. In the case of hybrid paper and born-​digital archives, the paper component would be carefully valued and then a notional sum added on for the digital part. The absence of valuation criteria derives from an absence of precedents; an absence of information about likely users; an absence of a private market for archives in this format; and a certain lack of trust in the verifiability of the digital archive. If an author deposits a copy of a hard disk, rather than the hard disk itself, as seems to be happening in the majority of cases, how will the purchaser be able to assess what has been removed before deposit? Thus while the future value of email collections is absolutely certain (and from a biographer’s perspective the two-​way nature of email threads can 1 Available at http://​glam-​archives.org.uk/​?p=1726, and as Appendix 1 to this volume.

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make them much more useful than traditional correspondence collections), the future value of born-​digital literary manuscripts remains a matter of speculation and uncertainty. At the conclusion of the fifth workshop of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network, at the Beinecke Library, Yale University, in November 2014, there was agreement by general acclaim that the Network should seek to continue its work and its partnerships into the future. The present volume and the Diasporic Literary Archives Network website reflect that continuity. Examples of future work-​programmes for the Network (say from 2018 to 2025) would potentially include: • “Archives at risk”: new protocols for collaboration on endangered collections worldwide (working with UNESCO and swisspeace);

• “Archival safe havens”: a subset of archives at risk: cases of archives in extreme danger which may, as a last resort, be physically moved to a safe location or be digitally copied and the copies transferred to a trusted repository; • The dispersal of literary papers through publishing and business archives; • Protocols for collaboration between repositories with “split collections;” • Mapping split collections: a cartographic approach;

• The diaspora of digital literary archives: best practice and digital solutions;

• The literary archives of Namibia: a case study and model for other African countries; • Caribbean archives in Caribbean institutions: a new future;

• “Hidden archives”: the uncatalogued troves: locating uncatalogued collections and finding shared solutions;

• Further work with the Society of Authors, the National Archives and the Group for Literary Archives and Manuscripts (GLAM) on guidance and encouragement for literary authors in respect of their personal archives; • Locations of literary collections: creation of a world-​wide list (joint work with the International Council on Archives’ (ICA) Section for Literary Archives); • Examples of diasporic literary collections: maintenance of an online database.

This exciting and diverse range of ongoing and future projects will keep the Diasporic Literary Archives Network itself active into the 2020s, and it is hoped that a good number of them will be adopted by other funders or consortia, by some or all of the existing six partners, or by the Section for Archives of Literature and Art (SLA) within the International Council on Archives. The essays which follow illustrate the wide range of ideas, projects, and actions which came together under the rubric of “diasporic literary archives” and derived from the activities and meetings of the Network. Since the Network’s inception, it has welcomed the development of its diasporic concept by other research teams and projects, both related and unrelated to the Network itself. It seems clear that the original premise has already become mainstream in the world of literary archives,

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and the essays collected here constitute a first book-​length report on work-​in-​ progress but also in many cases provide ways of looking ahead to future research and future projects.

Bibliography Authors and Their Papers: A Guidance Sheet for Authors and Writers. Available at http://glam-archives.org.uk/?p=1726, and as Appendix 1 to this volume. Baker, Fran, Jessica Gardner, Chris Sheppard, and David C. Sutton. “Magical and Meaningful: Thirty Years of Literary Manuscripts Collecting in the UK and Ireland.” Archives 122 (2010): 21–​27. Diasporic Literary Archives Network. www.diasporicarchives.com. Ezenwa-​Ohaeto. Chinua Achebe: A Biography. Oxford: James Currey, 1997. Leovy, Jill. “Mexican Scholars Lament the Loss of Writers’ Archives to U.S.” Los Angeles Times, February 25, 2001. Part A, 3. Location Register of English Literary Manuscripts and Letters website. University of Reading. www.locationregister.com. Location Register of Twentieth-​Century English Literary Manuscripts and Letters. Edited by David C. Sutton. 2 vols. London: British Library, 1988. Sutton, David C. “A Highly Original Paper Chase: Tracking Down Modern Literary Manuscripts and Letters in British Universities.” Times Higher Education Supplement, April 5, 1985, 13. ———​. “Seeking Out Literary Papers.” The Author (Summer 1987): 43–​44. ———. “Securing the Nation’s Literary Heritage: Report.” AMARC Newsletter 55 (2010):  9–​11. ———​. “Literary Archives for Ever (?)” ARC Magazine 261 (2011): 17. ——— “The Destinies of Literary Manuscripts: Past, Present and Future.” Archives and Manuscripts 42 (2014): 295–​300. ———​. “The Diasporic Literary Archives Network and the Commonwealth: Namibia, Nigeria, Trinidad & Tobago, and other examples.” New Review of Information Networking 21 (2016): 37–​51. swisspeace. www.swisspeace.ch.

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Part One

DIASPORIC LIVES, DIASPORIC ARCHIVES

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Chapter 1

CARIBBEAN LITERARY ARCHIVES AND THE POLITICS OF LOCATION: CHALLENGING THE NORMS OF BELONGING ALISON DONNELL

“I had no nation now but the imagination.” Derek Walcott, “The Schooner Flight,” The Star-​Apple Kingdom, 1979, 8

The question of belonging has long preoccupied Caribbean authors and continues to haunt the region’s globally acclaimed literary works. This concern with accommodation and place-​making is not surprising given that Caribbean history has been characterized by displacements and diasporas. Cultural encounter and exchange has shaped the geopolitics of belonging to the Caribbean throughout its history: from the unfree migrations of Africans and then Indians whose forced labour sustained the plantation colonies, through the competing colonial regimes of rival European powers and economically motivated mass migrations to Panama and later to the global north, to the growing economic reliance on tourism into the region. Indeed the intensity of global compression experienced by the Caribbean region means that it is now often regarded as paradigmatic in terms of contemporary modes of belonging that more frequently display multinational sites of attachment in terms of familial, ethnic, and commodity cultures. Given the commonplace patterns of transatlantic as well as intra-​regional migration and diaspora that have shaped the majority of literary careers, the Caribbean region provides a highly productive location through which to examine how far the locations of literary archives map onto those of their associated writerly lives and careers, as well as what the various connections and disconnections between these two might suggest. This essay tells two interconnected stories about Caribbean literary archives. The first is about the multi-​locational form of cultural archives from this region where migration has been an intrinsic pattern of human life throughout the twentieth century and since. This is a story about the politics of location as it is experienced by authors writing against colonialism, and the impact “place” has on the historical meaning and value that their archives accrue. It addresses the intricacies of identity, history, and place that influence the shaping and recording of literary authorship and the challenge this presents to a nationalist logic and its conceptions

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of belonging. This first story offers an example of how the Caribbean experience may enrich archival thinking in terms of the politics of belonging. The second story is about the persistently unequal distribution of knowledge between the global north and south that has impacted both Caribbean authorship and Caribbean literary archives. It is about how the intellectual insights the Caribbean situation provokes for thinking through alternative archival mappings and descriptions are unlikely to be realized by Caribbean repositories whose resourcing is far more limited than that of metropolitan institutions. It addresses the empirical questions about the dispersal of literary archives in a cultural marketplace and a politics of location that follows the logic of capital and its centres of accumulation. This second story offers an example of how the archivist, aware of the nature of this inequality, can give consideration to the Caribbean experience and its archival future.

The Place of Literature, the Location of the Writer, and the Situation of the Archive The desire (even the need) to migrate is at the heart of West Indian sensibility—​whether that migration is in fact or by metaphor Edward Kamau Brathwaite, “Sir Galahad and the Islands,” 1957, 8

As in other places that suffered the colonial imprint, the politics of location were inherently complicated in the Caribbean by a dual sense of belonging. Caribbean peoples were encouraged to see themselves as subjects of an idealized colonial motherland whose primacy was reinforced by political authority but also by cultural coercion. This sense of remote belonging endured alongside the reality of being in an everyday place of residency, labour, and local attachment. As a consequence, it is hard to draw a defining line between colonial and national literatures in the Caribbean. Early writings—​written in the Caribbean, about the Caribbean, and by Caribbean-​born people—​were often deeply entangled with the traditions, vocabularies, and forms of canonical English literature that were learned and venerated through the rubrics of a colonial education. All the same, from the 1930s onwards, there was a growing sense across the region of the potential of literature to give shape and validity to localized and independent Caribbean subjectivities.1 1 An awareness of the degree to which literature, and writing generally, has been able to articulate new political identities, forms of kinship, and national and transnational affiliations goes back to early writing and forms of literature in the Caribbean region; this awareness spreads across linguistic areas and can be found in early narratives such as Mary Seacole’s Wonderful Adventures (1857) and Anténor Firmin’s De l’égalité des Races Humaines (1885), among other texts from the anglophone and francophone Caribbean, respectively. A sense of transnationalism has also shaped the writing of authors such as José Martí and Julia de Burgos in the nineteenth-​century Hispanophone Caribbean. Recent scholarly work, with a particular emphasis on the illuminating role of archival research, has pointed out the important role of transnational connections for Caribbean and hemispheric literary histories, particularly in the shaping of the public sphere, as is the case in Raphael Dalleo’s Caribbean Literature and the Public Sphere: From the Plantation to the Postcolonial, and Anna Brickhouse’s Transamerican Literary Relations and the Nineteenth Century Public Sphere. See the just-​cited works of

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During the colonial period, archives were a vital tool for maintaining the colonial order and the dominance of its worldview. The archive was capable of legitimating (and obscuring) certain lives, events, and encounters through its techniques of record-​keeping. Literature became a tool for contesting the colonial archive and its acts of mis-​or non-​representation. In effect, Caribbean writings began to act as a rights-​bearing discourse that could help imagine national and regional identity into being. Trinidadian C. L. R. James’s 1934 play Toussaint Louverture: The Story of the Only Successful Slave Revolt in History; A Play in Three Acts and his related prose work of 1938, The Black Jacobins, present a forceful example. These works invested in literary forms to liberate the history of black struggle and agency associated with the 1804 Haitian Revolution. James’s achievement was to make imaginable the black protagonists of the revolution whose stories had been repressed within the official historical record of Europe that supported a colonial worldview. The Jamaican writer Una Marson scripted a similar literary reimagining of affirmative black lives in the colonial Caribbean of the 1930s. Marson’s third play, Pocomania, was staged in Kingston in 1938 and dramatized its protagonist’s attachment to the African-​inspired religion of Pocomania (Puk Kumina) and to the rituals of spirit possession, the balm yard, and ultimately to Africa—​all of which were feared and reviled by colonial culture. These early examples of works that refocus attention on African-​Caribbean lives that were silenced or discredited give a strong indication of the value of the literary to the region in terms of the burgeoning efforts to imagine alternative histories and cultural resources through which nationalism could be fostered. All the same, the “place” of these striking literary works and that of their authors in relation to their emerging national contexts is not so clear. Another important connection between C. L. R. James and Una Marson is that they both sailed to England, arriving in 1932. James arrived from Trinidad in March and spent several weeks in Bloomsbury before travelling to Lancashire where his friend the cricketer Learie Constantine was based. James’s essays about his immediate impressions of London, published in the Trinidadian Port of Spain Gazette, indicate his knowledge of metropolitan literary culture and his connections with the Woolfs. James brought two manuscripts with him to England: his novel Minty Alley, which was published by Secker and Warburg in 1936 and his political biography of the Trinidadian Labour Leader, The Life of Captain Cipriani: An Account of British Government in the West Indies, which was first published by Coulton & Co. Ltd., a local press in Lancashire, in 1932, with an excerpt re-​published by the Hogarth Press in 1933. For James, writing and politics remained dual paths on a singular journey to contest colonialism, give creative release to those lives it refused to recognize, and insert himself and the West Indies into History. When he arrived in London, his writing focus was on Trinidadian lives but in London he met with anticolonialists, Marxists, and nationalists whose focus was on India and Africa, and, as his engagement with the League of Coloured Peoples, the India League, and the International Brickhouse and Dalleo, as well as Haiti and the Americas, edited by Carla Calargé, Raphael Dalleo, Luis Duno-​Gottberg, and Clevis Headley.

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African Friends of Abyssinia shows, his awareness of black politics expanded and intensified. In 1938, James left Britain for the United States, returning to England in 1953 where he settled until his death in 1989, other than a momentous period in Trinidad, 1958–​1962, leading up to its national independence. Marson arrived from Jamaica in May of 1932 having earlier that year staged her first play, At What a Price, at Kingston’s Ward Theatre and with two self-​published volumes of poetry to her name. She took lodgings at the home of Dr. Harold Moody, the founder of the League of Coloured Peoples, and took over responsibility for editing the League’s journal, The Keys. Like James, Marson was readily networked into emerging nationalist and anticolonial networks. In 1933, At What a Price became the first all-​black production in London’s West End and she afterwards wrote her second play, London Calling, which would premiere on her return to Kingston in 1937. For Marson, Mussolini’s invasion of Abyssinia was a colonial outrage that provoked her and sharpened her awareness of racialized violence, as it did for James too. Marson returned to Jamaica in 1937 to recover from exhaustion and depression and there published her third volume of poetry, as well as many stridently opinionated newspaper columns. She returned to London in 1938 to report on, and to, the Moyne Commission and took freelance work with the BBC. In 1941 she became the corporation’s first black female employee, contracted as a Programme Assistant within the Empire Service, a modest role from which she spun the golden threads of literary connectivity between London and the West Indies, developing her Calling the West Indies radio programme for Second World War servicemen into the now famous literary showcase: Caribbean Voices. Back in Jamaica from 1945, Marson worked for some years for the nationalist Pioneer Press, and spent time in the USA and Israel before her death in 1965. James and Marson were both demonstrably committed to the causes of cultural and political nationalism in Trinidad and Jamaica respectively and their literary works engage substantially with their islands of birth. In most accounts they are rightly celebrated as being Trinidadian and Jamaican writers. However, the anticolonialism and commitment to pan-​Africanism which marks the distinctiveness and power of the literary works of both and the challenges they present to the colonial culture of their Caribbean homelands were clearly developed as a result of their diasporic journeys to London. What does it mean that their broader perspectives on colonial power and history that infuse their writings were galvanized at the heart of the Empire? What are the politics of this multi-​locality in terms of placing their literary careers? Both writers began their careers with a defiant focus on the local and national. Yet, in a historical turn that was both paradoxical and predictable, both also chose to travel to London in order to engage with a more supportive culture for writing and there encountered anticolonial groups that catalyzed a broader understanding of black politics than was accessible at home. Perhaps curiously there are no records to show that James and Marson recognized each other as fellow Caribbean anticolonials and writers, although we know that they shared networks and attended several of the same events. Yet for all the similarities that I have implied about their literary careers and their shaping

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of Caribbean literary identities in the 1930s, their historical fates differed significantly. James’s writing received global attention and scholarly enquiry throughout his lifetime and continues to attract interest today. His works have been multiply re-​edited and re-​published. James’s papers enjoy a significant global platform, indicating the remarkable reach of his travels and his expertise, as well as his overlapping identities as political theorist and writer. They can be found in the University of the West Indies, St. Augustine and the Quintin O’Connor Library, Oilfields Workers’ Trade Union, both in Trinidad and Tobago; the C. L. R. James Cricket Research Centre Library, University of the West Indies, Cave Hill, Barbados; the C. L. R. James Institute, New York; the Lilly Library, Indiana University; the Institute of Commonwealth Studies Library, London; with the largest holding acquired by Columbia University Library, New York, in 2007. These many locations map to a large degree onto places James lived, and they also indicate the global significance of his writings and their value in the diaspora as well as in the Caribbean. While James’s archive is dispersed it is full, organized, and accessible. Interestingly, the effort to gather together geographically dispersed collections is highlighted in the description of Columbia’s holdings, which “reunite files and books from the writer’s residences in London and in Washington, D.C.”2 The archive is also still accruing and Columbia is explicit about wanting to grow its collection. In 2012 Christian Høgsbjerg, a scholar researching in the archives of Jock Haston, a worker educator and fellow Trotskyist, at the University of Hull, UK, came across the earliest manuscript version of Toussaint Louverture. In contrast, Marson’s works faded from view and were almost unnoticed by scholarly attention until they were recovered by feminist scholarship in the 1980s, with a Selected Poems finally appearing in 2011 and two of her plays published for the first time in 2016.3 An archive of manuscript work by Marson and associated cuttings etc. was deposited at the National Library of Jamaica in the early 1980s but their provenance remains unknown. If it were not for the comprehensive archives of C. L. R. James, it may be tempting to deduce that traces of Marson’s literary life are inescapably incomplete or in hidden archives on account of the diverse and diasporic nature of her work. Patterns of archival survival are difficult to predict and almost nothing is known about these writers’ attitudes to their papers, which makes it impossible to speculate on what has been lost, what has survived, and why. James seemingly had little sense of what to keep for posterity given that Haston was in possession of his earliest play manuscript. It is also true that performance works appear especially vulnerable to archival loss as production and design notes, annotated scripts, and ephemera (such as programmes) are usually distributed and easily discarded. In fact, typescripts for all three of Marson’s plays can be found 2 See “Rare Book & Manuscript Library Acquires Papers of C. L. R. James,” Columbia University Libraries, September 28, 2007, http://​library.columbia.edu/​news/​libraries/​2007/​20070928_​ james.html. 3 See Una Marson’s Selected Poems and Pocomania and London Calling.

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uniquely in her collection, along with ephemera and a fragment of a seemingly unfinished work.4 Two factors that do improve the likelihood of preservation and accessibility are links to organizations, movements, institutions, and significant individuals. There is a file on Marson at the BBC Written Archives’ Centre at Caversham in the UK and files relating to her work with the League of Nations can be found in Geneva. While these are not literary papers, they relate significantly to her literary interests and networks, as well as her political commitments. In the case of C. L. R. James, the connectedness of political and intellectual traditions in Trinidad has led to some outstanding institutional collaborations that have raised awareness of his diasporic afterlives. In 2001, a conference to mark the centennial of James’s birth was organized by the University of the West Indies at St. Augustine, in collaboration with the Oilfields Workers’ Trade Union, the Centre for Caribbean Thought of the University of the West Indies, Mona, as well as US universities. Certainly, scholarly interest and academic attention have been a major catalyst to identifying, researching, and animating the archives of both James and Marson and provide a notable thread of continuity in terms of negotiating the place and standing of Caribbean literary archives up to the present time. It was the generation of Caribbean writers who followed James and Marson, publishing in the 1950s, who would become the towering and familiar figures of the anglophone tradition—​most notably Trinidadians V. S. Naipaul and Samuel Selvon; Barbadians George Lamming and Edward Kamau Brathwaite; Guyanese Edgar Mittelholzer; and Jamaicans Roger Mais and Andrew Salkey. Given how confidently the words “Caribbean writer” come together when speaking their names today, it is perhaps easy to forget that the problem of being accommodated as a writer was a very real and pressing preoccupation for this generation too. Brathwaite and Naipaul came to study at Cambridge and Oxford respectively, but others, like James earlier, travelled with their manuscripts at the ready, in search of metropolitan validation and professional authorship. The diasporic careers of this literary grouping varied significantly but for all, the migration experience was formative in terms of their authorial identity. As Ramchand concludes in his 1970 study The West Indian Novel and Its Background, By the early 1950’s the pattern was established of emigration to the Mother Country for West Indian writers seeking the stamp of approval and wishing to live by their pens; nearly every West Indian novel since then has been first published by London publishing houses for sale to members of the British public. Ramchand, 1970, 13 4 For more information on this, see the Introduction to Marson’s Pocomania and London Calling, where Donnell identifies a remaining fragment from a play in which Marson tackles the 1938 dockworkers’ strike and conflict between Jamaican workers and colonial forces as part of the labour unrest in the island and the larger Caribbean from the mid to late 1930s (Marson, 2016, xiv).

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Mittelholzer arrived in 1948 complete with the manuscript of A Morning in the Office that would be published by the Hogarth Press in 1950. Aside from a period in Canada and Barbados between 1952 and 1956, his prolific writing career of twenty-​two novels and other publications was UK-​based. Yet, his demonstrable success as an author did not silence his anxiety around belonging to the literary world and in 1965, plagued by rejections and hostile reviews, he committed suicide. Roger Mais arrived in 1952 with two short story volumes to his name and a contract with Jonathan Cape for his first novel, The Hills Were Joyful Together (published in 1953). Shortly before his early death in 1955, Mais described the Caribbean writer as “essentially a travelling, ‘gambling’ man with a manuscript or two in his bag and a big dream of contributing to contemporary English literature” (Salkey, 1965, 11–​ 12). The ideas compressed in his formulation—​that to be a Caribbean writer was to travel and that literature was something that happened in London—​certainly merit consideration as part of the wider discussion of the politics of location in relation to Caribbean writers’ papers of this period. The oceanic distance between writing and being a writer is addressed explicitly by Lamming in his 1960 essay “The Occasion for Speaking,” as he muses on his own questions relating to the “phenomenon” of “the ‘emergence’ of a dozen or so novelists in the British Caribbean with some fifty books to their credit or disgrace, and all published between 1948 and 1958” (Lamming, 1960, 29). Lamming asks, “Why have they migrated? And what, if any, are their peculiar pleasures of exile? Is their journey part of a hunger for recognition? Do they see such recognition as confirmation of the fact that they are writers? What is the source of their insecurity in the world of letters?” (ibid., 23). For Lamming, the shared need of these Caribbean-​ born writers “to get out” (ibid., 41, italics in the original) was rooted in the lack of a receptive community: “On the one hand a mass of people who were either illiterate, or if not had no connection whatever to literature since they were too poor or too tired to read; and on the other hand a colonial middle-​class educated, it seemed, for the specific purpose of sneering at anything which grew or was made on native soil” (ibid., 40). This was the paradoxical politics of their diasporic location. All of these writers produced works that imaginatively resisted the colonizer’s perception of Caribbean people and places and all were knowingly experimental in their aesthetics, yet they knew that they had to travel to the colonial motherland in order to become writers with publishers and agents, readers and reviewers. However, their diasporic identities were not only formative of their literary careers on this pragmatic level. It is true that Selvon’s literary career took on new dimensions when he travelled to London from Port of Spain where he had been working on newspapers and literary magazines. He arrived in London in 1950 and his novels A Brighter Sun, An Island Is a World, and the acclaimed The Lonely Londoners were published in 1952, 1955, and 1956 respectively. Migration was clearly a successful move for him in terms of professional authorship but it was also meaningful in terms of shaping his perceptions of the West Indian experience that he renders so powerfully and affectionately in his works: “It was my first experience of living among other West Indian islanders, happening in the heart of London thousands of miles from our

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home territory, and I learned as much about them as I learned about the English” (Selvon, 1995, 58–​59). It is only by retaining an awareness of these locational intricacies within West Indian literary developments, as well as of the scattering of paper trails that such movement generates, that the nuanced politics of location around these literary works and their archives can be appreciated. The migrant novelists of this generation built the foundations of Caribbean literary culture that arguably empowered the region to read itself outside and beyond the colonial gaze. Their writings provided the core materials for the study and promotion of anglophone Caribbean literature for decades to come. Papers relating to these authors can be found in the archives of the major British literary houses that published their works, including Jonathan Cape and Andre Deutsch, as well as in those of the newspapers and literary magazines in which their work was reviewed, such as the Spectator, Observer, and London Magazine. All the same, the final twist in the place-​making story of some of these writers is that their literary archives have returned their careers to the West Indies, restoring the national and regional value of their diasporic lives. The return of the migrant writer’s papers to the Caribbean in effect endorses them as an author in their national and regional context. It thereby creates new conditions for the status of their writing and for other writings locally, which are now placed in relation to this validated record of established authorship. Indeed, to archive the work of both generations, written during and after their time in the colonial metropolis, as Caribbean literature is critical in order to recognize the roots of their creative and political drive, as well as the contribution and impact that they have made to literary histories in the region. However, this tag is also insufficient. It cannot capture the way in which both the colonial culture into which these writers were born and their migrations across different cultural and political environments were set at odds with the possibility of a single location ever meeting their satisfactions around belonging. It also obscures the pluralizing of place that diaspora creates in the seemingly singular metropolis and makes it hard to access the ways in which these anglophone Caribbean writers, and their writings, made a difference to London too, and to the tradition of national literature that was as yet unprepared for its postcolonial centre to emerge. Establishing literary archives of these 1950s migrant writers—​whose works had taken shape across continents—​in the Caribbean, returns us also to the role of the academic champion in ensuring the preservation and accessibility of writers’ papers. The University of the West Indies’ policy and practice of collecting anglophone authors’ papers was prompted by the eminent Trinidadian critic, Kenneth Ramchand. Researching West Indian writing from an academic base in Scotland, it was Ramchand’s diasporic location that alerted him to the literary critical yield of manuscripts, but also to the positive link between literary and national heritage in the early years post-​Independence. As he recalls, My interest in the manuscripts of West Indian authors took a particular turn while I was doing my doctoral dissertation at Edinburgh between 1964 and

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1968: it was clear to me that the manuscripts submitted to British publishers in the 1950s and 1960s were affected by the “new” authors’ consciousness that their reading public included people from the West Indies, and crucially, people in the United Kingdom who were the main market for the books … I just knew that the time would come not only for academic engagement and education outreach but also for the assembling of elements of the material heritage. Ramchand, 2016, 321

Ramchand’s successful request for funds to found a collection of authors’ manuscripts at the University of the West Indies in 1968, led to what is now the West Indiana Collection at the University of the West Indies (UWI) Library at St. Augustine, Trinidad. His personal intervention in 1988 to work with Selvon to restore a significant portion of the writer’s papers to Trinidad from his home in Canada speaks of a determined sense of a national place and platform for migrant writers. A  significant portion of Selvon’s papers had been purchased in 1976 by the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas at Austin, and the consequent division of his papers into two collections, one established by open-​market purchase and the other established by a personal connection, is a typical one, of which other examples have been described by David C. Sutton, Jennifer Toews, and other members of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network. The West Indiana Collection now houses literary manuscript sources for Michael Anthony, C. L. R. James, Earl Lovelace, Eric Roach, Sam Selvon, Derek Walcott, and others. It remains unrivalled as an archive of anglophone Caribbean literary history despite the fact that many of the authors whose papers can be found in this collection also have significant collections elsewhere. It also has an active acquisitions policy and in 2014 acquired two new collections—​those of the Trinidadian/​Guyanese writer Ian McDonald and the contemporary Trinidadian diasporic novelist Monique Roffey. Even in the twenty-​first century, both of these Caribbean writers expressed their sense of privilege at having their papers recognized as cultural assets. For McDonald who grew up in Trinidad before an adult life in Guyana, and whose collection is remarkably complete, there was a highly personal sense of returning to a regional, West Indian literary home: “I remember so well sitting on the steps of what I believe is now the Administration Building reading Derek Walcott’s first book of poems, a very slim volume called 25 poems and, reading on those steps, I remember beginning to hunger to write” (McDonald, 2014). For Roffey, haunted by the same doubt about belonging as a writer and with almost no Caribbean women writers to look to in the archives, there was the relief of knowing that her work was both valued and safe. Her description of the archiving process also reveals a sense of reassurance that her work would be made accessible to others, and properly stored and curated: I was introduced to Jennifer Joseph, Campus Librarian, Glenroy Taitt, Head of West Indiana and Special Collections, and Lorraine Nero, Special Collections Librarian, and I was shown a couple of notebooks in Derek Walcott’s archive;

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happily, they looked just like mine, small, black, leather-​bound and full of drawings, phone numbers and notes. The staff were very helpful, and all of a sudden I found it was actually a relief to be signing my collection over. My first body of work would be safe, curated, cared for. Roffey, 2016

The choice made by these writers to place their papers within the West Indiana Collection is a political, as well as a personal, expression of location. It is an affirmation and claiming of Trinidad as a homeland, but it is also an affiliation to a tradition and community of writing about and for the anglophone Caribbean that is acknowledged internationally and that can be read productively across the individual author collections gathered in the West Indiana Collection.5 For some Caribbean writers, the diasporic life and career has occasioned split collections that seem to archive two lives rather than a multi-​locational whole. This is notable in the case of Louise Bennett, whose papers are split between Jamaica, where the wonderfully rich “Miss Lou Archives” documenting much of her working life on the island are housed at the National Library,6 and Canada, where the “Louise Bennett Coverley Fonds, 1941–​2008” are housed at McMaster University.7 The names accorded to these two collections indicate the different roles that literary archives play in terms of constructing the identity of the writer, as well as that of their anticipated audience. The way in which Bennett’s papers and recordings are coded in Jamaica as being of popular interest and in Canada as of academic interest also raises questions around a politics of cultural literacy for diasporic collections. Given the commitment of Canada to supporting and developing Caribbean writers and writings, there might be an argument for Canada (or at least Toronto) to be recognized as a Caribbean location in literary terms, just as London is acknowledged to be in the 1950s. All the same, how many Caribbean-​Canadians would recognize the language of fonds as an invitation to explore their literary heritage? If diasporic or multiply located collections are to reach across the boundaries of their own place, then it is important that they show a recognition of their pluralized audiences and articulate their value to these. Sometimes such split locations can work to enable the different values of an author’s papers to be more fully realized—​enabling connections to related collections, to an important local context, or to an international scholarly community. Within a diasporic framework, such papers might be better conceived of as multiply located rather than as “split” collections. The papers of St. Lucian poet 5 For a rich exploration of how the contents of authors’ archives and collections inform each other and provide a unique insight into their literary period, see Lorraine M. Nero’s article in Caribbean Quarterly, which demonstrates this by focusing on C. L. R. James’s and Derek Walcott’s archives, the correspondence between writers, and other connections. 6 Miss Lou Archives, National Library of Jamaica, www.nlj.gov.jm/​archives/​Miss_​Lou/ ​index.html. 7 Louise Bennett Coverley Fonds, McMaster University Library, http://​archives.mcmaster.ca/​ index.php/​louise-​bennett-​coverley-​fonds.

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and Nobel Laureate Derek Walcott prove an interesting example in this regard. The Walcott papers in the West Indiana Collection in the University of the West Indies, St. Augustine, Trinidad mainly relate to the period up to 1981 and to Walcott’s defining role in the Trinidad Theatre Workshop, which was particularly important to Trinidad’s cultural history during this period, as well as to that of the region more generally. Although an account of his work locally, this is a diasporic archive too as Walcott had migrated to Trinidad and worked there for more than two decades. The manuscript of Walcott’s Another Life (1973) remains in the UWI Special Collection at Mona, Jamaica where Walcott was awarded a fellowship to write. Walcott’s literary papers from the 1980s to the mid-​1990s, the period which marks the height of his poetic career and profile, are housed in the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library at the University of Toronto. This acquisition was agreed in discussion with the University of the West Indies and collaborations have been very productive in terms of staff visits, discussions about possible digital projects to unite the collections online, and cross-​referrals for researchers. Unlike Trinidad, Toronto has no particular significance to Walcott’s writing life—​which was based in Boston during the 1980s and continued between there and St. Lucia until 2007. All the same, it may be argued that the papers of a writer of such international renown, so prominent in the tradition of poetry in English, were well placed in a country and a city with a large Caribbean diasporic population but also with the resources to promote and support their research and wider cultural value globally. Given that Walcott presents a striking example of a Caribbean writer whose standing is widely accepted and understood as both local and global, the mutually enriching collaborations between his literary archives in the region and in the metropolis is especially significant. A Caribbean-​style multiple belonging was also enjoyed by the Jamaican-​British writer and activist Andrew Salkey, who was of the same generation as Mais and Selvon but whose archives were acquired by the British Library only after his death. Salkey was acutely self-​aware and meticulous in recording his literary life. His hardbound scrapbooks of press cuttings and reviews, alongside the invitations, letters etc. that related to his publications, demonstrate his own sense of the literary historical record in the making. But the significance of Salkey’s archive has a reach beyond illuminating the creation and reception of his own literary works. As an active reviewer and prolific correspondent, the writer-​in-​residence in the Caribbean section of the BBC World Service, a presenter of the Caribbean Voices Programme, and the co-​founder of the Caribbean Artists Movement (CAM), Salkey’s archive hosts a multitude of sources that relate to the development and careers of other anglophone Caribbean writers. His papers are a particularly invaluable resource in helping to piece together not only the informal networks, friendships, professional alliances, and political encounters that underpinned the renowned “boom” decade in West Indian writing from the mid-​ 1950s, but also the way in which authors’ papers incorporate and illuminate each other, which is important to acknowledge more widely. The archives comprises [sic] of numerous working manuscripts and typescripts for many published and unpublished novels, short stories and

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volumes of poetry, along with numerous radio scripts and anthologies of Carribean [sic] writers edited by Salkey. There is also an extensive correspondence, including over 900 pages of letters from the Barbadian author Austin Clarke, and substantial correspondence from Barbadian poet Edward Kamau Braithwaite [sic], Guyanese novelist Jan Carew, Trinidadian author Sam Selvon, Jamaican novelist John Hearne, Marcus Garvey’s widow Amy Jacques, CLR James, and George Lamming. The collection also includes Salkey’s diaries for the period 1972–​1995, along with various ephemeral printed material (including magazines, posters and handbills for events). This is a substantial archive in terms of volume, and is remarkably complete. Salkey, 2008

In many respects, London is an obvious location for Salkey’s collection, given the role that he played in bridging the transatlantic circuits that fostered Caribbean authorship and radical political solidarities. However, once available for public scrutiny, this archive will help to map the politics and the place of the Caribbean writer within the Americas and the Atlantic world, as well as to re-​map London as a literary locale where other cultural nationalisms were being fostered and in their own way already contributing to a new Britishness. Although housed in a single repository, the completeness of this collection is generated by its remarkable heterogeneity in terms of literary outputs, literary connections, and locations. It is a diasporic collection par excellence. There are only a handful of comprehensive literary archives accessible in one Caribbean location. The Roger Mais Collection, deposited with the Special Collections at the University of the West Indies, Mona, Jamaica in 1966 by Mais’s sister and literary executor Mrs. Jesse Taylor, provides an outstanding resource for researching this Jamaican man of letters. The Collection is made up of: 87 short stories, 19 plays, 17 radio plays, 7 novels (3 unpublished), 1 unfinished novel, and 1 folder with over 50 poems. Many of the typescripts have been annotated and corrected. In addition 21 handwritten notebooks constituting an important part of the Collection include drafts and fragments illustrating the development of his craft; journalism pieces, letters to newspaper editors, dealing with contemporary social and political events. The Collection also includes newspaper clippings, mainly of Mais’s articles but including other pieces of interest to him; holographs in both pen and pencil; correspondence with overseas publishers, mainly from the United States; correspondence to his literary agents, and a few personal letters including letters to contemporary writers like John Hearne. As far as can be ascertained this Collection is the only complete collection of a writer of the period to be held in the English speaking Caribbean. Roger Mais Collection

It may initially appear ironic given Mais’s definition of the writer as a “travelling man” that his personal collection has remained in Jamaica, with all its diasporic

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traces. Yet, it could also be argued that the care taken to preserve these materials is, like the investment made in travelling, an indication of Mais’s well-​developed sense of his identity and importance as an author even before he was accorded his place in the records of the national tradition he helped to fashion.

The Rewards of a Diasporic Norm We are all Caribbeans now … in our urban archipelagos James Clifford, The Predicament of Culture: Twentieth-​Century Ethnography, Literature and Art, 1988, 173

Given that the dispersal of literary papers across different locations and institutional settings is the norm rather than the exception for the Caribbean writer, the question surfaces as to what might be learned by the anglophone Caribbean example and its fluid dispersals between national collections and international collections? Are the distinctive ways in which location is conceived, negotiated, and expressed by Caribbean writers instructive in terms of thinking about the diasporic nature of other literary archives? Historicizing the Caribbean writer’s experience clarifies why the politics of location in relation to writers’ papers is a complicated topic. The limitations of a nationalist framework in terms of thinking about location are both evident and longstanding. But what does this mean for the future of Caribbean literary archives? It is likely that collecting practices around Caribbean literary papers will continue to be characterized by the same variables as in the past. Some complete collections will be placed with repositories in the birthplace of the writer at their own request or at that of their estate. Some collections will be sold to large metropolitan libraries and archives as their monetary value substitutes for the pension that a creative life rarely affords. The power of the highest bidder will lead to occasional locational incongruities, such as with V. S. Naipaul’s papers at Tulsa in the USA. Most collections will be dispersed across many different locations at the request of the authors themselves or, more often, as a result of historical contingencies as well as connections to particular places that are made via scholars, publishers, friends, and relatives. For small-​island writers or writers from islands without any archival infrastructure (such as Merle Collins from Grenada) their papers may remain in limbo, vulnerable to degradation and loss.8 Collections of LGBTQ writers will mainly be housed in the diaspora due to the denial of full citizenship to queer bodies in most of the anglophone territories. One example is the archive of Jamaican-​American writer Thomas Glave that is housed at the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Study in New York. Nearly all collections will bridge the Atlantic world that has shaped the Caribbean experience in their content and production if not in their archival destinations. Often, significant writers’ papers, or portions of these, will remain in the same private hands that have carefully collected material to which they connect 8 See Merle Collins’s article in Caribbean Quarterly.

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enthusiastically, and which they rightly fear will not otherwise survive. These unofficial archives are known properly as “artificial collections” and they have enormous potential to enrich Caribbean literary scholarship. Researchers will find them by word of mouth, yet without institutional frameworks for access and preservation, they will remain unwittingly hidden, precarious, and exclusive.9 Many collections will never be created in the first place as writers fail to recognize the value and future significance of their papers and either keep them arbitrarily or delete them unintentionally. Even in the contemporary moment, there are far fewer archives of women writers, who consistently appear to be less invested in their recognition as professional authors than their male counterparts. In this future collecting landscape, and in many of the complicating factors around the politics of location that this essay surfaces, Caribbean literary archives overlap with archives elsewhere. Their privileged perspective on multi-​locational literary papers emerges when enquiry is driven by a different set of questions to those of organization and conservation. They emerge when we ask what it means to acknowledge the historical condition of conjunctive belonging experienced by Caribbean authors and to consider how this formative politics of location has continued to shape the diasporic trajectory of the literary Caribbean. The Caribbean’s more supple configuration of “belonging” in which the ties between physical location, citizenship, and cultural affiliation are often loosened, provides a clear challenge to an archive which is structured by chronology without equal attention to the characterization of its geography. It also puts pressure on established terms such as “homeland” and “heritage” which act as organizing principles for negotiating the right location for a literary archive. The Caribbean examples discussed in this essay reveal that the mapping of cultural circuits around which postcolonial collections cluster needs to be sufficiently intricate to show the two-​way traffic of cultural encounter, and that models of literary margins and centres might be the effect, as well as the interest, of archival structures. In an increasingly deterritorialized world where information ecosystems can journey across mobile technologies globally, Caribbean examples of multi-​ locationality have the potential to help model data access systems where readers and researchers are able to mimic the diasporic experience and to relate to collections in more than one or two places at once. Certainly the Internet has transformed possibilities for locating and accessing materials in archives across various locations, time-​zones, and languages. The digital environment, social media, and new writing technologies have impacted hugely on the accessibility of conventional archival sources, but what would it mean if digital mapping and online exploration re-​configured literary archives across place as well as time such that the idea of movement rather than settlement became the defining relation to place? Such a gesture points towards a digital literacy based on the norms of the global 9 For more on the example of St. Lucian writer and librarian John Lee’s private collection, see Donnell’s “Researching Anglophone Caribbean Literature: Archival Encounters and Hidden Histories in the Atlantic World,” forthcoming in Caribbean Archives: A Reader.

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south that may safeguard against knowledge discoverability reinforcing Western biases. The Caribbean region has long violated the expectations of the global north in terms of its norm-​making projects as they relate to the neat categorization of languages, cultures, and ethnic identities. Its pluralizing and creolizing lens allows for new models of archival structure that would supplement rather than disrupt standard descriptions in other ways too. One example could be resisting the involuntary authority of an author-​centred archive by linking it to other sources that make the collaborative, complicated, and contested nature of various positions and works visible. Working outward from the Caribbean example of the normalization of diasporic archives might also encourage archivists, academics, and knowledge institutions to reflect on the unspoken ideas around a politics of place that underlie their own national collecting policies. This is particularly pertinent given that the success of such a policy often relies on national funding bodies and is therefore practicable only for collections of those writers who come from centres of global capital, such as the UK and US. It is doubly pertinent when the same nations that celebrate and garner support for literary archives to be “saved for the nation” are also busy collecting the papers of writers internationally that could never be “saved” for their national collections in the same fashion.10 The challenge to think more consciously about a politics of location in relation to centre-​periphery norms also needs to be underpinned by an acknowledgement of the very real material constraints under which Caribbean writers wrote and archivists now seek to collect. This is often the realpolitik of place in relation to anglophone Caribbean literary archives. Theoretically then, Caribbean relationships between authorship and archives provoke some valuable questions around conventions of placing, accessing, and describing literary collections. In practical terms, many of the collaborative possibilities and digitally enabled sharing of diasporic collections are unlikely to be realized within the region itself because of the financial disadvantage of Caribbean knowledge institutions. It is not unusual for the Caribbean to find itself squeezed between the theoretical possibilities of its cultural heterogeneity and creative multiplicity on the one hand and the material constraints of poor resourcing and the colonial legacy, on the other. The diasporic locations of Caribbean literary archives help to make sense of the social, cultural, and symbolic role that migration has played within anglophone Caribbean literature and history more generally, as well as the region’s plural configurations of place and belonging both at home and abroad. All the same, the effect that this dispersal can have on the depletion of cultural assets within the Caribbean is not inconsiderable or insignificant. The gifting or virtual gifting of collections on the part of authors who wish to secure their place within a national or regionally specific tradition or to support the development of local 10 See for example the UK stories relating to the papers of Ted Hughes and Harold Pinter: Mark Savage’s “Library Acquires Hughes Archives.” Another example is Harold Pinter’s archive, which was purchased by the British Library for £1.1 million, with the aid of a grant of £216,000 from the National Heritage Memorial Fund (see “Pinter Archive Saved”).

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repositories in the region remains an important gesture. However, it falls short of being a long-​term solution to building collections in a field where the financial stakes are increasingly high and the inequality of resourcing progressively stark. The Caribbean’s creative resources are both remarkable and renewable but it would be to repeat the injustices of history if the alternatives they present to the knowledge institutions of the global north in terms of conceptualizing and articulating the diasporic experience of writers were to work exclusively to the benefit of those same centres of capital.

Bibliography Brathwaite, Edward Kamau. “Sir Galahad and the Islands.” Bim 7 (1957): 8–​16. Brickhouse, Anna. Transamerican Literary Relations and the Nineteenth-​century Public Sphere. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Calargé, Carla, Raphael Dalleo, Luis Duno-​Gottberg, and Clevis Headley, eds. Haiti and the Americas. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2013. Clifford, James. The Predicament of Culture: Twentieth-​Century Ethnography, Literature and Art. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988. Collins, Merle. “Of Libraries, Anniversaries and Archives.” Caribbean Quarterly 62 (2016):  445–​56. Dalleo, Raphael. Caribbean Literature and the Public Sphere: From the Plantation to the Postcolonial. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2011. De Burgos, Julia. Song of the Single Truth: The Complete Poems of Julia de Burgos. Edited and translated by Jack Agüeros. Willimantic: Curbstone Press, 1997. Donnell, Alison. “Researching Anglophone Caribbean Literature: Archival Encounters and Hidden Histories in the Atlantic World.” Forthcoming in Caribbean Archives: A Reader. Kingston: UWI Press, 2018. Firmin, Anténor. The Equality of the Human Races (De l’égalité des races humaines). Translated by Asselin Charles. Introduction by Carolyn Fluehr-​ Lobban. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2000. Lamming, George. The Pleasures of Exile. London: Michael Joseph, 1960. Marson, Una. Una Marson, Selected Poems. Edited by Alison Donnell. Leeds: Peepal Tree Press, 2011. ———. Pocomania and London Calling. Edited by Tanya Batson-​Savage. Introduction by Alison Donnell. Kingston: Blouse & Skirt Books, 2016. Martí, José. Selected Writings, edited and translated by Esther Allen. Introduction by Roberto González Echevarría. New York: Penguin Books, 2002. “Memory of the World Register, Roger Mais Collection (Jamaica), Ref. No. 2010–​ 80.” UNESCO. www.unesco.org/​new/​fileadmin/​MULTIMEDIA/​HQ/​CI/​CI/​pdf/​ mow/​nomination_​forms/​jamaica_​roger_​mais_​collection.pdf. Nero, Lorraine M. “Making Connections: Stories from the UWI St. Augustine Literary Archives.” Caribbean Quarterly 62 (2016): 331–​43. “Pinter Archive Saved.” National Heritage Memorial Fund, December 11, 2007. www. nhmf.org.uk/​news/​pinter-​archive-​saved.

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Ramchand, Kenneth. The West Indian Novel and Its Background. London: Faber and Faber, 1970. ———​. “Tell Me Where to Look.” Caribbean Quarterly 62 (2016): 321–​30. Roffey, Monique. “Private Notes Made Public.” Caribbean Quarterly 62 (2016): 344–​56. Salkey, Andrew, ed. Stories from the Caribbean. London: Elek Press, 1965. “Salkey, Andrew (Donated Papers).” AIM25—​Archives in London and the M25 Area. www.aim25.ac.uk/​cgi-​bin/​vcdf/​detail?coll_​id=14543&inst_​id=118. [The website notes that “this summary was kindly provided by the Curator of Modern Literary Manuscripts, British Library. January 2008.”] Savage, Mark. “Library Acquires Hughes Archives.” BBC News, October 15, 2008. http://​news.bbc.co.uk/​1/​hi/​entertainment/​7669834.stm. Seacole, Mary, and Sara Salih. Wonderful Adventures of Mrs Seacole in Many Lands. Edited and with an Introduction and Notes by Sara Salih. London: Penguin Classics, 2005. Selvon, Sam. “Finding West Indian Identity in London.” In Tiger’s Triumph. Celebrating Sam Selvon, edited by Susheila Nasta and Anna Rutherford, 58–​61. Sydney: Dangaroo Press, 1995. Walcott, Derek. The Star-​Apple Kingdom. New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1979. “Writer Ian McDonald Donates Collection to the UWI Library.” Trinidad Express, December 13, 2014. www.trinidadexpress.com/​news/​Writer-​Ian-​McDonald-​ donates-​collection-​to-​The-​UWI-​Library-​285730381.html.

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Chapter 2

THE HUNTLEY ARCHIVES AT LONDON METROPOLITAN ARCHIVES MAUREEN ROBERTS

The cultural landscape of London at the beginning of the twenty-​first century was a very different land to the one that we currently inhabit. We slid into the year 2000, with bated breath, as we watched and waited for the potential crashing of computer programmes and the end of civilization as we knew it. Perhaps we did not really believe it, but there seemed to be a real possibility that something could go drastically wrong. After living abroad for many years I returned to London in the late 1980s and spent much of the 1990s teaching and developing a creative writing portfolio, getting published in anthologies and magazines, and writing reviews for community, national, and international publications. In 2000 one of my poems and a short story were published in the iconic IC3: The Penguin Book of New Black Writing in Britain. In 2004 my poetry collection My Grandmother Sings to Me was published by Bogle-​ L’Ouverture Publications, a radical black publishing house owned by publishers and civil rights activists Eric and Jessica Huntley. I discovered the Huntleys through one of their major literary events, Salkey’s Score: held at the Commonwealth Institute, it was a celebration of the life and work of author Andrew Salkey. As a writer working on an MA at Goldsmiths University, I was looking for a publisher. I came to be involved with the work of Eric and Jessica Huntley during the time they were concerned with finding somewhere to house their archive collection that would ensure its preservation and enable public access to it. Jessica especially wanted the collection to be used by schools and students. The Huntleys had emigrated from British Guiana, now Guyana, to London between 1957 and 1958 and founded Bogle-​L’Ouverture Publications Limited in 1969. It was established after Dr. Walter Rodney, an academic and political activist friend of the Huntleys, was banned from re-​entering Jamaica in 1968. His crime was to teach Rastafarians and working-​class Jamaicans outside of the University of the West Indies, where he was a lecturer, on African history. The Huntleys published Rodney’s lectures in The Groundings with My Brothers and would go on to publish

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his How Europe Underdeveloped Africa. Both books are important postcolonial texts which spread a message of black empowerment worldwide. The couple would go on to open the Bogle-​L’Ouverture bookshop in Ealing. The bookshop was always dear to Jessica’s heart and she often said that working in it was one of the best periods of her life; the social interaction with young people, teachers, writers, artists, politicians, and all members of the community who drifted in and out was life affirming for her. It was the hub of their literary activities, book readings, and signings, an activist space for campaigning, but it also became a target for attacks from organizations like the Ku Klux Klan. When they were forced to give up the shop due to high rent increases, all the items from the shop were relocated to their house and a specially built shed-​cum-​office at  the bottom of the garden. In storage were administrative papers, boxes of their unsold publications, and an extensive library of books from the African diaspora. This was work amassed over several decades from the mid-​1950s onwards. The arrangement did not provide the best storage conditions and items were being discarded due to water and mould damage. It was obvious that if the collection was to survive they needed to find a safe place for it. This was pursued by bringing together their formidable and extensive network of friends and family to help and give advice as to the best place to locate their material. They understood that there was power in the written word and wanted their life’s work—​educational, political, family, business, and community activities—​to be made available to future generations. As they had done with many other ventures, a group (of which I was a member) was formed to solve the problem of what should happen to the archive. Dr. Harry Goulbourne was associated with a south London university which was developing new campus buildings. It had been hoped that the archives would find a home within this new development, but unfortunately this was not to be. Alternatives were explored, including hiring somewhere to store the collection and organizing its sorting with volunteers. Lack of funds was the biggest barrier for all suggestions. Eventually through their friendship with Yinnon Ezra of Hampshire County Council a solution was found. He introduced them to Jan Smith, the Head Archivist of Hampshire Record Office, who advised them to talk to London Metropolitan Archives. The breadth and scope of the collection merited deposit in a major archive in the capital, not a regional one. It was arguably the optimum time for the meeting of the Huntleys and the Director of the London Metropolitan Archives (LMA), Dr. Deborah Jenkins. The LMA is the largest local authority record office in the country, situated outside of the City of London in Clerkenwell, and part of the archive services of the City of London Corporation. The LMA houses the former Greater London Council’s Record Office, expanding its scope in 2007 when it was merged with the archives of the Manuscripts Section of Guildhall Library. The services are managed within the Heritage Division of the City’s Libraries, Archives and Art Gallery Department. The LMA’s shelved collections comprise over 105 linear kilometres and date from 1067 to the present. The archives are designated by the Museums, Libraries and Archives Council, being of national and international significance, as the History of London Collection. The service aims to

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continue to develop and maintain an archive collection that tells the story of London and its people, provide the best possible access to the widest range of people, and build an environment where learning is fun. Despite having lived in London for over fifty years and having been involved in archives and events which had local, national, and international impact, the Huntleys knew nothing of the LMA: trust had to be established. LMA staff visited them at their home in Ealing to survey and assess their collections. A two-​way learning process and the building of a basis for trust began. It was the first major collection from the Black African-​Caribbean community and was therefore prioritized in the archive’s business plan. The LMA invested a considerable amount of staff time, care, and support in the acquisition of the collection. This was important because the Huntleys were about to entrust a mainstream cultural institution with a business archive that was going to tell the history of the Caribbean community in London from the 1950s to the 2000s at a time when the world of heritage was just beginning to take a long hard look at itself. The historical narratives presented to the public mostly excluded the experience of the black and Asian population. These stories were hidden from both the communities themselves and the mainstream, and as a consequence members of these communities could not see themselves reflected in the stories disseminated by heritage organizations. But there was a momentum coming from those communities, aided by new and faster methods of communication. Now people could send emails to hundreds of others when they made a discovery about black history, and these discoveries were being gathered and shared. It was a time when the names and stories of Olaudah Equiano, Mary Seacole, Ignatius Sancho, and many more were suddenly making their way through black and Asian communities and out into the mainstream. It was a discovery of black British history not African American history. It was a time to look at Nelson’s column with fresh eyes and see the young African sailor in the frieze at the base of the column: like so much of this history he had always been there in plain sight, but we were directed to look up at the figure of Nelson and so missed him. And so it was agreed that a Heritage Lottery Fund grant application would be submitted to provide funding to catalogue the collection and pay for a researcher from the community to work on it. The Huntleys participated fully in all aspects of recruitment. In 2005 I was hired as a researcher by the LMA to sort and catalogue the collection. I spent eighteen months in a basement strong room and would happily have spent longer. The richness of the collection soon revealed itself to be two collections: the publishing work of Bogle-​L’Ouverture Publications and the campaigning and personal family collections of the Huntleys. I catalogued the publishing collection and a second person was recruited to work on the campaigning and personal collections. In the meantime I moved to the Education Team working on the archive and organized the first celebratory conference to mark the opening of the collection to the public. The Huntley Archives Advisory Group (HAAG)1 was established in the first months of the project and volunteers 1 The HAAG consisted of friends of the Huntleys, publishers, academics, and artists who met one day a month with LMA staff to plan the Huntley conference.

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from schools and community groups were engaged to assist with educational events, thus developing the diversification process of the LMA workforce and bringing new audiences into the archive. The impetus for this work within the sector was coming from the Mayor’s Commission on African and Asian Heritage (MCAAH) which was established under Mayor of London Ken Livingstone to build on his commitment to promote the heritage and histories of African and Asian communities in the capital. It brought together heritage and race-​equality practitioners, cultural policy-​makers, and academics. It was the job of the Heritage Diversity Task Force (HDTF) to embed cultural diversity in the heritage sector. There was a shared heritage, and African and Asian narratives needed to be part of our cultural stories. To do this successfully the sector’s workforce needed to reflect London’s demography. Around this time the Mayor of London published a cultural strategy paper which concluded that “culture should empower London’s communities.”2 In 2008, in response to this report, the LMA Collections Policy was reviewed to reflect the changing emphasis on promoting diversity in collections.3 Initiatives to diversify archives to reflect the ethnic demography of London’s population centred around three areas: collections, the workforce, and audiences. Early examples of this ongoing initiative at the LMA included collections from the Jewish community, a black and Asian Londoners project from the mid-​1990s, the Moving Here website,4 the Revisiting Archive Collections5 projects, the Muslim Women’s Helpline collection, and the Chinese community collection Whispers in Time. Since the deposit of the Huntley collections many others from the Caribbean community have been acquired by the LMA as a direct result of the work done with the Huntley Archives, including Hansib Publications Limited, Clapton Youth Centre, and Sybil Theodora Phoenix, to name just a few. The most recent collection added is that of Cy Grant, the Second World War veteran, actor, and calypsonian. Depositors’ confidence in the LMA is based on its treatment of that first collection. Owners of cultural documentary heritage came to understand that there was somewhere that could safely house their collections, which might otherwise be lost due to damage caused by poor storage, or disposal due to lack of space. 2 See Ken Livingstone: London, Cultural Capital: The Mayor’s Draft Culture Strategy. (London: Greater London Authority, 2003); numerous responses and follow-​up documents available online. 3 www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/​things-​to-​do/​london-​metropolitan-​archives/​about/​Pages/​ default.aspx. 4 The Moving Here website highlighted the presence of African and Asian people in parish registers from the sixteenth century onwards. The websites www.movinghere.com and www. movinghere.org.uk have now closed, but archived versions have been preserved by the National Archives as part of the UK Government Web Archive. See http://​webarchive.nationalarchives. gov.uk/​+/​http:/​www.movinghere.org.uk. 5 (2007) Archives Diversification Subcommittee Report, 7, recommended that Revisiting Collections for Archives be further disseminated by MLA London and be adopted as an indicator of good practice by archives and funders in relation to BAME community involvement, access, and relevant finding aids.

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It takes time to diversify specialist jobs such as those of archivists. The LMA took a leap of faith and advertised for a researcher with a demonstrable knowledge of and interest in the black community, with the Huntleys fully involved in the recruitment process. When I was employed as a research officer by the LMA to catalogue the collection, I received considerable training and support. Liverpool Museum’s Director David Fleming said, “I’ve realised during my career that you recruit first for attitude, and skills you can learn” (Fleming, 2009, 29). I was the very fortunate beneficiary of just such an attitude. Creating a public space that was not intimidating to users and flexible enough to accommodate different educational programmes was important for the LMA, thus strengthening the link between the collections and the outreach programmes that could be delivered. A programme of ongoing improvements included building development, internal and external signage, and the acquisition of new equipment. This evolving environment focused on the user as a customer who had the right to easy access, clear directions, sufficient and modern equipment, and a comfortable environment. The naming of a meeting room after the Huntleys created a reflection of diversity on the physical building and continues to contribute to the LMA’s role as educator in the shaping of national and community identity and to deliver an important message of inclusion to all users. The work of this pioneering couple has been given a prominence on a par with that of those after whom other rooms were named: Horace Jones, Lyons Tea Houses, Henrietta Barnet, Henry Harben, and Sir Hugh Myddleton. They had become a part of the story of London in the LMA, for all to see. In return the annual conferences showcased the value of archives and promoted the LMA’s services while bringing in new users, including high-​profile speakers such as the broadcaster Moira Stuart, activist and publisher Darcus Howe, actor and playwright Kwame Kwei-​Armah, and publisher Margaret Busby. A range of educational programmes anchored the collections in the school, family, and community events offered by the LMA. The most significant and important of these is the annual Huntley Black History conference6 held every February. Convened in 2006, the first conference was celebratory and launched the collection. It invited the black community into the archive and over 200 people attended. Messages of support came from David Lammy, then Minister for Culture, Media and Sport; John La Rose, Chair of the George Padmore Institute; Baroness Amos, then Leader of the House of Lords; and Lord Herman Ouseley. Ewart A. C. Thomas, a Stanford University professor and long-​time friend of the Huntleys, commended “the perspicacious decision … by the LMA to embed the Collection within its interpretation 6 Early keynote speeches were jointly published by the Huntley Archives Advisory Group (later Friends of the Huntley Archive at LMA) and London Metropolitan Archives, in conference programmes titled as follows: The Groundings with Bogle-​L’Ouverture: A Story of Black Publishing (Moira Stuart, 2006); Writing the Wrongs: Fifty Years of Black Radical Publishing in Britain (Margaret Busby, 2007); Looking to Africa: Garvey, Rasta & Rodney (Kwami Kwei-​ Armah, 2008); and Remembering Walter Rodney: Revolutionary Pan-​Africanist (D. Kimani Nehusi, 2009).

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and education programmes.”7 It was clear from these messages that embedding the Huntleys’ work within London’s cultural and historical landscape affected a positive impression of the city. The conference became, “a date in my diary not to be missed,” and the LMA “a lovely place [that] inspires knowledge and access to that knowledge.” The conference transferred to the South Bank University in 2008, a move that widened participation and brought new audiences to the archive. The audience is an evolving one and in 2009 there were many new faces. LMA staff have actively introduced individuals to opportunities in other areas of the programmes and have been successful in utilizing the skill base offered by new audiences, strengthening the sense of belonging, ownership, and ultimately shared heritage. It is evident that not only the collection but those who generated it have been valued and honoured. The collection has become a teaching resource for working with many groups including the Black Experience Archive Trust (BEAT) project, which introduced inner city students from Park View Academy to archives (“Black Experience,” Wild, 2007). For several years they became an intrinsic part of the conferences and other LMA events, creating exhibitions that were showcased at the LMA and South Bank University during the 2008 Huntley conference. Members of the African-​Caribbean community that they met at LMA events featured in their documentary film Postcode Wars, which was eventually shown in schools and youth clubs nationwide. In 2009 we began working with BEAT2, again using the Huntley collections as the starting point for their introduction to archives and the history of London’s black community. The strengthening of individual and consequently community identity is evident in evaluation comments and expressions of pride in the materials contained in the collections. In 2007 major heritage institutions were invited to create programmes and exhibitions to commemorate the bicentenary of the “Act for the Abolition of the Slave Trade.” The LMA did this through an exhibition entitled Freedom Roads held at the Guildhall Art Gallery, which featured contemporary photographic portraits of people of African origin whose work contributed to the continuing struggle for human rights in many different fields. Portraits included those of Chair of the Institute of Race Relations Colin Prescod, composer and violinist Shirley Thompson, Eric and Jessica Huntley, and the actor Rudolph Walker. Archive material included a signed copy of the newly acquired South African Bill of Rights and a copy of the Constitution of the Republic of South Africa signed by Nelson Mandela, Cyril Ramaphosa, F. W. De Klerk, and Roelf Meyer. Deborah Jenkins addressed the organizations, individuals, and staff who were invited to a reception to mark the end of 2007 and the many programmes created by the LMA to commemorate the abolition of the slave trade. It was an emotional event, greatly appreciated by all who attended. A significant challenge to building identities based on diversity is the inclusion of diverse communities in the “usual” programmes offered by the institution; focus on a particular community risks alienating members of staff and visitors outside 7 Ewart A.  C. Thomas, “The Vision of Jessica Huntley:  The Black Bookshop as Community Hearth,” in The Groundings with Bogle-​L’Ouverture, 12.

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that community. Revisiting, implementing what is found to work, and creating programmes to foster intercultural links has to be a continual process. Although the use of anniversaries around the creation of programmes is valid, fixing future dates for events is equally appropriate to show continuity. The LMA made bold decisions which delivered a strong, positive message to the African-​Caribbean community in London regarding their place within this mainstream institution. The reach is national as it builds on existing good practice, and develops new professional practices and equitable partnerships. The Huntleys themselves and the narratives contained in their collections continue these initiatives and contribute to and highlight the stories behind events which are already part of London’s historical narrative, stories like that of London’s first black female head-​teacher, the supplementary school movement, campaigns for improved housing, the Southall and Brixton riots, and the Deptford fire. The Huntley Archives Advisory Group has now become a charitable trust under the name Friends of the Huntley Archives at LMA (FHALMA). They received a major Heritage Lottery Fund grant in 2015 to produce the exhibition No Colour Bar—​Black British Art in Action 1960 to 1990, which showcased twentieth-​century black British art in a six-​month exhibition and across a variety of workshop events. FHALMA now manages all aspects of the planning for the annual Huntley conference at the LMA and has developed exciting youth participation initiatives. The LMA made decisions which signalled a serious intent for the permanent inclusion of the history of the African-​Caribbean community in London’s story. By doing so a successful model for working with communities was developed. The Chinese community were the next major group with whom the LMA worked and they took from the Huntley model the aspects that they wanted, depositing collections and organizing a major conference and exhibition which brought together many members and organizations within their community. We received a collection of oral histories called Whispers in Time and partnered on the Footprints of the Dragon project. Again education workshops were embedded in the schools programme, giving continuity and a high profile to the collections. There were several key actions taken in relation to the Huntley Archives that made their acquisition by the London Metropolitan Archives such an important part of the burgeoning presence of the history of immigrant communities in London’s story and culture: • Establishing a community advisory group (the Huntley Archives Advisory Group); • Naming a meeting room in the archive building after the Huntleys;

• Purchasing a bronze bust of Jessica Huntley by sculptor Fowokan (George Kelly), a member of the black British community; • Establishing an annual black history conference which received funding support, staff time, and administrative input; • Including the names of Eric and Jessica Huntley on the glass wall of the building and on the computer screen savers in the public rooms, including on

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screens in the collection in London 1000 Years—​Treasures from the Collections of the City of London;

• Allocating funds for staffing and educational programmes;

• Embedding the development of key interpretation programmes into the LMA events calendar; • Embracing community partnerships to deliver educational programmes.

These decisions delivered a strong positive message concerning the place of the African-​Caribbean community in London’s history and laid the foundations for work with groups such as Brick Lane Circle and Black Women in the Arts and projects like Retired Caribbean Nurses and Untold Stories of the East India Company. Our sense of national identity can be enhanced by learning the stories of the communities who live around us.

Bibliography Fleming, David. “David Fleming, Director, National Museums Liverpool, Talks to Gregory Chamberlain about What Drives Him to Take a Lead on the Future of Museums.” Museum Identity 1 (2009): 24–​33. Wild, Rosie. “Black Experience Archive Trust Launch.” News Service, June 27, 2007. www.irr.org.uk/​news/​black-​experience-​archive-​trust-​launch/​.

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Chapter 3

CONSERVING PRIVATE LITERARY AND EDITORIAL ARCHIVES: THE STORY OF THE IMEC ANDRÉ DERVAL

The question of the dispersal of archives is intrinsically linked to their accessibility—​ documents which remain in private hands are by definition less likely to be preserved in an enduring manner, and the chances of the archive fonds remaining intact are less certain. From its very beginnings—​indeed this was one of the main motivations behind its foundation—​the IMEC’s1 mission has included the conservation of archives from the private domain, notably the records of publishing houses, and making them accessible to the public. This was not self-​evident at the time, and, in order to persuade the owners of these archives, the IMEC developed a legal guarantee in the form of a deposit contract that allowed the depositor to retain the material ownership of the fonds. The growth of the IMEC archives centre was unprecedented in the 1990s; individuals, such as authors, artists, book trade professionals, or their estates, proved to be very interested in the deposit contract, and the centre could then respond to the need to preserve literary papers and the growing demand for them on the part of researchers. Over time, the IMEC has put in place a system that is even more secure, based on a contribution agreement, in which the material ownership of the documents is transferred to the Institute. The participation of the IMEC in the Diasporic Literary Archives Network fitted into the Institute’s further reflections on this original aim. The first presentations within this project retraced the different initiatives being taken to prevent the risk of dispersion for business and personal archives. In addition to the support provided by public bodies, which has been growing in this area (the IMEC benefits from subsidies from the French Ministry of Culture and the Regional Council of Normandy), new establishments (validated by the Archives of France) are also working to provide optimal conditions for the conservation and security of archives in an environment that is particularly appreciated by scholars: the Abbey of Ardenne, near 1 Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine (Institute for Contemporary Publishing Archives) www.imec-​archives.com/​en/​.

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to Caen. It was in this location that one of the Network’s “workshops” was held in 2013, with the objective of bringing together professionals of the book trade (publishers, literary agents, press officers) and university researchers, as well as booksellers and manuscript dealers. The central aim of the workshop was to generate careful dialogue around the challenge that speculation on literary manuscripts represents for the world of archives. The other aim of the workshop was to alert the international community to the dangers facing archives: considered unique for their symbolic value, they face growing risks of destruction for ideological motives. Urgent measures, such as offering a temporary safe haven for archives at risk, have been undertaken by the IMEC, notably for archives from African and Middle Eastern countries. Finally, the discussions also focused on the different sources of information for localizing archives that can be offered by organs such as reviews of learned societies or the bulletins of societies devoted to writers. The IMEC’s collaboration with the Diasporic Literary Archives Network has reinforced its determination to work for the safeguarding of literary heritage. Since the workshop held at the IMEC, a significant factor destabilizing the literary archives market has been revealed; the international political situation means there is a real need for clearly set out procedures in order to protect the genesis and context of literary works, at a time when the research community’s attention is particularly focused on this field. This chapter will consider how models pioneered at the IMEC relating to the stewardship of literary archives could be adopted by other institutions to the benefit of both current and future researchers. ***

There is a professional understanding among practitioners in the world of literary archives—​and in the case of the present author an understanding extending now over thirty years of practice—​that the dispersal of such archives is intrinsically linked to the access and use intended for them. The great mass of documents currently in private hands are, simply because of the nature of private ownership, less likely to be identified, located, or used for research on a regular basis, whether because of the discreet commercial interplay among private collectors, or because of the rules of confidentiality maintained by family members, or, again, because of the collective rules which apply in the case of business ownership. The primary consequence of these factors is that private archives as a whole often have an uncertain existence and future, with very little guarantee of their preservation or description or, of course, their consultation and use. Ever since its creation, the mission of the Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine (Institute for Contemporary Publishing Archives—​ IMEC) has included the conservation of archives from the private domain, most notably the records of publishing houses, with the aim of making them accessible to the public. Statutes drafted in 1988, in accordance with the French law of 1901 governing not-​ for-​profit associations, set out goals for the IMEC “to bring together and enhance the heritage of publishing houses, magazines and various stakeholders in the book trade during the twentieth century, by the reception and exploitation that testify

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to their action,” and simultaneously “to provide the French and international scientific communities, as well as interested members of the public, with documentation and research tools on contemporary authors, books and the publishing trade.” The founders of the Institute came from two pre-​existing organizations, the Bibliothèque de littérature française contemporaine (Library of Contemporary French Literature)—​collecting archives of contemporary authors and recreating the catalogues of publishing houses during the interwar period—​and Ent’revues, which was endeavouring to write a history of literary and humanities journals. However, this model was not familiar at the time, and, in order to make a persuasive case to the owners of these archives, the IMEC initially developed a legal guarantee in the form of a deposit contract that allowed the depositor to retain the legal ownership of the fonds. Many individuals—​authors, artists, book trade professionals, or their estates—​ took an interest in the advantages of this legal arrangement and in the prospects that such a centre offered in respect of preservation, opportunities for research, and literary recognition, and were prepared to consider depositing their archives. Treated on a case-​by-​case basis, the agreed contracts were, as far as possible, adapted to depositors’ needs, resulting in the formula being a great success. During the 1990s, the growth of the archival collections was exceptional. From an organization acting as a centre for non-​mainstream or minor documentary resources, within a few years the IMEC became a collecting institution of primary importance, welcoming archival collections from authors, intellectuals, and dramatists as significant as Arthur Adamov, Philippe Soupault, Jean Paulhan, Henri Berr, Emmanuel Bove, Jean Tardieu, Antoine Vitez, and Jean Wahl, to mention only the first arrivals into the collections. This early period was also marked by the first major deposits of collections on behalf of businesses such as Librairie Larousse, Les Nouvelles Messageries de la presse parisienne, and then Hachette-​Livre (almost five kilometres of deposited archives resulting in an archival fonds of one linear kilometre once cataloguing was completed in 1993, to which five hundred metres of illustrations would be added the following year). Several major deposits from the in-​house libraries of publishing companies, both their reference libraries and the libraries of their own historical publications, would follow in the aftermath of the initial work on reconstructing their catalogues, based on practical bibliographical research. This would make it possible to fill in some gaps in the national bibliographical reference works and indexes (and it is important at this point to draw attention to the dispersal and disappearance of a significant part of the overall printed output, together with the documentation about this disappeared stock). Over time, the IMEC has developed and put in place a set of legal arrangements which ensure greater long-​ term certainty for all the collections, based on an accession agreement, with the legal ownership of the documents usually being transferred to the Institute. Archival fonds and collections now total more than 630 distinct documentary accessions—​bearing witness to the activities of the French book trade (publishing, bookselling, printing, work of literary agencies, graphic design); of literary, artistic, and intellectual creation; of a wide range of associations

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and institutions; and of magazines, journals, and the press (see the Note on the IMEC Collections later in this chapter). The IMEC’s archival collecting policy has been based on several guiding principles: alongside the qualitative assessment of the work which developed from the archives, particular attention was also paid to the inter-​connections and associations which the potential accession might have with the existing archival holdings, and this consideration applied regardless of the particular discipline to which the author belonged, creating conditions for fruitful interdisciplinary work, although priority was given to the humanities and the arts. In addition to those cases where the deposit was carefully chosen and planned by the individual or body (in person or with moral responsibility) holding the archives, many additions to the IMEC’s documentary resources have been made at key times such as when an author or heir moved house, when an organization was declared bankrupt, or at the time of the establishment of an estate after an author’s death. In each of these situations, there would have been a real risk that the assets in question might be divided up and distributed, whether by testamentary disposition, by inheritance, by simple negligence, or as a result of liquidation. In some cases, it is also necessary to assess the legal status of professional archives kept by a company’s employees, for example, in the case of publishers after their retirement. Although this does not necessarily lead to the auction room, dispersing into separate batches a previously coherent set of documents, it is still necessary to have a structure capable of accommodating these archives, given that the papers have their own historical context. It is precisely in such circumstances that the IMEC can provide a conservation solution, even if it is on a temporary basis. The overall logic, therefore, behind these safeguarding arrangements, for which purpose public money has been contributed and used, respects the essential requirements of preservation and reconstitution. And if it is necessary to avoid sale at auction to the greatest extent possible, we must, however, refrain from chauvinistic reflexes, the chief motivation being that of maintaining the archives’ integrity. It is also in this sense that the IMEC has occasionally worked in an emergency to safeguard archives, mainly literary ones. Among the examples worth mentioning would be the papers of Hampâté Bâ, which were assembled by his last companion, Hélène Heckmann; the association of friends of the writer raised the alarm just in time for an intervention without which the papers would certainly have been destroyed. The Armel Guerne archives were abandoned in a mill in the Department of the Gers for more than a year after the death of the writer–​translator: it was a neighbour who alerted the IMEC. Conversely, it is sometimes during the lifetime of the author that the decision to construct and collect the archival collection is taken, the place of conservation becoming a neutral space at the time of succession, as was the case for Marguerite Duras. It is also necessary to take into account the wandering and migratory lives of some writers—​the Kateb Yacine archive, for example, contains evidence of no fewer than sixteen places of ­provenance—​or a desire by the author for the destruction of their own archive—​in whole or in part—​in spite of which

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collections and archival fonds have been created (as in the cases of Jean Genet and Pierre Bourgeade). The IMEC’s involvement in the Diasporic Literary Archives Network took place in complete continuity with this organizational structure and way of working. Early presentations and discussions within the network described and analyzed the different measures taken to prevent risks of loss and dispersal of the archives of both businesses and individuals. In addition to support from public bodies, which is in fact increasing (the IMEC is now receiving regular funding from both the French Ministry of Culture and Regional Council of Normandy), new facilities (duly validated by the Archives Nationales de France) make it possible to ensure the best conditions for the conservation and security of the collections, within a heritage environment which can be particularly appreciated by researchers: the splendid setting of the Abbaye d’Ardenne (Ardenne Abbey), near Caen, in Normandy. It was here, as previously mentioned, that the third workshop of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network was organized in 2013 with the aim of bringing together experts in the book trade (publishers, literary agents, press officers) and academics, but also booksellers and autograph dealers, the key theme being to examine decisively the challenge now being presented to the archival world by certain speculators. The case of the Musée des Lettres et Manuscrits (the Paris-​based Museum of Letters and Manuscripts), which is currently under examination by the French judiciary, is entirely representative of the new dangers to which literary, editorial, artistic, cultural, and scientific archives are now subject. The other side of the issue concerning archives at risk—​and the Diasporic Literary Archives workshop was an opportunity to define the terms of the debate—​ comprises a reflection on the best ways to alert the referring bodies of the international community to new dangers to which archives are exposed. The state of play depends on various channels of information regarding archive location, with various ramifications, some passing by the unique means of scholarly journals and other newsletters of associations of friends of the writer. Historically, conflicts have led to the looting and destruction of archival objects—​the modern era, with the Napoleonic wars, and even moreso the twentieth century, with totalitarianism, have systematized these practices by taking care to give them a scientific varnish. By a variety of circumstances, not all fully recorded, the IMEC has thus been the recipient of archives returned to France by Russia, including those of the dramatist Henri Bernstein and the French PEN club, after confiscations by German occupying forces ended up in Soviet archives. The contemporary age, which is marked by the increasing power of a growing information society, brings a new dimension to attacks on archives—​and everything that can be said to belong to our heritage. The constant temptation for the victors to destroy the history of the enemy is multiplied tenfold by the worldwide media attention which these ravages may bring about (as in the cases of the Timbuktu manuscripts or the archaeological site of Palmyra). In such cases archives and documents are considered only for their symbolic power—​and the threats to them come predominantly from those motivated by ideology and propaganda.

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Emergency measures providing temporary shelter for such endangered archives were therefore initiated by the IMEC, particularly in African countries and in the Middle East. The strategy of “meshing” elements of the collection carried out so far makes it easy to integrate these deposits into the collection that has already been collected and preserved. It was thus that the papers of the Syrian poet Adonis, regularly nominated as a candidate for the Nobel Prize for Literature (and often considered a likely favourite), were received. Aware that his political commitment left him increasingly exposed, anxious to protect his personal archives which had been stored in Syria, and having already moved some papers for safekeeping to the Lebanon, Adonis decided in 2011 to entrust all his manuscripts to the IMEC. Several key factors lay behind this choice. The IMEC holds the archives of the Egyptian and Lebanese writers Andrée Chedid and Georges Schehadé (Adonis in fact translated the work of the latter into Arabic), and the author had also expressed a clear wish not to seek a home for his papers in a national institution. It is also worth referring to the prison letters of Abdellatif Laâbi, which the celebrated Moroccan author has chosen to deposit in the safety of the IMEC collections—​just like Lorand Gaspar, who was concerned about political developments in Tunisia where he had left his own archives behind. Further back in time, we might mention the fate of the archives of the Turkish poet Nâzim Hikmet, who had been imprisoned for his membership of the Communist Party and who asked a painter friend living in Paris to keep his archives as he went into exile in Moscow. It was the widow of this painter, Abidine Dino, who deposited the Hizmet manuscripts in the IMEC, on the recommendation of a researcher. Collaboration with the Diasporic Literary Archives Network has reinforced the IMEC’s determination to make increasing efforts to safeguard documentary heritage, at a time when many factors are emerging which are seriously disrupting the archive market. Evidence suggests that developments in the international political situation will require the establishment of effective procedures to protect the archival beginnings and the wider context of literary works, with the rise of ever-​greater dangers in this area. It is a pressing responsibility for professional bodies charged with collecting, preserving, and making available these literary archives, and for the research communities which make regular use of them, to bring information about archives at risk to the attention of the most appropriate organizations, together with proposals for safeguarding, or even rescuing, such unique heritage materials, with cooperation being coordinated at a transnational level.

NOTE ON THE IMEC COLLECTIONS For a regularly updated description of all the collections and documentary resources, visit www.imec-​archives.com. The following examples from the IMEC catalogue give a sense of the richness and range of the collections:

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Publishers and Literary Agents L’Arbalète; L’Arche; Aubier-​ Montaigne; Au Sans Pareil; André Bay; Gérard Blanchard; Bordas; Christian Bourgois; Jenny Bradley; Les Cahiers libres; John Calder; Cercle de la Librairie; Guy Chambelland; Le Chêne; Clancier-​Guénaud; Club des Libraires de France; Corsaire; Georges Crès; Desclée de Brouwer; La Découverte; Denoël & Steele; Dunod; Éditions Surréalistes; Aline Elmayan; Eyrolles; Georges Fall/​Opus international; Pierre Faucheux; Gautier-​Languereau; Granit; Grasset et Fasquelle; Paul Hartmann; Hetzel; Michel Hoffman; Kra/​Le Sagittaire; Pierre Lafitte; Pierre Lherminier; Librairie des Champs-​Elysées/​“Le Masque”; Librairie “La Maison des Amis des Livres”/​Adrienne Monnier; Librairie Martin Flinker; Éric Losfeld; Albin Michel; Mille et une nuits; Paul Morihien; Nathan; Jean-​Jacques Pauvert; Phébus; P.O.L.; Les Quatre Vents; Le Seuil; Siloë; La Sirène; Stock; Les Trois Collines.

Authors

Arthur Adamov; Adonis (Ali Ahmad Said Esber); Pierre Albert-​ Birot; René Allendy; René Allio; Jacques Audiberti; Dominique Bagouet; Gilles Barbedette; Jean Baudrillard; Samuel Beckett; Tahar Ben Jelloun; Henri Béraud; Henri Bernstein; Roger Blin; Yves Bonnefoy; Alain Bosquet; Pierre Bourgeade; Susan Buirge; Jean Cayrol; Louis-​Ferdinand Céline; Patrice Chéreau; Maurice-​ Edgar Coindreau; Colette; Fernand Combet; Jacques Derrida; Georges Didi-​ Huberman; Roland Dubillard; Georges Duby; Guy Dumur; Marguerite Duras; Jean Duvignaud; Frantz Fanon; Jean Follain; Michel Foucault; Gisèle Freund; Jean Genet; Maurice Girodias; Françoise Giroud; Lucien Goldmann; Jerzy Grotowski; Georges Hyvernaud; Alain Jouffroy; Kateb Yacine; Sarah Kofman; Violette Leduc; Emmanuel Levinas; Jean-​José Marchand; Gabriel Matzneff; Henri Meschonnic; Pascal Pia; Raymond Radiguet; Michel Ragon; Alain Resnais; Alain Robbe-​Grillet; Éric Rohmer; Raul Ruiz; Robert Sabatier; Maurice Sachs; Erik Satie; Georges Schehadé; Kenneth White.

Associations and Organizations Académie expérimentale des théâtres; ACTUAL/​Archives du Surréalisme; Centre catholique des intellectuels français; Centre culturel international de Cerisy; Collège international de philosophie; Ephemera, livres d’artistes; Galerie Colette Allendy; GIP/​Groupe d’Information sur les Prisons; L’Itinéraire; PEN Club; Sida-​Mémoires; Union des écrivains.

Journals and Magazines Les Annales politiques et littéraires; L’Arc; Arguments; Banana Split; Les Cahiers de la Pléiade; Change; Commentaire; Commerce; Confluences; Critique; Esprit; Études

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anglaises; Le Figaro; Fontaine; Jardin des Modes; Messages; Mesures; Le Nouveau Commerce; Les Nouvelles littéraires; Nouvelles nouvelles; Le Pont de l’épée; Po&sie; Revue des Deux Mondes; Revue de Synthèse; Science; Socialisme ou Barbarie; Syndicats et associations de journalistes; Tel Quel; and the collections of Jean-​Michel Place, Ent’revues, and André Vasseur.

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Chapter 4

MIGRATION, FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION, AND THE IMPORTANCE OF DIASPORIC LITERARY ARCHIVES JENNIFER TOEWS

Diasporic archives reflect the nature of the world we live in and may reflect the diasporic lives of many modern authors. Alison Donnell and other contributors to the Diasporic Literary Archives Network have used Caribbean examples in particular to illustrate both the convergences and the divergences of diasporic lives and diasporic archives. Global migration is a constant, and may be driven by economic, security, or personal needs. Whether by chance or design, people find themselves building a new life far from home. Writers are particularly prone to migrating from their home countries—​some for better economic prospects, such as Derek Walcott for example, others for political or security reasons including war and repressive regimes. Writers who choose to criticize the government ruling their native lands, whether openly or through fictional means, often find themselves the subject of harassment, detainment, and even torture or death. A writer such as Salman Rushdie represents an extreme example of this. The fact that his archive ended up in the United States rather than his home country of India reflects his desire for his life and work to be housed safely and securely while still providing open access to researchers. In some cases, an author’s papers can be split between countries and institutions, reflecting either their personal journeys or other collecting considerations. Some­ times earlier papers are housed in the country of origin while the later papers are housed in the country of the author’s current occupancy. This is true of the Derek Walcott papers and many others across the world. Thus the need for cooperation between international colleagues and institutions to provide the best access possible to the total archive of such authors while sharing resources and ideas to make the papers as accessible as possible. The virtual reconnection of split fonds through digitization is an example of this. The intent of all this effort is to create pathways to allow for an open field of enquiry for researchers. The fatwa placed on Salman Rushdie by the Ayatollah Khomeini in 1989 ordered Muslims to kill Rushdie for statements perceived as blasphemous within The Satanic Verses. The Iranian government which came to power following Khomeini’s death

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did not lift the fatwa in 1998, though a statement was issued stating that the government did not sanction the killing of Rushdie. Ironically, a few years before the fatwa was issued the Iranian government chose to award the Persian translation of his third novel, Shame, as the best translation of that year in Farsi. Rushdie has a long history of angering various governments and individuals with his sharply satirical and critical views, including, for example, Indira Gandhi and the Pakistan government. This speaks to the importance of freedom of expression and to the necessity for some writers to migrate to countries which support their right to be honest and outspoken in their work without fear of reprisal. Such strong reactions from governments and individuals demonstrate the immense power that words can have, and what can occur when the failure of the imagination is combined with violence and oppression. A healthy society encourages open and rigorous debate, and the acceptance and tolerance of varying points of view. Many writers and artists have felt the need to move to a more open and accepting society in another country. The great courage and personal sacrifice demonstrated by many writers illustrate how strongly the writers feel the need to continue their work in an honest, freer, and more accepting environment. One such example is to be found in the life and work of essayist, anthologist, and author, Argentine-​Canadian Alberto Manguel. He was born in Buenos Aires, and raised in Tel-​Aviv and Buenos Aires, with his first languages being English and German, then Spanish. He left Argentina for Europe before the “disappearances” began.1 He then lived and worked in France, England, Italy, and Tahiti before moving to Toronto, Canada, where he resided for about twenty years. He is now a Canadian citizen and identifies himself primarily as both Canadian and Argentinian. After leaving Canada, he moved to France where he built and housed his famous library of some 30,000 books in a thirteenth-​century Presbytery. He is currently the National Librarian of Argentina, dividing his time largely between Argentina and New York City. Truly a citizen of the world, Manguel’s brilliant, imaginative, and insightful commentary on the world of reading, writing, and cultural history is informed by his diasporic experience. Widely recognized for his work, his close friendships with such authors as Doris Lessing, Mavis Gallant, and a multitude of others form a rich diasporic archive of great importance. The Alberto Manguel papers are held by the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto, Canada. Alberto Manguel could be viewed as both an economic and a political migrant. Doris Lessing is well known for her first novel The Grass is Singing, which is critical of white colonial society in southern Africa, as well as for her youthful Communist leanings, which contributed to her later prohibition from entering South Africa (see her essay “Being Prohibited,” first published in 1956). Deemed “Asiatic” by the South African authorities on account of being born in Persia, she was banned from entering the country at that moment and for a number of years following. From 1 The disappearances occurred during Argentina’s Dirty War, or Process of National Reorga­ nization, 1976–​1983, in which between 10,000 and 30,000 people disappeared, those labelled as subversive and dissident, www.britannica.com/​event/​Dirty-​War.

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Persia (Iran) her family then moved to Southern Rhodesia (Zimbabwe), and finally to London, England. Lessing was prevented from visiting South Africa for years even though she is widely recognized as a southern African author. Her papers are held partly by the Harry Ransom Center, at the University of Texas at Austin, and partly by the Library of the University of East Anglia, with very free access for researchers in both institutions, and no restrictions on grounds of politics, race, or personal sensitivity, despite the highly revealing personal nature of some parts of the collections. The Nobel Laureate Kazuo Ishiguro was born in Nagasaki, Japan, moving to England as a young boy with his parents, and later moving on his own to the United States. Most widely known for his very popular novel The Remains of the Day, Ishiguro comments on his experience of finding his writing voice within his own cultural heritage, and the effect of migration on his writing in an interview in The Paris Review: I discovered that my imagination came alive when I moved away from the immediate world around me. When I tried to start a story: “I came out of Camden Town tube station and went into McDonald’s and there was my friend Harry from university,” I couldn’t think of what to write next. Whereas, when I wrote about Japan, something unlocked. One of the stories I showed the class was set in Nagasaki at the time the bomb dropped, and it was told from the point of view of a young woman [based in part on his mother’s wartime experience in Nagasaki]. I got a tremendous boost to my confidence from my fellow students. They all said, this Japanese stuff is really very exciting, and you’re going places. Then I got a letter from Faber accepting three stories for their introduction series, which had an excellent track record. I knew that Tom Stoppard and Ted Hughes had been discovered like this. Hunnewell, 2008

Ishiguro demonstrates the important influence of his cultural identity and his personal diasporic experience on his work. When he began to write about Japan he discovered an inherent understanding of people and place. At the same time, The Remains of the Day illustrates his deep understanding of a specific element of British society during a particular time, while infusing the characters with a subtlety that is also reflected in Japanese society and his writings about Japan. It is a perfect example of the various effects, both obvious and subtle, that emigration and the experience of diaspora may have on an author’s work. Kazuo Ishiguro’s papers are held by the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas at Austin, alongside the papers of English authors with whom his work is sometimes linked, including Julian Barnes and Ian McEwan. Hungarian-​born British author Baroness Emma “Emmuska” Orczy is celebrated for her creation of the beloved and immensely popular character Sir Percy Blakeney, better known as his dashing alter-​ego, The Scarlet Pimpernel. Baroness Orczy was born in Hungary, and lived in Budapest, Brussels, and Paris before moving to London with her family, attending art school where she met and married an artist, Montagu Barstow. She began to work in translation and to write partly to supplement their

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limited income. Her writing was not successful initially until her serial detective stories began to develop a following. The play The Scarlet Pimpernel was very well-​ received and was performed over 2000 times after its first appearance in 1903. In 1905, her novel of the same name was published, the success of which boosted the popularity of the play. Clearly, her early experience living in aristocratic Hungary informed her writing of The Scarlet Pimpernel. Blending plots of espionage with the lives of the aristocracy proved a popular genre. The Baroness Emmuska Orczy papers have been acquired by the Harry Ransom Center, and contain both her literary manuscripts and photographs. Another Nobel Laureate, the Mexican poet Octavio Paz, was raised in Mexico, later moving to the United States. Paz initially entered the Mexican diplomatic service, later being posted to Paris where he wrote The Labyrinth of Solitude. He then went to India and Tokyo, and was posted to Geneva. Returning to Mexico City, and subsequently as Mexico’s ambassador to India, he met, along with Ernesto Cardenal, a writer’s group known as the Hungry Generation, an avant-​garde, postcolonial group of Bengali writers challenging the mainstream voices of the time. In October 1968 he resigned from the diplomatic service in protest at the Mexican government’s massacre of student demonstrators in the Plaza de las Tres Culturas in Tlatelolco. He then taught at Cambridge and Harvard before returning to Mexico City where he died in 1998. The principal collection of his papers has similarly been acquired by the Harry Ransom Center, although individual items are located in the Biblioteca Nacional de España, the Biblioteca Nacional de México, and the university libraries of Princeton and Harvard. James Baldwin was born in Harlem in 1924, moving to Paris in 1948 in search of an identity beyond that assigned to him during his earlier years in the United States. He emigrated to Paris in order to grow as an artist, freer from labels, discrimination, and limitations due to perceptions and prejudices regarding sexuality, race, and ­identity. He became an important writer and commentator on freedom and civil rights from self-​imposed exile. Later settling in Saint-​Paul-​de-​Vence in Provence, Baldwin became the centre of a sophisticated artistic and cultural community, based, in part, at his home. He frequently welcomed many important cultural figures,  including his good friend, painter Beauford Delaney from New York, Nina Simone, Josephine Baker, Miles Davis, Ray Charles, Sidney Poitier, Harry Belafonte, and a host of others such as Yves Montand and Marguerite Yourcenar. He also associated with fellow American writers in exile Chester Himes and Richard Wright. A leading figure in the struggle for civil rights and gay rights, he was outspoken, independent, and strong in his vision. Despite criticism from various quarters, he continued to write what he wanted to write, to speak out, and to live in France for the rest of his life. His papers, representing all aspects of his courageous diasporic life, are held by the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University. American author Richard Wright, best known for his novels Native Son and Black Boy, was born and raised in the southern United States. His writing reflects his difficult experiences growing up in a racist, oppressive, and sometimes violent society. Raised by his mother, his family went to live with his uncle and aunt in Arkansas in

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1916. The family was forced to leave Arkansas following the murder of his uncle by a white man who was jealous of his successful business. His first story was published in the local black newspaper when Wright was just fifteen. He was a naturally gifted writer and wrote from an early age despite the challenges in his life. While working at a series of jobs, he educated himself in American literature and continued to write in his spare time. By the 1930s, sales of his work allowed him to move to Harlem and to begin writing Native Son, with the help of a Guggenheim Fellowship. Wright eventually moved to Paris in 1946, becoming friends with Jean-​Paul Sartre and Albert Camus. He also became friends with fellow American ex-​patriate writers James Baldwin and Chester Himes, among others. He became a French citizen in 1947, and remained in France until his death in 1960. The Richard Wright papers are held by the Beinecke Library, with some manuscripts held by the Kent State Library and the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture in Harlem, New York. The first American and the first black writer to be awarded the Grand Prix de la Littérature Policière (Polito, 2001), Chester Himes was best known for his original, hard-​boiled Harlem Detective novel series. Like James Baldwin and Richard Wright, Himes moved to Paris in search of a freer, more accepting milieu in which to pursue his writing and his life. Like James Baldwin, Himes had a large literary and cultural circle with his wife Lesley that included Malcolm X, Picasso, abstract painter Jean Miotte, and many others. The couple lived in Paris for a time, later moving to Provence, like Baldwin, and finally residing in Spain where he passed away in 1984. Himes’s personal life was nearly as unusual and exciting as those of his characters. While his earlier experience in the United States clearly informed his writing, emigrating to Europe allowed him to develop himself in a different way to that in which he otherwise might have. Maurice Saillet’s collection of Sylvia Beach papers are held by the Harry Ransom Center. Sylvia Beach was another American who sought independence and a freer life and identity in Paris among the post-​First World War expatriate community there. Paris was important for Beach as a woman since she could open her own business, and issues of race, gender, and sexuality were far less prevalent. The American literary diaspora inhabiting Paris at the time supported her and each other. Writers such as Ernest Hemingway and e. e. cummings first visited Paris on active duty during the First World War, returning after the war to live there full-​time. Drawn by economical living and freedom from censorship many Americans came to Paris and remained until the 1930s’ economic downturn and the Second World War. Beach published James Joyce’s Ulysses with her own money and saw to its distribution. Ulysses was banned in the United States as pornographic at the time of publication and may not have reached North American readers without her intervention. Beach’s own papers and books were purchased by Princeton University after her death. Maurice Saillet was a close friend of Beach’s who inherited her apartment and its contents. Saillet’s collection of her papers was purchased by the Harry Ransom Center in 1986, providing an example of an archival “split collection” within a single country. Leonard Cohen, born in Montréal, travelled the world, living in New York, Los Angeles, and India, and periodically retreating to the Mount Baldy Zen Center in

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California to study Buddhism. While living the life of a citizen of the world, he always retained elements of his essential Canadianness. Known the world over for his music, both his poetry and music reflect his inner spiritual world as influenced by his experiences in the world. His global travels, combined with his spiritual study and personal reflection and growth, are absorbed and transformed into relatable human experience and emotion. His ability to share universal aspects of suffering and love, expressed with both a simplicity and a complexity, resulted in his wide appeal to his fans, and reflected his diasporic experience. The Leonard Cohen papers are held by the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library at the University of Toronto, Canada. Mavis Gallant, another Montréaller, moved to Paris in the 1950s to pursue writing and a freer life, particularly for an independent woman of the time. She travelled extensively and wrote about everything she observed in her short stories. Her universal understanding of human thought, emotion, motive, and desire combined with her exquisite talent and razor sharp wit to make her one of the foremost short story writers in the world. Gallant’s life and writing may have been markedly different had she remained under the sway of the traditional, sexist Canadian society she was subject to at the time. Clearly, the move to a more open society was essential for her development both as a person and as a writer. Her papers are held by the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Toronto, Canada. Derek Walcott described himself as an economic migrant, and his good friend Russian-​American poet Joseph Brodsky as a political one; their mutual friend the Irish poet Seamus Heaney, though based in Ireland, spent long periods in the United States, partly for economic reasons. These three brilliant writers may never have met and become good friends, or “sparring partners,” as Walcott describes them, had they not migrated from their homes. For example, Derek Walcott chose to live for more than twenty years in his adopted home of Trinidad and Tobago for primarily economic reasons. He founded the Trinidad Theatre Workshop, wrote for a local newspaper, and worked on his own writing and painting while there. He also spent years in the United States, teaching, writing, painting, and working in theatre. His work tends to absorb and treat with respect and admiration the local people and culture of his adopted homes, while maintaining the flavour of St. Lucia and the Caribbean in his work. The Joseph Brodsky papers are held by the Beinecke Library at Yale University; the papers of Derek Walcott are held at the Alma Jordan Library, St. Augustine campus, University of the West Indies, Trinidad and Tobago, and the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto, Canada; while the Seamus Heaney papers are held by the National Library of Ireland and at the Stuart A. Rose Manuscript, Archives and Rare Book Library, Emory University, Atlanta, Georgia. The holding of part of the Derek Walcott papers by the University of Toronto was made possible only as a result of an agreement of understanding and cooperation made between the University of Toronto and the University of the West Indies. This brief discussion and the examples provided are meant to illustrate the breadth and complexity of diasporic literary papers and the lives of their authors. It is of paramount importance that archivists, librarians, scholars, institutions, and

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others work together to ensure safe and open access to these important documents, regardless of political or proprietary situations.

Bibliography Cadogan, Mary. “Orczy, Baroness.” In Twentieth-​Century Romance and Historical Writers. 3rd ed. Edited by Aruna Vasudevan, 499–​ 501. London: St James Press, 1994. “Derek Walcott: Calabash ’08.” Arts, Ideas and Politics with Christopher Lydon, May 28, 2008. “Dirty War.” Encyclopædia Britannica, March 20, 2014. www.britannica.com/​event/​ Dirty-​War. “Doris Lessing: Being Prohibited.” New Statesman, November 18, 2013. www. newstatesman.com/​old-​statesman/​2013/​11/​doris-​lessing-​being-​prohibited. Elgrably, Jordan. “James Baldwin, The Art of Fiction, No. 78.” The Paris Review 91 (1984). www.theparisreview.org/​interviews/​2994/​james-​baldwin-​the-​art-​of​fiction-​no-​78-​james-​baldwin. Helm, Michael. “For Mavis Gallant.” Brick 93 (2014). brickmag.com/​mavis-​gallant/​. Hunnewell, Susannah. “Kazuo Ishiguro, The Art of Fiction, No. 196.” The Paris Review 184 (2008). www.theparisreview.org/​interviews/​5829/​kazuo-​ishiguro-​the-​ art-​of- ​fiction-​no-​196-​kazuo-​ishiguro. “James Baldwin Biography.” Biography. www.biography.com/​people/​james​baldwin-​9196635. “James Baldwin: The Price of the Ticket.” About the Author, August 23, 2013. PBS. www.pbs.org/​wnet/​americanmasters/​james-​baldwin-​about-​the-​author/​59/​. Kalotay, Daphne. “Mavis Gallant, The Art of Fiction, No. 160.” The Paris Review 153 (1999). www.theparisreview.org/​interviews/​838/​mavis-​gallant-​the-​art​of-​fiction-​no-​160-​mavis-​gallant. MacAdam, Alfred. “Octavio Paz, The Art of Poetry, No. 42.” The Paris Review 119 (1991). www.theparisreview.org/​interviews/​2192/​octavio-​paz-​the-​art-​of-​poetry​no- ​42-​octavio-​paz. Manguel, Alberto. www.atelieraldente.de/​manguel_​0h4/​. Marling, William. “Chester Himes.” Detnovel.com. www.detnovel.com/​himes.html. Merriman, C. D. “Baroness Emmuska Orczy.” The Literature Network, 2006. www. online-​literature.com/​orczy/​. “Octavio Paz—​ Biographical.” Nobelprize.org. Nobel Media AB 2014. www.nobel prize.org/​nobel_​prizes/​literature/​laureates/​1990/​paz-​bio.html. Polito, Robert. “Hard-​Boiled.” The New York Times, March 18, 2001. www.nytimes. com/​books/​01/​03/​18/​reviews/​010318.18politot.html. Radio Open Source. http://​radioopensource.org/​calabash-​08-​first-​the-​fireworks/​. Sallis, James. Chester Himes: A Life. Edinburgh: Payback Press, 2000.

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Part Two

THE CHALLENGES OF LITERARY ARCHIVES

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Chapter 5

THE UNIVERSAL DIMENSION OF DIASPORIC LITERARY ARCHIVES JENS BOEL1

“The first step in liquidating a people … is to erase its memory. Destroy its books, its culture, its history.” Milan Kundera, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, 1982, 159

The Diasporic Literary Archives projects and networks have provided an inspiring setting for scholars of diverse fields to explore the situation of literary archives that, for a variety of reasons, are dispersed around the world. The discussions and meetings of the network have led to initiatives and activities for the safeguarding and promotion of such archival collections. These initiatives range from educational programmes relating to digitization projects to the enhancing of physical preservation conditions and better descriptions of selected diasporic literary archives. All these results reflect how timely and relevant the creation of the network was.

Archives at Risk The discussions around diasporic literary archives have also made it clear that some collections form part of a wider international issue for which the used terms have come to be either “archives at risk” or “documentary heritage at risk.” Access to a number of important cultural collections (literary, artistic, religious, or socio-​ cultural) is uncertain and their very survival is not guaranteed. The risks are multiple and are related to both natural and human-​made threats and disasters. They include, but are not limited to, inappropriate conservation conditions, such as exposure to humidity, heat, insects, and water-​infiltrations; lack of essential preservation measures; negligence; lack of organization and appraisal; fires; and natural disasters; as well as theft and deliberate destruction. 1 The author is responsible for the choice and the presentation of the facts contained in the article and for the opinions expressed therein, which are not necessarily those of UNESCO and do not commit the Organization.

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Archives and libraries have been destroyed on purpose throughout history, to eliminate knowledge that was perceived as dangerous for certain groups or persons in power or trying to seize power, or even in order to erase memory. As Emma Rothschild has convincingly demonstrated in her essay “The Archives of Universal History,” archives can embody and symbolize the universal. That is why Napoleon brought archives from different parts of Europe to Paris: universal power can be justified by the presence of universal archives. Preserving, stealing, or destroying archives represent different ways of fighting a global power game. In recent years, we seem to be bearing witness to a surge in human-​made threats against documentary heritage. The destruction of ancient manuscripts in Timbuktu in 2013 is a particularly striking and appalling example. These texts were destroyed because they communicated knowledge or expressed thoughts and views that were not acceptable to the extremists who wanted to take power. Many of these manuscripts, which were, for example, Sufi-​texts or Arab scholarly works about astronomy or medicine, dated back to the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. They reflected Timbuktu’s long tradition as a knowledge centre. As early as 1550, Leo Africanus wrote about the markets in Timbuktu in his “Description of Africa”: “Many hand-​written books imported from Barbary are also sold. There is more profit made from this commerce than from all other merchandise.” Targeting archives for destruction can be a way of attempting to annihilate identities and cultures. The perpetrators of these acts of barbarism are following the same paths as those who destroy other kinds of cultural heritage, such as the temples and columns in Palmyra and the Buddha statues in Bamiyan. As the UN Security Council has pointed out in its Resolution 2347 of March 24, 2017, such attacks constitute a war crime and perpetrators must be brought to justice. This resolution, which was adopted unanimously, is historic because it emphasizes the essential role of culture and education for peace and security in the world.

The Battle for Evidence An additional thought-​provoking and essential dimension of risks to documentary heritage and, at the same time, a powerful reminder of its importance, is the multiple threats to evidence-​based approaches in recent years. It is no wonder that the Oxford Dictionaries Word of the Year 2016 is post-​truth, an adjective defined as “relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief” (“Word of the Year 2016”). In an era where “alternative facts” are in fashion and where dystopian fiction, like Orwell’s 1984, tops bestsellers lists, there is a deep and understandable concern in many societies for the fate of empirical, scientific approaches based on “documents,” e.g. facts and records. While documentary heritage has become a target, concerns for its survival and accessibility have also provoked movements to protect it, not only at the level of professional communities and governments but also among ordinary citizens. A concrete expression of this is the UNESCO Unite4Heritage initiative, which in recent

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years has mobilized many citizens, in particular the young, to stand up for documentary heritage. A related and very promising development occurred in Timbuktu, when the survival of the ancient manuscripts was at stake: a number of committed individuals in the local community took the initiative to rescue and hide these valuable texts and thereby actually managed to save them for future generations. At the same time, cultural heritage has also become a political battleground; it is often manipulated to serve ideological causes, including manipulation by those with xenophobic and nationalistic agendas. For this reason, UNESCO’s message on cultural heritage, including documentary heritage, has become even more essential and urgent. This message can be summarized in one single idea, simple and far-​reaching at the same time, namely that both cultural and natural heritage belong to humanity as a whole, and that this heritage must be shared and jointly cared for by countries and peoples all over the world. Heritage should be a way of fostering mutual understanding, of bringing people together in all their diversity, united by universal values and a shared understanding of the need to safeguard and guarantee access to the cultural and natural heritage of the world.

Memory of the World Programme The most comprehensive initiative UNESCO has launched for documentary heritage is the Memory of the World (MoW) programme. It was created in 1992 with the overarching idea that documentary heritage has universal value and should be shared by humanity. The spirit of the programme is essentially the same as that which forms the underlying conceptual approach of the above-​mentioned Security Council resolution, namely that preservation of and access to documentary heritage is a global responsibility and must be managed in a way that fosters mutual international understanding. The best-​known part of this programme is the Registry in which archival documents and collections of universal value are inscribed upon the recommendation of an independent International Advisory Committee (IAC), based on analyses and advice from recognized experts. Among the 348 inscriptions2 are many that are literary archives or have literary dimensions, such as Anne Frank’s diaries, the Astrid Lindgren archives, and the works of Ibn Sina (Avicenna) in the Süleymaniye Manuscript Library in Istanbul. The Memory of the World programme has the potential to become an effective means of promoting the safeguarding of and easier access to dispersed literary archives. To make this happen joint applications from different countries for the inclusion of diasporic literary archives in the Register of the Memory of the World should be encouraged. Educational use of these types of archives is to be considered part of the work of the Sub-​Committee on Education and Research (SCEaR) of the Memory of the World programme. This expansion of approach has been gathering strength in recent years. 2 As of 2015; inscriptions began in 1997 and currently more are added every second year.

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When considering literary archives, what is particularly interesting from a UNESCO perspective is the topic of literary manuscripts of writers from developing countries which have been purchased by universities or other research institutions in North America or Western Europe. In a number of cases such acquisitions are perceived by countries and citizens in the global south as a loss of cultural heritage that forms part of the identity of their nations and peoples. Shared access, joint exhibitions, and digitization projects could be among the solutions to this concern. From a UNESCO viewpoint this relates to the Organization’s work on promoting the concept and reality of a shared universal memory, enhancing international understanding and reducing global inequalities by bridging the digital divide. Inscription in the MoW Register can be an effective way of raising awareness and attracting funds for preservation of and access to archival and documentary holdings.

The Endangered Archives Programme Another partner of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network, the Endangered Archives Programme, has also played an important role in the preservation of human documentary heritage all around the world. The Endangered Archives Programme (EAP) is principally a digitization initiative, based in the British Library in London, which identifies archival collections at risk of disappearance or destruction and funds the creation of digital copies. The aim is to find a safe archival home in the country of origin for both the original archive and the digital master copy, but a digital copy is also created for deposit in the British Library. Examples of endangered cultural materials which have been safeguarded in this way range from Micronesian musical sound recordings to collections of rare Mongolian periodical publications to endangered archival collections in Liberia, East Timor, and the Al-​ Aqsa Mosque in East Jerusalem. Some of these preservation missions have been personally dangerous as well as archivally precious.

The Right to History There are some universally recognized principles that can be applied when it comes to conflicts arising from the location of literary archives. One such principle is the “right to history” for all peoples, which in this context could be interpreted as an obligation for the purchasing institution to make maximum efforts to provide access to researchers and citizens from all over the world and, in particular, to persons from the country of origin of the literary archives in question. Digitization projects, such as those sponsored by the Endangered Archives Programme, with careful consideration given to long-​term preservation needs, can provide partial solutions to the access concern. UNESCO may be able to provide its good offices to help in addressing concerns relating to archives at risk. A number of memory-​related institutions, such as the International Council on Archives (ICA), the International Federation of Library Associations and Institutions (IFLA), and the International Centre for the Study of

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the Preservation and the Restoration of Cultural Property (ICCROM), take an interest in this area—​together with the Endangered Archives Programme and the Diasporic Literary Archives Network—​and UNESCO could play a role in bringing these professional partners together with a view to developing standards and guidelines for the safeguarding of endangered archives, including literary archives. In that spirit and in conclusion, I will summarize ideas and perspectives that have already been discussed between UNESCO and civil society organizations involved in efforts to safeguard documentary heritage. UNESCO has plans to convene an International Symposium on “Safeguarding Documentary Heritage in Danger.” This could take the form of an expert meeting that would bring together stakeholders from a wide range of horizons and with proven experience and capacity in preserving documentary heritage at an international level. The objective would be to create a forum that would compare, review, analyze, and discuss concepts, strategies, and practices in the area of documentary heritage at risk. The purpose should be to look at the whole “disaster cycle,” before, during, and after a conflict or disaster. In line with the vision of the Secretary-​General of the United Nations, António Guterres, the priority should be prevention with the ultimate goal of contributing to the creation of “a culture of prevention” (2016). The participating experts should aim at arriving at a shared understanding of concepts and issues on the bases of their analyses of and experiences with existing programmes and strategies. The major expected outcomes could be the following: • Establishment of an emergency action plan for safeguarding endangered documentary heritage;

• Development of guidelines on safeguarding documentary heritage and risk management (including contingency plans); • Publication and dissemination of guidelines;

• Reinforcement of existing conventions and other standard-​setting instru­ ments by ensuring more ratifications and enhancing respect for ratified legal instruments; • Strengthening of the Memory of the World committee network across the world.

Concluding Remarks The Diasporic Literary Archives Network has played a significant role in exploring and developing ideas. This has been international scientific cooperation at its best: inspirational, motivating, and forward-​oriented. The challenge is now to build on insights and actions that have emerged from this project. Diasporic literary archives and other forms of documentary heritage can be fascinating sources of knowledge and inspiration. The work of members of the Network and many other individuals and associations on preserving and providing access to this material is a modest but useful contribution to bringing people together, to helping in creating

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a sense of unity of humanity in this particular field, built on an understanding of the rich diversity of the archives. These efforts have been, and will continue to be, founded on a strong commitment to a culture of sharing, solidarity, and openness.

Bibliography Guterres, António. “Challenges and Opportunities for the United Nations.” República Portuguesa, April 4, 2016. www.un.org/​pga/​70/​wp-​content/​uploads/​sites/​ 10/​2016/​01/​4-​April_​Secretary-​General-​Election-​Vision-​Statement_​Portugal-​4-​ April-​20161.pdf. Kundera, Milan. The Book of Laughter and Forgetting. Translated by Michael Henry Heim. London: Faber and Faber, 1982. Reprint, 1992. “Leo Africanus describes Timbuktu.” UNC School of Education. http://​liberty andjusticeforall.org/​leo-​africanus-​describes-​timbuktu/​. Rothschild, Emma. “The Archives of Universal History.” Journal of World History 19 (2008): 375–​401. “UN Security Council Adopts Historic Resolution for the Protection of Herit­ age.” UNESCO. http://​en.unesco.org/​news/​security-​council-​adopts-historicresolution-protection-​heritage. “Word of the Year 2016.” Oxford University Press. en.oxforddictionaries.com/​word​of-​the-​year/​word-​of-​the-​year-​2016.

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Chapter 6

NAMIBIAN LITERARY ARCHIVES: NEW BEGINNINGS AND A POSSIBLE AFRICAN MODEL VENO V. KAUARIA AND DAVID C. SUTTON

The National Archives of Namibia signed up with enthusiasm to the Section for Archives of Literature and Art (SLA) of the International Council on Archives in 2010 and then to the emerging Diasporic Literary Archives Network in 2011—​on behalf of a country with a strong literary culture but no established practice of collecting literary manuscripts, nor the correspondence and personal papers of literary authors. Namibia was asked to play the role of the apprentice within the Network and has played that role fully and creatively—​moving towards a position where by 2020 it aims to be a model in southern and eastern Africa for the collection and appreciation of literary and cultural papers. Namibia accepted one of the principal messages of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network, which was that literary papers themselves could serve as a key part of the cultural heritage of countries which had achieved their independence within current lifetimes, and could provide a source of national pride, diversity, and identity. Diversity had always been a prominent feature of cultural archives in Namibia, adding great variety to the archival collections while also sometimes deriving from controversial and painful aspects of national history. There had always been South African authors who lived in Namibia and Namibian authors who lived in South Africa, for example. There were also archival fonds reflecting the colonial past of Namibia, and the successive regimes of Germany, Britain, and South Africa. For the documentation of colonial rule and occupation, the papers of the rulers survived more extensively than papers concerning resistance and the fight for freedom. This is no doubt a general truth found by archivists in newly independent countries, especially when independence has followed wars of liberation. As a result, in Namibia, papers of cultural interest (although not specifically literary) in the German and Afrikaans languages had been collected, as well as in English and in several Namibian languages. Historical literature and diaries of historical interest, in particular, had found their way into the archives, and the letter-​journals of the Nama

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leader Hendrik Witbooi (died 1905), owned by the National Archives of Namibia, had been included on the UNESCO Memory of the World Register as long ago as 2004. This meant that the idea of acquisition of personal papers presented no problem of principle in respect of collecting policies. What was new in the work which began around 2012 was the interest in Namibian authors whose work belonged to the fields of literature and the arts. Presentations on progress in Namibian literary archives were given at most of the workshops of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network, and the Network members were entertained by the metaphor of Namibia as its baby, first learning to crawl and then to walk and to run. Some creative and distinctively Namibian solutions were identified and discussed fairly early in the process. For example, the combination of the National Library and Archives of Namibia into a single service made possible a simple but effective way of communicating with living authors. As a new literary work was deposited in the National Library of Namibia, under a copyright deposit scheme based on a British model and, ultimately, on the Imperial Copyright Act of 1911, the National Archives of Namibia was able to write to the author with an enquiry and an expression of interest relating to the manuscripts and working notes which lay behind the book. Noting the work that had been done in other countries in respect of direct discussion and negotiation with living literary authors and (more discreetly and delicately) with the families of the recently dead, in 2014 the National Library and Archives of Namibia reported on discussions and negotiations about their archives which had begun with key figures in Namibian literature, notably Mvula ya Nangolo and Frederick Philander. These discussions led to the early deposit of papers and disks relating to Philander’s literary work. Between 2012 and 2014, thus, the Namibian archivists moved from being apprentice literary learners to being archival literary activists. In 2015 a series of workshops organized in Windhoek jointly by the National Archives of Namibia, the National Library of Namibia, and the Diasporic Literary Archives Network, with support from the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library at the University of Toronto, studied many of the main issues for literary archival work in Namibia. Participants included Namibian government officials, archivists, librarians, literary and other authors, and workers in the cultural industries. Discussions ranged widely, with great animation and occasional indignation (it is not easy to make a living as a Namibian author), but were constructive and thoughtful and led to a number of definite decisions and ways forward. The first question to be considered was straightforward but fundamental: if new collections of literary papers are to be established here, should we be thinking in terms of one principal repository or several? There can sometimes be advantages to being a late starter, in that other models and ways of working are available for consideration. Through the work of the Network and the Section for Archives of Literature and Art of the International Council on Archives (ICA), it was clear that there were a number of non-​African models available for Namibia to examine. It would be worth reviewing here some

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of the practices in other countries which provided points of reference for the Windhoek discussions.

International Comparison: Namibia and Brazil Brazil had been identified as one of the countries with an outstanding record of collecting literary manuscripts and valuing its literary heritage. Its circumstances were very different from those in Namibia, but its possible use as a best-​practice model was of interest. There is a long heritage of Brazilian literary writing, combined with a university system which often works through specialist institutes, several of them literary and artistic in orientation. Presentations at Network meetings had identified at least fourteen significant Brazilian collecting institutions for literary manuscripts: • Acervo dos Escritores Mineiros (AEM), UFMG; • Arquivo da Academia Brasileira de Letras;

• Arquivo da Fundação Casa de Jorge Amado; • Arquivo do Museu Casa Guimarães Rosa;

• Biblioteca Nacional do Brasil, Rio de Janeiro;

• Casa de Memória Edmundo Cardoso, Santa Maria; • Casa Guilherme de Almeida;

• Fundação Casa de Rui Barbosa;

• Fundação Cultural Cassiano Ricardo; • Fundação Darcy Ribeiro;

• Instituto de Estudos Brasileiros (IEB-​USP);

• Instituto de Estudos da Linguagem (IEL-​Unicamp);

• Instituto de Filosofia e Ciências Humanas (IFCH-​Unicamp); • Instituto Moreira Salles.

It became clear that Brazil has the good fortune to combine several features which contribute to its excellent achievements in collecting literary archives: its literary language (Portuguese) being one of those which is not widely known or studied by the wealthy collecting countries, so that its market is not disrupted or threatened by international competition; also a strong pride in its national literary culture; a good number of collecting institutions, public and private, which, moreover, are disposed to cooperate with each other; a former colonial power which (unlike France or Britain) does not use its language to claim some sort of archival sovereignty over its former colonies (there is no significant lusophone equivalent to the much-​debated idea of francophonie); and a good understanding by literary authors and their heirs of the potential importance of literary manuscripts. It may also be a factor that Brazil, despite its deep literary culture, has produced no global literary super-​stars, no Nobel Laureates for example. Whatever the balance of these reasons, Brazil presents an example of a country whose literary papers have been much less

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“diasporic” than those of many other countries in the world, especially in postcolonial situations (Sutton, 2016). It was felt to represent a model to which Namibia might aspire at some future time, but a rather distant model for a country in the beginnings of establishing its literary collections.

International Comparison: Namibia and Singapore The position in Singapore, one of the world’s smallest nations, which had become a “self-​governing” British colony in 1955, part of Malaysia in 1963, and then an independent nation in 1965, was closer to Namibia’s experience. Singapore had been a British colony since 1819, with partial self-​governing status from 1955 to 1963. It had British colonial (and hence archival) traditions, and a multilingual history. In Singapore literary archives are principally divided between the National Library (which has the brief to collect literary and other personal manuscript collections) and the National Archives (which has the brief to collect archival collections of national interest, inevitably including some non-​literary collections with literary authors represented in them). This distinction (literary papers in the national library; papers of national interest, sometimes including literary authors, in the National Archives) has been found to be fairly widespread, and provided the first idea to come under serious practical consideration for Namibia.

International Comparison: Namibia and Uruguay Like Brazil, Uruguay has a strong literary culture, but its collecting of literary manuscripts has very much been focused on the work of the National Library, known as BIBNA (La Biblioteca Nacional de Uruguay). BIBNA holds the papers of over 140 Uruguayan literary authors, and has published some important ideas for the future relating to the changing nature of literary manuscripts in the digital era and the need for appropriate facilities to make born-​digital literary papers available to researchers in years to come. Uruguay was another strong and encouraging precedent for Namibia, and it was strangely pleasing that the active comparison of literary collecting in the two countries was presented as a sub-​section of the blog of the International Council on Archives, Section for Archives of Literature and Art (SLA) under the fine internationalist heading of “Uruguay-​Namibia.” As with the situation in Singapore, the Uruguayan example drew attention to the important balance of roles between the National Library and the National Archives, but the predominance of the National Library in Uruguayan literary collecting was not an exact match to Namibian circumstances.

International Comparison: Namibia and Jamaica In other countries the US and UK model was more closely followed, with a leading role in the collecting of literary manuscripts being taken by university special collections departments. A number of the Caribbean nations which achieved their

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independence in the 1960s tended to follow this model, especially the islands where the University of the West Indies had developed a campus and a library—​Trinidad and Tobago, Barbados, and Jamaica. It was always understood, however, that the National Archives and the National Library would potentially have roles to play, and, in the case of Jamaica, when the archive of Anthony C. Winkler became available early in 2017, the purchase was made by the National Library of Jamaica rather than the University of the West Indies at Mona. This pluralism of collecting institutions is seen as a sign of heritage strength, but the predominance of university special collections in Jamaica and other Caribbean countries did not provide a model which would be immediately applicable in Namibia.

A Pragmatic Namibian Way Forward Namibia, then, had taken the opportunity to look at other models in other parts of the world and to review the different possibilities in respect of national library practices, National Archives practices, and the possible involvement of universities. For non-​literary personal papers there had been some collection-​building in both the National Archives and the National Library, and there was a need for clearer definitions and for a collecting policy. In the course of the Windhoek meetings, a consensus was agreed which seemed to be right for Namibia and which made sense to archivists and librarians alike. The consensus position for Namibia did not exactly match any of the models studied: it was agreed in 2015 that the National Library of Namibia would cease to collect archives and manuscripts collections and would retain only manuscript items that were directly related to its special collections. Henceforth all archives and manuscripts collections would go to the National Archives and in due course the National Library would also transfer its historical archival collections. The availability of good quality storage space in the National Archives was a significant factor in this decision. The participants at the Windhoek meeting were advised that the diversity of international models made it clear that there was no single best way to ensure the collecting of literary archives in any particular country; what mattered was enthusiasm and commitment and finding a solution that worked. For Namibia that solution was for all literary collections to reside in the National Archives. Types of Literary Author Another factor informing the decision to proceed by collecting literary manuscripts through the National Archives of Namibia was the nature of literary writing and literary writers in the country. Very few writers were exclusively literary authors; writers could not expect to earn their livelihoods exclusively by their poetry, drama, fiction, or screenplays. Some literary authors were therefore also journalists, travel writers, or essayists; several had multiple roles. As with the Sandinista movement in Nicaragua in the 1980s, a number of public figures in Namibia were also literary authors, including government ministers. The SWAPO activist and government

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minister Peya Mushelenga, for example, has also published poetry in the Ovambo language. It is hoped that all of his archival papers, political and literary, will in due course find their way to the National Archives of Namibia as one collection. This sort of combination of public life and literary life can be seen as a further reason to choose the National Archives as the principal repository. Heritage and National Pride

International examples both negative and positive were considered in demonstrating that literary manuscripts can form part of the ideas of cultural heritage and patrimony which are so important to new nations. The role of heritage and patrimony in building national pride is easily accepted in Namibia, whose independence struggle against apartheid South Africa always drew on the need to emphasize national identity and pride. As a result, the National Archives of Namibia already had a mission statement which included a commitment to collect manuscripts “deemed to have a national heritage significance” and “representative of national cultural activity.” Working with Namibian Authors

It had become clear that in countries which had developed strong traditions of collecting literary papers, ways of working with living literary authors were crucially important. In Namibia, the National Archives and the National Library have been regular partners in networks which brought together writers, performers, screenwriters, and artists. These networks, previously used for events and exhibitions in particular, were available for the new discussions about literary archives and were seen as one of the best settings in which to alert authors to the new interest in their archives and correspondence. What Constitutes a Namibian Literary Manuscript?

International precedents and comparisons will enable Namibia to reach decisions about which papers to try to collect, and what should be considered a literary manuscript. Notebooks containing early drafts would be considered as collectable and of interest, as would later drafts of poems, novels, essays, scripts, plays, and other literary writings—​whether handwritten, typescript, or computer-​generated. Correspondence of literary authors would be collected, including emails. Personal and domestic notes could also be of interest to future biographers, and it would not be the job of the present-​day archivist to try to judge whether or not future scholars and biographers would be interested in an autograph notebook which listed only places visited, business appointments, or items to be bought at the shops. All notebooks would be collected, retained, and catalogued. Deciding What to Collect

The meeting in Windhoek reflected upon the best ways of collecting the most important literary material. It was noted that the major national collector in the UK,

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the British Library, used the principle of pre-​eminence in establishing which authors would be considered to be of special national significance. The problem with this approach is that ideas of pre-​eminence change over time and the collecting institution may be left with a set of criteria which no longer have general respect and may even attract mockery.1 In the case of Namibia it was agreed that there was no need for archivists to attempt value judgements on the merits of any particular author’s works. Papers of published Namibian literary authors would be collected when they became available, and the value judgements would be left to literary scholars. From the authors’ side, a substantial and strongly felt Namibian issue which was repeatedly stressed during the Windhoek workshops is that while the national liberation struggle is a critical part of national history, it must not be seen as the only important (or collectable) subject of Namibian literature. From the archivists’ side, the idea of intervening to preserve archives which would otherwise be at risk of disappearance (as described in the essay by Jens Boel in this volume) was a strong motivation. Deciding How to Collect There are ten or twelve standard ways in which archival institutions acquire literary papers, including private purchase, purchase at auction, purchase from a dealer, bequest, donation, transfer from another institution, government intervention, rescue, long loan, deposit, and acceptance in lieu of tax. In the Namibian context, purchase was unlikely, in normal circumstances, to be an available option. This in itself presented an early problem, as discussion with authors about the importance of their papers inevitably led to queries about monetary value, and raised awareness about authors’ expectations in other countries. In particular, the notion that a literary archive could represent the author’s pension fund can be found in memoirs and essays by writers in other countries, and some of the prices (or reputed prices) paid by North American and European institutions gave rise to the thought that even a payment of one-​tenth that amount in Namibia would be hugely attractive. It has been necessary to calm these ideas by reference to the absence of a significant purchase budget in the National Archives and the absence of an international market in papers of Namibian authors. In general, though, most Namibian authors contacted were receptive to the idea that their archives might find a respected place in their National Archives and that study of their writings might thereby continue into the future. Many of these authors were indeed prepared to consider the preferred acquisition method, which was donation. Technical Matters: Contracts and Copyrights The need for a contract between the National Archives of Namibia and each donor, depositor, or vendor was clear from the beginning, and already had precedents in

1 The British Library is occasionally teased for its excessive historically based interest in little-​ read male writers whose names begin with B—​Barrie, Belloc, Binyon, Blunden, Bottomley, Bridges, and so on.

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the acquisition of non-​literary personal papers. It was also important to reassure authors that copyright in their manuscripts remained with them and would not transfer to the National Archives unless they specified that they wished to assign their rights. The Copyright and Neighbouring Rights Protection Act of Namibia (1994) establishes a copyright duration of 50 years after the death of the author for both published and unpublished works, so any literary work found in the archives after the author’s death would benefit their heirs in the event of publication. Members of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network worked with the staff of the National Archives of Namibia to draw up templates of a draft contract for donation of a literary archive (or a single manuscript) and draft documentation on copyright matters. The documentation included clauses whereby the author or heirs could delegate minor queries and permissions for small amounts of copying to the National Archivist. Cataloguing, Exhibitions, and Availability to the Public It was understood that in most cases authors would welcome the production of exhibitions and displays of their work, but might wish to have a final veto on the inclusion of personally sensitive material. It was also felt to be normal that a depositing author might expect to have their papers catalogued within a reasonable period of time (say, three years). The template documentation included clauses accordingly. The British document Authors and Their Papers: A Guidance Sheet for Authors and Writers, produced by the Diasporic Literary Archives Network and its partners (and reproduced as Appendix 1 below) was found to be generally usefully, although it was agreed that ideally a Namibian version ought to be produced. Scholarship, Biography, and History The ways in which literary papers can be used came under review, but here it was felt that there was no significant difference between Namibia and all other countries with literary interests. Literary papers are used for scholarly study of texts, drafts, and versions, to provide evidence for aspects of the creative process in the study of how poems, novels, plays, stories, life-​writings, and other literary works come to be composed. Personal papers and correspondence (including emails) are the fundamental raw materials for biographers and for writers of cultural history, who may study how literary authors interacted with each other, influenced each other, and loved and hated each other in the past. The Digital Future The acquisition of literary papers in digital form can be a daunting prospect for archivists, especially when they are only just beginning to build literary collections. The non-​availability of specialist or reconditioned equipment for viewing older digital materials is a serious challenge, and users’ expectations and requirements remain largely unknown and untested in respect of digital collections (Chassanoff

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2013; Sutton 2014). If there is uncertainty about users and their willingness to consult digital materials in Europe and even the USA, this is likely to be still more true in countries like Namibia. Members of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network wished to reassure Namibian colleagues that it is perfectly normal to begin collection-​building with paper archives and perfectly acceptable to be clear that for, say, the first five years of collection-​building, digital materials would not be sought. The way forward for Namibia as regards digital collections would be to continue to participate in international networks and to learn from best practice in other countries, perhaps to sample one or two “hybrid” collections, but not to seek to be a digital pioneer.

Conclusion: A Good Start for Namibia, A Possible Model for Others The experience of Namibia and its archivists since 2010 has been very positive in respect of Namibian literature and Namibian literary writers. It has also attracted attention from archivists and authors in other countries in the region. In particular there was felt to be relevance for the countries grouped within the regional branch of the International Council on Archives for eastern and southern Africa (ESARBICA)—​ extending from Namibia as far east and north as Kenya. The ESARBICA conference in Lilongwe, Malawi, therefore added this topic to a plenary session in August 2017, and archival colleagues in Lilongwe expressed their interest in developing collections of private papers (literary and non-​literary) following some of the ideas which have emerged from the work in Namibia. The general principles, themes, ideas, and conclusions, as presented in Lilongwe, can be summarized as follows: • Namibian archivists will be happy to share their early experiences in working with literary manuscripts with colleagues in other African countries. This will include honest assessments of challenges and difficulties as well as descriptions of successes;

• Countries with pride in their heritage and culture should be collecting the literary archives and correspondence of their principal authors; • It is more important to reflect wide literary diversity within a country than to try to establish principles of literary pre-​eminence; • Close personal working by archivists with literary authors, their families, and their heirs is a vital part of this type of collection-​building;

• There is no single institutional model for the collecting of literary papers in any one country, but there are a wide range of international examples to be examined. In the end, Namibia chose a model which is distinctively its own, based in the National Archives, but each new collecting country would need to consider and decide what would work best within its own existing institutions; • Collecting policies and definitions should be generous and inclusive. Archivists should not seek to limit the types or genres of material accepted from their

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collected authors. The acquisition of correspondence should be seen as just as important as the acquisition of manuscripts and personal papers, and “related materials” should also be acquired—​including photographs, legal papers, passports, prison documents, scribbles, and doodles;

• Working closely with the Diasporic Literary Archives Network was an ideal way to gain access to information about international best practice, typical problems and challenges, objectives, priorities, and financial matters. Both the Namibian archivists and the members of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network would be happy to work in the future with colleagues in other countries, especially countries in sub-​Saharan Africa, who are interested in the possibility of starting out on building new literary collections.

Bibliography Chapman, Michael. “Making a Literature: The Case of Namibia.” English in Africa 22 (October 1995): 19–​28. Chassanoff, Alexandra. “Historians and the Use of Primary Source Materials in the Digital Age.” American Archivist 76 (2013): 458–​80. Diasporic Literary Archives Network. www.diasporicarchives.com. Diasporic Literary Archives Network et al. Authors and Their Papers: A Guidance Sheet for Authors and Writers, 2015. Available online at http://​glam-​archives. org.uk/​?p=1726, and as Appendix 1 of this volume. Fallon, Helen. “As Honest and Realistic as Possible: The Namibian Writer, Neshani Andreas.” Africa 72 (2007): 24–​25. http://​eprints.maynoothuniversity.ie/​965/​. Haaskeen, Petrus. Profiles of a Hero: Poems on the Life and Times of His Excellency Dr Sam Shafiishuna Nujoma, President of the Republic of Namibia. Windhoek: Gamsberg Macmillan, 2000. International Council on Archives. Section for Archives of Literature and Art (SLA) blog. literaryartisticarchives-​ica.org/​blog/​. Namibia: Copyright and Neighbouring Rights Protection Act, 1994. World Intellectual Property Organization. www.wipo.int/​wipolex/​en/​text.jsp?file_​id=222896. Nujoma, Sam. Our Struggle Has Never Been Against Individual Minority White Settlers, It Has Been Against a System. Luanda: SWAPO Department of Information and Publicity, 1980. ———​. Where Others Wavered: My Life in SWAPO and My Participation in the Liberation Struggle of Namibia. London: Panaf Books, 2001. Sutton, David C. “The Destinies of Literary Manuscripts: Past, Present and Future.” Archives and Manuscripts 42 (2014): 295–​300. ———​. “The Diasporic Literary Archives Network and the Commonwealth: Namibia, Nigeria, Trinidad & Tobago, and Other Examples.” New Review of Information Networking 21 (2016): 37–​51. Tell Them of Namibia: Poems from the National Liberation Struggle. Compiled by Simon Zhu Mbako. London: Karia, 1989.

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Chapter 7

FRANCOPHONE ARCHIVES AT RISK SOPHIE HEYWOOD

Archives are fragile. They are easily destroyed by human hand, difficult environmental factors, or natural disasters, and are vulnerable to neglect, whether deliberate or due to severe lack of resources. Local custodians may not have the funding or the political willpower to protect important collections from physical deterioration. Over the past two decades many different organizations and initiatives have been established to address this challenge.1 However, the fragility of archives remains a live question. Much more work needs to be done to protect archives at risk at both a national and an international level, as well as to concert the work that is currently being carried out by myriad organizations across a variety of regions. This essay explores initiatives within French-​speaking transnational structures and contexts to protect literary archives.2 The situation in a number of francophone countries is critical. War and its aftermath, along with religious extremism, and political unrest threaten archive materials in francophone regions across Africa and the Middle East, notably the Republic of Congo, Mali, and Syria.3 In the Caribbean region, the situation in Haiti following the devastation caused by tropical storms and the earthquake in 2010 is particularly concerning.4 The question of the slender 1 Such programmes include, but are not limited to:  UNESCO’s Memory of the World programme (1992); Archiveros sin Fronteras (1998); the British Library and Arcadia’s Endangered Archives Programme (2004); see From Dust to Digital: Ten Years of the Endangered Archives Programme, edited by Maja Kominko; more recently swisspeace has established a partnership with the Swiss Federal Archives on safeguarding human rights archives, entitled Dealing with the Past (2011). 2 In this essay I will use “francophone” without capitalization to refer to French-​speakers or the French-​speaking communities in general, and the capitalized “Francophone” to indicate the political organization of French-​speaking countries across the globe. 3 On the situation in the Middle East, see Albert Dichy’s “Méditerranées francophones”; on Francophone Africa and Caribbean, see Pierre-​Marc de Biasi’s “Un patrimoine à sauvegarder” and the special issue of Continents Manuscrits, “Manuscrits francophones du sud: un état des lieux,” edited by Claire Riffard and Jean Jonassaint, 1 (2014) http://​coma.revues.org/​228. 4 The Digital Library of the Caribbean is running a project to support the vulnerable archives and libraries of Haiti: http://​dloc.com/​dloc1/​haitianlibhelp.

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resources available to local institutions is perhaps the most serious threat to literary archives, and the francophone world includes some of the nations ranked lowest in the global development index, such as Haiti and Madagascar. As the Senegalese author and statesman Léopold Sédar Senghor wrote in 1989, the “irreparable losses” of literary heritage “have been instrumental in permanently distorting the contribution of our peoples to universal civilization” (Senghor, 1989, 4). This risk remains important, and has become even more urgent with renewed threats from climate change and new forms of warfare. Drawing together and sharing perspectives is essential to facing the problem of archives in danger, for the preservation of literary heritage is a global issue, but it is also highly localized, even personalized. Literary archives are the private papers of an individual, and may be dispersed across different regions and institutions due to the effects of diaspora and the cosmopolitanism of writers, just as they may be affected by national factors such as research priorities, copyright, funding, infrastructure, and questions of protecting national heritage. In addition, the question of the language the papers are written in is particularly crucial in the context of a global literary market, and more often than not it can be a decisive factor in efforts to preserve papers. As one of the large language areas whose literary production attracts the attention of international manuscript collectors, and with large and unique transnational structures organized according to the shared French language and culture, the French-​speaking efforts to address these issues are far-​reaching and distinctive. This essay sets out some of the singularities of the francophone experience, and highlights differences in approaches and methodologies in the French work to safeguard global literary heritage. I will explore this work through two case studies:  first that of a French literary manuscript research institute and its team, which works in collaboration with local scholars and custodians on preserving francophone manuscripts in the global south, and second, the non-​governmental approach of a much smaller French literary and publishing archive. The essay is structured around three key areas where the French experience has been distinctive. First, the research agenda plays an important role in driving preservation efforts: the traditions of scholarship and academic context are markedly different to English-​language contexts, and have shaped priorities, and subsequent responses to the problem of archives at risk. The marginalization of francophone literature and suspicion of postcolonial theory in French scholarship meant that much literary heritage in the French-​speaking global south was neglected, and there had been little investment until relatively recently. Second, the international organization of French-​speaking countries, La Francophonie, is built around the idea of a shared linguistic and cultural heritage. Cultural cooperation was at the heart of the francophone union as envisaged by Léopold Sédar Senghor in the 1960s (Poissonnier and Sournia, 2006, 8–​9), and remains one of the principal missions of its modern incarnation, the Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie. These structures offer an important channel for action, but they are also politically sensitive and open to accusations of neo-​colonialism, and so the teams involved tread with caution, and

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also seek bilateral options where possible. Third, French-​led rescue work has often been characterized by a state-​focused approach. The final section examines how the highly personal and political nature of literary archives can also require smaller, non-​governmental solutions. An examination of these French-​led programmes, the ethical and political issues they raise, and the opportunities and problems they have encountered in the course of their work, provides instructive case studies in archive rescue work, and, it must be hoped, can suggest ways forward for collaboration.

Manuscrits francophones du Sud In France, the importance of genetic literary criticism in the academic tradition has inspired initiatives to safeguard archives at risk. For close to ten years, the French-​led research initiative “Manuscrits francophones du Sud” (Francophone manuscripts of the global south), under the direction of two genetic literary scholars, Claire Riffard and Daniel Delas, has been working to address the multiple issues facing archives at risk in francophone Africa and the French-​speaking Caribbean.5 The programme started out in response to the cases of the archives of two important authors in urgent need of preservation. The first was the case of the Congolese author and playwright Sony Labou Tansi (1947–​1995). Following his death, friends and colleagues had begun to gather together his papers, notebooks, and unpublished manuscripts, when war broke out. Labou Tansi’s home in Brazzaville was ransacked, the papers were dispersed, and some of them feared destroyed.6 (His manuscripts were not the only ones to be caught up in the terrible events of 1998—​the house of his friend and fellow author Sylvain Bemba (1934–​1995) was razed to the ground in a fire, and all papers destroyed.) Researchers working on Labou Tansi’s writings and plays returned to the Republic of Congo in 2003, and began to work on gathering the papers together once more, with a view to publishing them and commemorating his work. At around the same time, the family of the Madagascan poet Jean-​ Joseph Rabearivelo (1903–​1937) decided to deposit his papers to ensure that his complete works could finally be published. The papers had been stored in the family home. After almost sixty years with no specialist preservation work, they were in serious need of attention.7 In both cases, the teams of French and local scholars who were working in these countries encountered similar difficulties in terms of lack of funding, specialist knowledge, and facilities to house the papers safely and appropriately. Consequently, the specialist “Manuscrits francophones du Sud” team was set up in 2007 by Pierre-​Marc de Biasi, director of the Institute of Modern Texts and 5 www.item.ens.fr/​index.php?id=579252; see also the special issue edited by Claire Riffard and Daniel Delas, “Afrique-​Caraïbe,” Genesis 33 (2011), https://​genesis.revues.org/​583. 6 See Nicolas Martin-​Granel’s “Sony Labou Tansi, afflux des écrits et flux de l’écriture.” 7 The project is described by Laurence Ink, “Sauvegarde et valorisation du fonds d’archives familiales de Jean-​Joseph Rabearivelo à Madagascar,” in Continents Manuscrits 1 (2014), http://​coma.revues.org/​210.

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Manuscripts (ITEM), based in the French National Centre for Scientific Research. The aim was to address both the specific research questions raised by literary archives produced in colonial and postcolonial contexts and the closely related urgent question of ensuring the survival of such material. It also raises the painful and long-​suppressed turbulent history of the relations between France and its former colonies. For a long time, postcolonial theory received a frosty reception in French scholarship. The ITEM programme represents an important part of the recent work to reverse this “forgetting of the postcolonial text”8 (Combe, 2011). In the words of de Biasi, metropolitan France owes a debt to its former colonies, and has a responsibility to think carefully and sensitively about how to work with these countries to help to ensure that the literary heritage of the present and future is not also lost (Introductory remarks, Treilles, 2013). The overarching goal of the “Manuscrits francophones du Sud” programme is therefore to ensure that scholarship on the thriving literary culture (and therefore heritage) of the French-​speaking world is developed with the same possibilities of scholarly rigour that French “hexagonal” authors enjoy. Only through a proper and extensive focus on preserving their literary archives can the historical marginalization of “francophone” authors in the literary canon begin to be redressed. The scope of the Manuscrits francophones programme includes three key areas: first, the identification and mapping of archives in danger; second, the preservation and durable safeguarding of these archives; and third, the valorization of these archives through research, publication, and, where possible, digitization and the placing of digitized material online. The emphasis is always to carry out this work in synergy with local actors and to respect national sovereignty in matters of heritage. The programme’s work has also benefited from the ITEM’s long experience in international collaboration to address issues of endangered manuscripts, principally in Latin America and the Spanish-​speaking Caribbean. The Littérature latino-​américaines XXe siècle team has worked on Latin American and Caribbean authors in cooperation with researchers based in universities in Paris and across Latin America since 1983. Central to this work was the Multilateral Agreement on Archival Research from 1984, and the Archivos collection of critical editions of leading authors from Latin America and the Caribbean, part funded and published by UNESCO (Segala, 1989). The new team shares this emphasis on promoting multilateral collaboration and awareness-​raising work on the international stage. The principal differences between the Latin American projects and the new francophone programme are the greater accent placed on genetic literary criticism, and the mobilization of francophone channels and bilateral partnership work. The first strand to the Manuscrits francophones programme is the identification of literary archives at risk. The team works in cooperation with local universities and authors’ families to identify such archives. Their current aim is to compile a 8 This recent interest in postcolonial studies has been the subject of heated debate in France: see for example Jean-​ François Bayart’s Les Etudes Postcoloniales, Un Carnaval Académique.

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systematic inventory of all the literary archive fonds in Africa and the Caribbean, in all languages. To this end they have launched a digital mapping project called Cartomac, and are setting up a network of researchers led by the Ivorian scholar Jean-​Francis Ekoungoun (www.eman-​archives.org/​Cartomac/​). This online platform consists of a database of all the literary archive fonds in their inventory, and a digital interface of online interactive maps linked to the database, to describe the information that has been gathered. The mapping tool allows the user to visualize in a single click the history of an archive (from its creation by a writer up to its preservation in an institution); the user can learn about the risks linked to its preservation, as well as any difficulties of access to the archive. By creating a user-​friendly way to represent the dispersal of literary archives on a global scale, and with an online data entry form for researchers, the aim is to promote access to and interpretation of these sources among members of the research community, as well as to raise awareness about literary archives in the broader public. The selection of the authors and material to include in the research programme is then based on two criteria: literary quality and vulnerability. The parameters of the project are defined according to geographical regions; however, given that authors’ lives and works transcend national boundaries, geographical boundaries are understood to be a starting place rather than an end point (Riffard, 2015, 32–​ 33). The programme’s current projects are focused on Sony Labou Tansi (Congo), Ahmadou Kourouma (Ivory Coast), Jean-​Joseph Rabearivelo (Madagascar), Albert Memmi (Tunisia), Aimé Césaire (Martinique), Frankétienne (Haiti), Mohammed Dib (Algeria), Mouloud Feraoun (Algeria), and Amadou Hampâté Bâ (Mali). In many cases, the literary estates requested help in the treatment of the papers, as well as to ensure that the author’s work continues to reach its audience and research is encouraged. More often than not, the papers are dispersed, shared between the family or estate, private institutions, and national libraries. The papers of Albert Memmi (b. 1920) are a case in point: some are deposited with the Bibliothèque Nationale de France in Paris, while most are still stored in his library at home. Similarly, the widow of the Algerian author Mohammed Dib (1920–​2003) left his papers to the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. The ITEM team are now working with partners in three Algerian universities to begin the work of analyzing the oeuvre, in preparation for the publication of his complete works and a large exhibition to be held in 2020. Once an author’s fonds has been identified, the next stage is to try to bring together, catalogue, classify, and digitize the archive material to ensure that it can be preserved in an appropriate and enduring manner. Faced with situations where there are often no professional archivists on the ground to assist this process, the ITEM researchers have had to receive training in the basic principles of archiving. This part of their task involves working outside of their specialism as literary scholars. Their first priority is to ensure that the archive is as complete as possible, with papers from different locations brought together, and, where dispersal between different institutions and hands has taken place, that the different locations are identified and recorded in the programme’s database. The team puts together an inventory of its contents,

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and proceeds with any treatment of damaged documents as necessary. Each document within the fonds is classed and described according to the strict requirements prescribed by genetic criticism, with a view to promoting detailed genetic research of the material and eventual genetic editions to be published. Where necessary, perhaps because there are no facilities for preserving it in the source country, or if the archive is in danger for reasons of war or politics, the team then identifies a temporary deposit institution. For example, the Jean-​Joseph Rabearivelo archive is currently being held in the Institut Français in Madagascar in specialist containers, and is available to researchers on demand. Sony Labou Tansi’s archive now has a permanent home in the Limoges francophone institute, at the request of his family, in recognition of the strong connections the writer had with the Limoges francophone literary festival (http://​sonylaboutansi.bm-​limoges.fr). This type of work requires the team to find solutions that suit all the stakeholders, that respect national sovereignty in cultural heritage (where possible), and that take into consideration the appropriateness of location, alongside possibilities for access. As the project has progressed, the importance of this identification and cataloguing work has become clear. One of the main discoveries of the programme has been the significant proportion of the writings of the leading francophone authors in the global south that has never been published. The ratio of published to unpublished work in the francophone authors’ oeuvres studied to date has typically been 20% to 80%, while the reverse has been true for their Northern counterparts. The work carried out by the team on authors’ archives has revealed the extent to which some of the leading francophone authors were ill-​served by the literary publishing ecosystem in their regions, notably in countries in Africa and the French Caribbean, and how the works of such authors have been disproportionately subject to censorship, and extensive editorial interventions by publishers in the global north. The archives of Ahmadou Kourouma, for example, reveal the extent to which publishers radically altered his works. Even the archives of the well-​known and extensively studied oeuvre of the Martinican author Aimé Césaire contained important unpublished material (Gil, 2016). This unexpected discovery of a far greater wealth of material than they had initially expected, and the realization that if the manuscripts are destroyed, then the literary heritage is lost once and for all, has spurred the team on in their work. It has also further emphasized the importance of the final stage in their work, which is a large-​scale publication project. If cultural heritage is to be safeguarded in the long term, then it has to be accompanied by strategies to promote access and encourage scholarship in the wider research community, and for this reason the ITEM team has focused much energy on the production of high-​quality research tools. To date, the projects have produced six genetic editions of the works of the authors they are working on.9 The team

9 All publications are Paris, CNRS Éditions, Collection “Planète libre”:  Pierre Brunel (ed.), L. S. Senghor, Poésie complète, 2007; Claire Riffard, Serge Meitinger, and Liliane Ramarosoa (ed.), J. J. Rabearivelo, Œuvres complètes, two volumes, 2010, 2012; Guy Dugas (ed.), Albert Memmi, Œuvres complètes (I), 2015; James Arnold (ed.), Aimé Césaire, Œuvres complètes, 2014; Nicolas Martin-​Granel and Claire Riffard (ed.), Sony Labou Tansi, Œuvres complètes, 2015.

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has created the new collection “Planète Libre” for the collected works of francophone writers, modelled on both the earlier Latin American and Spanish-​speaking Caribbean “Archivos” collection and Gallimard’s famous “Pléiade” collection of the canon of classic French authors, making clear the project’s aim to promote the wider critical recognition of francophone authors (www.cnrseditions.fr/​collection/​275_​_​_​ planete-​libre). Texts in the volumes are compiled using the manuscripts, and include explanatory annotations, manuscript, and editorial variants. They are accompanied by documents detailing the reception of the oeuvre, previously unpublished works, facsimiles of manuscripts, and genetic analyses of the author’s writing process. The aim is to ensure that scholars who cannot access the author’s archive will nevertheless have all the necessary material for their research. However, as the programme’s co-​director Claire Riffard notes, these editions have two major flaws: they are necessarily voluminous (often totalling over 1500 papers) and, in spite of the national scientific research centre’s (CNRS) subsidization of the collection, they are expensive (Riffard, 2015, 38). In light of these issues, the ultimate goal is to produce digital editions of an equally high standard for genetic research, available for free or at low cost, to make the material accessible to as wide a public as possible. The ITEM team is currently constructing an online platform entitled e-​man, where digital images of the documents are accessible for free, annotated and along with bibliographic and genetic descriptions, and where possible, a literal transcription. Currently the Rabearivelo and Feraoun fonds can be consulted, but further additions are planned (http://​eman-​ archives.org/​francophone/​index.php). However, the team is also mindful that full open access will not always be possible, due to copyright and privacy issues.

Globalization, Language, and Literary Manuscripts The second distinctive feature of this recent French initiative is the newly important role played by francophone channels of cooperation, its close focus on francophone literature, and the questions of the politics of globalization, heritage, and language this approach raises. The consolidation and expansion of international francophone structures in recent decades offers new possibilities for action and partnership work. The creation of the International Organization of La Francophonie (Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie, OIF) in 2005, which strengthened its earlier incarnation the Intergovernmental Agency of La Francophonie (Agence Intergouvernementale de la Francophonie, AIF), introduced a renewed emphasis on promoting multilateral cooperation between the main francophone cultural and research operations, including the francophone universities’ organization (Agence Universitaire de la Francophonie, AUF) and the Senghor University in Alexandria (www.francophonie.org). The launch of the francophone digital libraries network (Réseau Francophone Numérique, RFN) in 2006 further confirmed the OIF’s commitment to the promotion of partnerships and preservation work in the cultural and heritage sector (www.rfnum.org/​pages/​). Still, as Claire Riffard writes, “we use this highly political term ‘francophonie’ sparingly” (Riffard, 2015, 33). The terms “francophone” literature and “La Francophonie”

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carry historical baggage that has the potential to obscure the inclusive motivations of the scholars and activists working in the field of endangered archives (Forsdick and Murphy, 2003, 7). Charges of neo-​colonialism have historically been levelled at La Francophonie. The problem, as Gabrielle Parker notes, is that as a phenomenon it is closely linked with colonization; while its founding fathers may have been African heads of state, such as Léopold Sédar Senghor, it was perceived by many to be a convenient way for France to reassert its global influence as her imperial power waned. However, Parker notes that the direction La Francophonie has taken in the twenty-​ first century, focusing on linguistic and cultural diversity, as opposed to French universalism, has the potential to allay suspicions and create the space for a new emphasis on solidarity (Parker, 2003). Closely linked to this shift is the growing sensitivity in French research and discourse to the problems underpinning the term “francophone” when applied to literature. The distinction between “French literature,” written by authors who are from within the hexagone, and “francophone literature” to designate publications by all other French-​speaking authors, has suggested, as Forsdick and Murphy write, “a neocolonial segregation and a hierarchization of cultures” (Forsdick and Murphy, 2003, 3). Thus authors from the French “hexagon” do not consider themselves to be “francophone”: the 2006 Salon du Livre in Paris on francophone literature was criticized for its failure to include a single “hexagonal” author, while the Moroccan author Tahar Ben Jalloun recalls Alain Robbe-​Grillet’s indignant reaction when he suggested the Frenchman was also a francophone author (Jalloun, 2012, 4). The Littérature Monde (World Literature) movement further highlighted these tensions, when it published its manifesto for French language literature to be liberated from its association with the nation state in 2007.10 Nevertheless, “francophone” literature remains the operative term. Research carried out by Lise Gauvin among extra-​ hexagonal writers concluded that for many writers the French language was a positive part of their identity: the Algerian playwright Kateb Yacine called it “one of the spoils of war” (Parker, 2003, 99). As Tahar Ben Jalloun writes, investigating an author’s origins is a matter for border guards; instead the literary community must be concerned to preserve the precious heritage of the many poetic and literary masterpieces wrought with the French language by authors from across the globe (Jalloun, 2012, 4). In the twenty-​first century, the problem is complicated by the question of minority languages and cultures and accelerated globalization. The language in which an author writes, and whether they can access a wider readership, play a key role in determining whether their papers will be preserved, but also, crucially, where those papers will be located. The high financial value of the manuscripts of globally famous authors can often lead to the removal of archives from their country of origin; the most recent example being the acquisition of the Nobel Prize-​ winning Colombian author Gabriel García Márquez’s archive, which was acquired by the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas at Austin, for over $2 million. 10 See the manifesto “Pour une ‘littérature-​monde’ en français” and Transnational French Studies: Postcolonialism and Littérature-​Monde, edited by Alex G. Hargreaves, Charles Forsdick, and David Murphy.

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As David Sutton writes, “there are generally only four countries in the world which regularly and systematically collect the papers of non-​nationals, namely the USA, the UK, Canada and France. […] The conclusion, in an international context, is that the language used by an author is a major factor in the eventual destination of his or her literary archive, and that the market in literary manuscripts, with so few countries involved in cross-​border purchasing, is determined by considerations of language” (Sutton, 2014, 297–​98). This aggravates the potential for fears of predation on the part of local custodians when foreign actors intervene in the preservation of literary archives. In this context, the new emphasis in La Francophonie on cultural diversity is crucial. While French is a central language in the global language system, it is struggling to compete with the hyper-​central dominance of English. France and French-​speaking countries have therefore become champions of linguistic and cultural diversity, and La Francophonie encompasses this polyglossia of its assembled nations, with one of its four declared missions being to promote this diversity.11 In line with this approach, the ITEM team is at pains to stress that their approach is multilingual, and their research embraces the multiple languages in which so-​called “francophone” authors may write. Through the genetic analysis of manuscripts the research by Manuscrits francophones du Sud has helped to further understanding of the creolized, multilingual forms of writing of authors such as Rabearivelo, or the ways in which Frankétienne self-​translated into French from Haitian Creole, as well as the linguistically normative editorial strategies that have historically been imposed on extra-​hexagonal authors, such as Ahmadou Kourouma (Riffard, 2015, 33; Jonassaint, 2011). The ITEM’s work to preserve francophone cultural heritage in the global south is therefore alert to the broader context of globalization, linguistic rights, and postcolonial identities; the potential tensions between concepts of international and national heritage; and the consequent and very real fears of cultural appropriation. This concern informs the awareness-​raising projects and partnership work that underpin its programme. Riffard notes the importance for the Manuscrits francophones du Sud team to work in partnership with local researchers, which can often be more appropriate than working through international organizations. She cites the example of their work in Algeria, where the question of cultural heritage and culture is an “explosive subject,” particularly when it concerns the French colonial period (Riffard, 2015, 34–​35). When working on Mohammed Dib’s and Mouloud Feraoun’s archives, the team found that bilateral collaboration played a decisive role, with an end goal of handing over the project to Algerian university researchers. This type of approach ensures sustainability and that local actors can take the lead on preservation work. It demands the sharing of expertise and 11 Michèle Gendreau-​Massaloux made this point at the ITEM’s Treilles Foundation conference, September 2–​6, 2013. The other three missions of the OIF are to promote peace, democracy, and human rights; support education, training, higher education, and scientific research; and expand cooperation for sustainable development: www.francophonie.org/​ -​Qu-​est-​ce-​que-​la-​Francophonie-​.html.

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capacities of existing programmes and institutions working in this area. To this end Riffard has also produced an online module on the preservation of modern literary manuscripts in the global south, diffused via the French Ministry for Culture’s online training programme in cultural heritage (www.e-​patrimoines. org/​patrimoine/​protection-​et-​conservation-​des-​manuscrits/​). Francophone structures offer potential solutions to the question of temporary institutional repositories for depositing certain archives at risk. Sometimes it is not possible to safeguard at risk archives in their country of origin, such as the papers of dissident authors, or archives located in war zones, or where severe climate events pose long-​term or acute threats. In such cases, safe havens abroad can offer sustainable conditions of preservation. However, pre-​negotiated agreements and guidelines are essential to protecting the rights and concerns of all stakeholders. The removal of archive material from its original location, however, further risks raising fears of appropriation: safe havens have to be located in geographically and politically appropriate locations; they must protect the material and be trustworthy in the eyes of all involved; the process must be accompanied by the development of a strategy for appropriate public access that respects moral rights and intellectual property, as well as the human rights of individuals, literary estates, and the community of readers. Such institutions are called upon to play an important mediation role between the interests of the public, the needs of the scholarly community, the rights of individuals, and the concerns of literary estates. The ITEM team has been reflecting on how to work towards the creation of a global network of safe haven libraries. Its researchers have been studying this question in collaboration with a collective of specialists (archivists, lawyers, authors, scholars) that they assembled at a conference at the Treilles Foundation in southern France in September 2013 (Sauver les Manuscrits, Treilles, 2013). Such a project needs a jointly agreed legal framework to protect African and Caribbean documentary heritage from western predations. The focus of the Treilles conference was therefore how to develop such a framework and a set of model deposit contracts to protect and reassure the three main partners implicated in this process: families and literary estates, national collecting institutions, and researchers. Out of these discussions the Manuscrits francophones team developed an awareness-​raising text designed to bring to the attention of the member states of the Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie. The text drew their attention to the following issues: 1) The promotion of the identification and inventory of literary manuscript archives that are present in their countries; starting with the most vulnerable archives, with a view to their protection, respecting the principles set out in the Universal Declaration on Archives.

2) The conservation and digitization of literary manuscripts whose value has been recognized and the provision of conditions for their durable preservation in sites that can guarantee the necessary security, following an appropriate technical protocol.

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3) That the archives be made accessible to all, in whichever form that may be, in a way that respects the rights of intellectual property (of creators, of copyright holders), the rights of persons, the rights of estates, and the rights of the research community.

The text also included the following proposal for three linked measures at the local level, according to the networks of expertise available in the countries concerned:

1) A network of experts and specialists (academics, publishers, conservators, etc.) capable of carrying out the inventory of urgent cases. 2) A network of francophone deposit libraries where these archives will be treated and preserved.

3) An international digital platform that permits the consultation online of the archives, and that respects the rights as set out above.12

This text has been signed by various scholars, writers, librarians, and archivists from the francophone world. Several heads of states have already been contacted with a view to creating pilot projects of temporary deposit institutions and education projects, and the text was presented to the assembled heads of state of francophone countries at the summit of the Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie held in Dakar in November 2014.

Non-​State Solutions The work of the ITEM team has tended to operate through state-​level heritage institutions, and supra-​national federations of universities, typically affiliated to national research institutions. However, as their discussions at the Treilles conference made clear, such an approach is just one among many ways of facing this challenge. Albert Dichy, the literary director of a much smaller archive institution, the Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine (IMEC), one of the ITEM’s partners, noted that the issue of archives in danger requires not a single solution, but a range of solutions.13 Private, non-​governmental institutions have an important, complementary role to play in work on archives at risk, to help avoid the language of ownership that is implied in the notion of “heritage.” For postcolonial authors, or dissident writers, such flexibility is crucial. The work of the IMEC offers a model for such an approach (www.imec-​archives. com/​en/​). Based in Caen, France, the IMEC is a not-​for-​profit institution set up in 1988 by a group of researchers, supported by the French Ministry of Culture, specifically to conserve and manage the archives of publishers, literary and artistic journals, authors, and individuals involved in the literary and creative industries, in order to facilitate access for scholarly research. The IMEC’s collecting policy has 12 French text: https://​kouroumanus.hypotheses.org/​405. 13 Albert Dichy, discussion at the Treilles conference Sauver les Manuscrits Francophones, and his paper “Archives at Risk,” delivered at the conference The Politics of Location, organized by the Diasporic Literary Archives Network, Trinidad, March 25–​26, 2014. The information that follows is based on these two papers.

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always been focused on preserving literary heritage, regardless of the nationality of the author, or where the work was produced (Dichy, 2012, 3). It therefore does not have a specific “francophone” section in its catalogue. Nevertheless, it has become an important repository for francophone archives, including those of postcolonial and diasporic writers, such as Taos and Jean Amrouche, Amadou Hampâté Bâ, Samuel Beckett, Frantz Fanon, Ahmadou Kourouma, Irène Némirovsky, and Georges Schehadé, among many others, as well as authors who wrote in other languages but had strong connections with French literary circles, such as Adonis and Nâzim Hikmet. This has often been at the request of the authors or their families. As the principal repository in France for publisher’s archives, the IMEC’s collections also include the archives of metropolitan publishers who published francophone authors, such as La Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner and Le Seuil, as well as the records of the leading African publishing house, Présence Africaine. As a result of its collection with global connections, it is a priority for the IMEC to make such fonds accessible for research and, in particular, to ensure that they can be shared with the country of origin. This can be done either through the creation of duplicates using digitization, or through partnerships with local institutions. For example, the IMEC organized a large exhibition in Beirut of the Georges Schehadé fonds, and published his complete works with the publisher An-​Nahar, which included reproductions of the poet’s manuscripts and other papers. The IMEC also offers support to literary and artistic archives in francophone countries, through the provision of training and consultation. It has worked closely with the contemporary literature foundation at Rabat in Morocco and the Lebanese musical heritage centre in Beirut, for example. The goal is to promote a dialogue between cultures “without condescension,” as Albert Dichy puts it, and to break with a tradition of collecting policy that has all too often led to appropriation of the cultural heritage of other nations. Dichy underscores the importance of what he calls the IMEC’s “light-​touch” deposit contract, which allows authors or their estates to retain ownership of their papers, and deposit is not necessarily permanent. Depositing archives with the IMEC is a very different proposition for an author to handing over their papers to the French national library. For an author, to give their papers to the large and prestigious national library is an honour, but it is also to give them to the French state and to become part of French national heritage. The IMEC, on the other hand, is a small, semi-​private archive management organization rather than an institution of the state. This is an important distinction for authors from postcolonial countries who find themselves unable or unwilling to keep their papers in their country of origin, but who do not wish to give them to the former colonial power. The Syrian poet Adonis, for example, needed to find a safe haven for his papers. He had been imprisoned by Assad’s regime, but feared that even if Assad’s regime toppled, as a member of the minority Alawite sect, he would be considered an enemy of the state by a new regime. He found the idea of giving his papers to the French state problematic, and preferred instead to place them in temporary deposit at the IMEC. Crucially, if an author or their estate wishes it, a clause can be added to the deposit contract stipulating the conditions under which the papers should be returned to

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their country of origin. In this way, the IMEC’s small and, to a certain extent, fragile status means it can intervene and help to protect cultural heritage, without raising fears of appropriation.

Conclusion This brief panorama of some of the work being carried on in the French-​speaking world to safeguard literary heritage has highlighted the importance of flexibility and international cooperation. The French, along with the Americans, British, and Canadians dominate the field in global manuscript collection. This has laid them open to accusations of predation and cultural forms of neo-​colonialism. In France, a revaluation and dialogue on literature from the postcolonial global south has taken place between writers and scholars from France and the Francophone world in the last decade. The ITEM, the leading literary manuscript research institute in France, has played an important part in this movement, in its work to promote francophone literary scholarship, through sharing resources, developing research partnerships with universities, and developing high-​ quality open-​ access (where possible) research tools. Francophone supra-​national channels offer new opportunities for training, arbitration, and awareness-​raising work. However, given the highly sensitive nature of working through such channels, in many cases, bilateral and non-​ governmental approaches can be more efficient. The emphasis, as Riffard and Dichy highlight, has to be placed on partnerships with local scholars and institutions, and, most importantly, on local actors taking control of such preservation initiatives. It is crucial to be alert to the diversity of contexts in which we find endangered literary manuscripts, and to the importance of multiple answers to this complex and multi-​ layered problem.

Bibliography Bayart, Jean-​François. Les Études postcoloniales, un carnaval académique. Paris: Kathala, 2010. Biasi, Pierre-​ Marc de. “Un patrimoine à sauvegarder.” La Lettre de l’IMEC 16 (2012): 8–​9. Combe, Dominique. “Le texte postcolonial n’existe pas.” Genesis 33 (2011). http://​ genesis.revues.org/​597. “Dealing with the Past.” swisspeace. www.swisspeace.ch/​topics/​dealing-​with-​the-​ past.html. Dichy, Albert. “Introduction.” La Lettre de l’IMEC 16 (2012): 3. ———​. “Méditerranées francophones.” La Lettre de l’IMEC 16 (2012): 12–​15. ———​. “Archives at risk.” Paper presented at Diasporic Literary Archives: The Politics of Location, Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago, March 24–​25, 2014. Forsdick, Charles, and David Murphy. “Introduction: The Case for Francophone Postcolonial Studies.” In Francophone Postcolonial Studies: A Critical Introduction, edited by Charles Forsdick and David Murphy, 1–​16. London: Arnold, 2003.

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Gil, Alex. “Placing Césaire. Some Considerations on Cartography and Enumerative Bibliographies.” Caribbean Quarterly 62 (2016): 373–​87. Hargreaves, Alex G., Charles Forsdick, and David Murphy, eds. Transnational French Studies: Postcolonialism and Littérature-​Monde. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2010. Ink, Laurence. “Sauvegarde et valorisation du fonds d’archives familiales de Jean-​ Joseph Rabearivelo à Madagascar.” Continents Manuscrits 1 (2014). http://​coma. revues.org/​210. Jalloun, Tahar Ben. “Les langues françaises.” La Lettre de l’IMEC 16 (2012): 4–​7. Jonassaint, Jean. “Des éditions génétiques haïtiennes: pourquoi? pour qui? comment? Le cas de Dézafi/​Les Affres d’un défi de Frankétienne.” Genesis 33 (2011). http://​genesis.revues.org/​607. Kominko, Maja, ed. From Dust to Digital: Ten Years of the Endangered Archives Programme. Cambridge: Open Book Publishers, 2015. Martin-​Granel, Nicolas. “Sony Labou Tansi, afflux des écrits et flux de l’écriture.” Continents Manuscrits 1 (2014). http://​coma.revues.org/​260. Parker, Gabrielle. “‘Francophonie’ and ‘Universalité’: Evolution of Two Notions Conjoined.” In Francophone Postcolonial Studies: A Critical Introduction, edited by Charles Forsdick and David Murphy, 91–​101. London: Arnold, 2003. Poissonnier, Anne, and Gérard Sournia. Atlas mondial de la francophonie: du culturel au politique. Paris: Autrement, 2006. “Pour une ‘littérature-​monde’ en français.” Le Monde, 15 March 2007. www.lemonde. fr/ ​ l ivres/ ​ a rticle/ ​ 2 007/ ​ 0 3/ ​ 1 5/ ​ d es- ​ e crivains- ​p laident-​p our-​u n-​roman- ​ en-​ francais-​ouvert-​sur-​le-​monde_​883572_​3260.html. Riffard, Claire. “Afrique-​Caraïbe: nouveaux horizons génétiques.” Littérature 178 (2015): 30–​38. Riffard, Claire, and Daniel Delas, eds. “Afrique-​Caraïbe.” Genesis 33 (2011). genesis. revues.org/​583. Riffard, Claire, and Jean Jonassaint, eds. “Manuscrits francophones du sud: un état des lieux.” Continents Manuscrits 1 (2014). http://​coma.revues.org/​228. Segala, Amos. “The Archives Collection.” The UNESCO Courier (1989): 18–​20. Senghor, Léopold Sédar. “The Written Word …” The UNESCO Courier (1989): 4. Sutton, David C. “The Destinies of Literary Manuscripts, Past, Present and Future.” Archives and Manuscripts 42 (2014): 295–​300. Treilles. Sauver les Manuscrits Francophones. Fondation des Treilles. www.les-​ treilles.com/​?p=2766.

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Chapter 8

ITALIAN LITERARY ARCHIVES: LEGACIES AND CHALLENGES DANIELA LA PENNA

Synergies and Scope Published two years apart, Jacques Derrida’s Archive Fever and Maria Corti’s Ombre dal fondo illuminate our understanding of the complexities of the Archive in complementary fashions. In his 1995 essay, the French philosopher addresses the “radical finitude, […] the possibility of forgetfulness” inherent in what he calls the “archive drive,” a response to the death drive that defines our collective engagement with memory and its preservation (Derrida, 1995, 18). As is customary, the etymological roots of the word Archive are exposed, their semantic productivity stoked: simultaneously linked to Arkhé, the locus of origin, and to Arkheion, the place where magistrates would preserve and make available the texts of the law, the Archive in Derrida’s semantic slippage is inherently linked to justice, memory, and writing.1 The Archive is presented as a place of longing and coercion, thus allowing archive fever to be defined as “an irrepressible desire to return to the origin, a homesickness, a nostalgia for the return to the most archaic place of absolute commencement” (Derrida, 1995, 91). Published in 1997 by scholar and novelist Maria Corti, Ombre dal fondo also describes the Archive as a place of haunting, where scholars confront the materiality of traces compounding the avant-​texte, both of those works of literature that were delivered to the reader experience and those texts, postulating a multitude of possibilities, that would never be brought to completion, whether by accident or intention. Both Archive Fever and Ombre dal fondo take their cue from localized embodiments of the Archive: the Freud archive in London for 1 According to Derrida, Arkhé is a term where authority and origin are linked together: “[Arkhé] apparently coordinates two principles in one: the principle according to nature or history, there where things commence—​physical, historical, or ontological principle—​but also the principle according to the law, there where men and gods command, there where authority, social order are exercised, in this place from which order is given—​nomological principle” (Derrida, 1995, 1). For a discussion of the cultural significance of Derrida’s text, see Brian Treanor, “What Tradition? Whose Archive? Blogs, Googlewashing, and the Digitization of the Archive,” Analecta Hermeneutica 1 (2009): 231–​41.

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Derrida, and the Centro per gli studi sulla tradizione manoscritta di autori moderni e contemporanei in Pavia for Corti, its conceiver, founder, and indefatigable director for over twenty years.2 It is the Archive rooted in a specific geography and sheltering a specific set of documents that drives their consideration of the way archives affect our ability to conceive of the past and conceptualize our relationship to the future. Both scholars come to terms with the Archive as a place where opposing conceptions of time meet: for Corti the Archive is the place where aion (the time of finitude, of a life ended) and chronos (the time that extends into the future) compete with one another (Corti, 1997, 7). For Derrida, the archive is not only “the place for stocking and conserving an archivable content of the past. [It] also determines the structure of the archivable content even in its very coming into existence and its relationship to the future” (Derrida, 1995, 17). In Corti’s Ombre dal fondo, the papers archived in the Centro are given a new lease of life by scholarly dedication, and hitherto unheard of convergences can be discovered between the papers and the correspondence of the many authors which have found their new domicile within the walls of the Centro Corti single-​handedly built. The delicate anthropology of learning, described by Corti, hinges on a notion of the Archive powerfully articulated by Derrida, and intended as both “memorial” and “reminder” of the past (Derrida, 1995, 23). Derrida’s Archive is the place where we shore up against the ruinous experience of time and death, a place where we can gather and collect only what is left behind (the ironic and tragic supplementary nature of the archival document not only in relation to the event but also to the other types of evidence pulverized by destruction, what Derrida calls the “ash of the archive”) (Derrida, 1995, 91). This view is given an empirical translation in Corti’s “archontic” struggle to build a home for authors’ papers, increasingly acting as Arkheion against dispersal and material obliteration. Each collection located in Pavia reveals to Corti the paradox of the Archive: the documents surviving the author’s destructive drive (and relatives’ neglect, protective jealousy, or greed) are a permanent memento of those which have been destroyed, the very existence of the former a powerful reminder of the extinction of the latter. This paradox leads to another: filiation and domiciliation are not exclusively bound together. The author’s material traces can be scattered across various domiciles, preserved in different archives, in multiple territories and jurisdictions. The centrifugal power of dispersal, whatever caused it, is yet another reminder that the principle of universality to which the authority of the Archive aspires is hollow: archival jurisdiction and protection extend only to the tangible. Mindful of Derrida’s warning, that “every archive […] is at once institutive and conservative” (Derrida, 1995, 7), this exploration of the Italian literary Archive will start by describing the legislative framework that calls the archive and its contents under its purview. It will then proceed to discuss the main Italian collecting centres 2 On Maria Corti’s life and work see Maria Corti: Congedi primi e ultimi, edited by Renzo Cremante and Angelo Stella, Cristina Nesi’s Dialogo in pubblico, and special issue 47 of Autografo.

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and the web of connections that these have established with one another, and how these alliances have been transformed in the wake of the digital revolution. Filiation and domiciliation and how these relate to law and place are overarching concerns in Derrida’s Archive Fever, and by Corti’s own admission in Ombre dal fondo, it was the realization that these notions are not necessarily bound by reciprocity that led her to conceive and create a safe haven from the dispersal of Italian authors’ papers abroad. Yet the global reach of the laws of the marketplace test the resilience and porosity of geographical boundaries, expose the helplessness of legislative frameworks when these are not jolted into operation by vigilance, and highlight the complex relationship between the demands of transgenerational heritage, the pressure provoked by individual need, and the unpredictable mobility of people and ideas. This contribution will therefore discuss a number of case studies illuminating the experience of dispersal and geographical dislocation of Italophone authors’ papers. Because of such an approach, this inquiry cannot make any claim to exhaustively mapping the pathways of dispersal and aggregation of Italophone authors’ papers. It will however aim to identify the factors that determined the location of such collections, to highlight commonalities and challenges with regards to access, and to emphasize the positive organic relationship established between university institutions and archives in attracting, preserving, and organizing authors’ papers in meaningful clusters while also promoting scholarly work around them.

Law and Place The legislative context surrounding the Archive is important when considering the challenges facing different types of stakeholders operating in the Italian cultural field and the legacies to which these agents aim collectively to contribute. Italy is home to the highest number of UNESCO World Heritage Sites,3 and with a tangible heritage stretching back to pre-​Roman civilizations, the nation has also an impressive wealth of documents, manuscripts, and artefacts that need protecting for future generations. Literary heritage and its assets are important elements of Italy’s cultural wealth and multiple cultural and linguistic identities. It is thanks to the interplay between an established tradition in preservation and conservation (reflected in the special consideration given to the training of archivists since the post-​Napoleonic age) (Tamblè, 1981; Duranti, 1988) and a literary scholarship which has long since embraced the pillars of genetic criticism, that the evidence of the evolution of an astonishing manuscript culture has been kept for future generations of readers and scholars. The duty to protect rare and precious manuscripts and autograph materials has been enshrined in legislation and subsumed in the responsibility for custodianship that the state extends to monuments and works of art. As such, these are subject to stringent legislation which originates—​on the one side—​from the privileged role enshrined by law to the Archivist in post-​Unification Italy as custodian of historical memory, and 3 At time of publication: http://​whc.unesco.org/​en/​list/​stat.

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in part—​on the other—​from the Fascist regime’s attempt at regulating preservation of different forms of heritage on the eve of Italy’s entrance to the Second World War. Law n. 1089, entitled “Tutela delle cose d’interesse Artistico o Storico,”4 published on June 1, 1939, stipulates in its first article that also “rare and precious” libraries, manuscripts, incunabula, and autographic materials such as correspondences fall under its purview. The law set out a notifying process, according to which both public and private institutions and private individuals alike, are obliged by law to declare to the state the possession of tangible heritage of historical significance; the legislator also emphasized the desirability of indivisibility with regards to collections of items of national historical relevance stating in no uncertain terms that the state and private entities should protect such assets against “dismemberment” and export. This law is important insofar as it clearly defines the place of manuscript culture from any period within the definition of heritage assets, while also establishing the role of the state in protecting such objects. In doing so, the legislator acknowledged and identified the responsibilities of private institutions and individuals as custodians towards the safeguarding of manuscripts, libraries, and other items of national interest. Subsequently modified in 1976 and 2002, in its new version the law stipulated that the census responsibilities were to move away from the centre and be delegated to regional superintendencies, thus diluting and complicating the relationship between state and tangible assets, while strengthening the role played by regional stakeholders in preserving local heritage of often international significance. It is in response to the duty of preserving and perpetuating the integrity of and accessibility to historical and cultural memory captured in correspondence and authors’ papers that some archives have transformed themselves into collecting institutions when estate executors of twentieth-​century literary personalities have transferred the responsibility of preservation onto better-​equipped centres. It is important to note that the types of institutions involved in the custodianship of twentieth-​century authors are diverse. With over six thousand municipal archives, ninety-​five state archives in as many provinces, and forty historical sections of state archives in as many centres of national importance, it is not uncommon that an institution devoted to the preservation of the universality of documents produced by state offices—​under special circumstances—​may become the repository for authors’ papers of outstanding cultural interest, especially when the author or their estate executor is unable to turn the author’s residence into a museum and archive, following the example of a few significant models.5 This change in collection policies of state, regional, and provincial archives reflects the change of status of fonds of literary nature linked to a single personality 4 “The protection of objects of artistic or historical interest.” 5 With regard to twentieth-​century authors in Italy, there are several examples showing how the author’s residence can be turned into a museum with archival facilities. The most successful models for such integration and convergence of Arkhé and Arkheion are Gabriele D’Annunzio’s Vittoriale degli Italiani in Gardone Riviera, and the Archivio e Fondazione Benedetto Croce, where Croce’s Neapolitan residence hosts the philosopher’s personal library, his massive

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(or subject producer) within Italian archival science. A still-​contested attribution, since the 1960s scholars have increasingly used the term “archive” to define a fonds of literary nature, composite structure (including in some cases personal libraries, correspondences, and drafts), and with no claim to exhaustively documenting every phase and aspect of a person’s life and work (Trevisan, 2009). In order to protect such collections from fragmentation, dismemberment, and dispersal, state archives increasingly extended their protection to twentieth-​century fonds of exceptional cultural importance. Often the donation, deposit, or sale is influenced by attachment to the birthplace or the town of longer residence. These affective considerations strengthen the local heritage dimension of the collection confirming the role played by writers and cultural personalities in the intellectual milieu of the city and the region. There is, for instance, the case of the papers of Anna Maria Ortese (Rome 1914–​Rapallo 1998) which were bequeathed to the State Archive in Naples by her niece in 2002, a donation which was intended to honour Ortese’s longstanding relationship with the city. By some it was felt as a reparation, a posthumous prodigal return, in the light of the controversies that surrounded Ortese’s Il mare non bagna Napoli (1953) and her subsequent abandonment of the city in 1955. Alongside the State Archives, authors’ papers have been collected or bequeathed to local and national libraries, and increasingly to archival institutions linked to or embedded in universities, like, for instance, the Fondo Guido Gozzano (Turin 1883–​1916) donated by his brother to the Faculty of Letters of the University of Turin and around which the Centro per lo studio della letteratura del Novecento has developed since 1969. An important role is also played by Italian publishers’ archives, given the fruitful collaboration established between firms, intellectuals, and writers who managed to influence the aesthetic ethos of important publishers’ catalogues. In this particular context, valuable collections are held at the Fondazione Arnoldo e Alberto Mondadori in Milan (est. 1979), the firm archive of Giulio Einaudi Editore, on deposit at the State Archives in Turin since 1983, the Bompiani archive on deposit at the Fondazione Corriere della Sera in Milan since 2001, and the Archivio Laterza in Bari. The holdings of these institutions contribute to tracing a complex image of the cultural and economic factors shaping literary communication in twentieth-​century Italy and contribute to the understanding of the influence exerted by writers such as Benedetto Croce (Laterza), Italo Calvino, Cesare Pavese, Natalia Ginzburg (Einaudi), Anna Banti (Vallecchi), and Elio Vittorini (Mondadori and Einaudi) among many. In such a fragmented field, a number of institutions have acquired pre-​eminence and have led by example the national collecting policies on Italian twentieth-​century literary culture. These are the Centro Manoscritti of the University of Pavia (est. 1973), the Archivio Contemporaneo Bonsanti in Florence (est. 1975), and the Archivio del Novecento Letterario, based at the University of Rome, La Sapienza (est. 1997), personal archive, and a centre for post-​graduate specialization. To these examples one can add the Casa Museo Marino Moretti in Cesenatico (est. 1984), and the Archivio Primo Conti in Fiesole (est. 1980), where the painter’s residence accommodates a personal museum and an archive holding important collections and correspondences linked to the Futurist movement.

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which between them preserve and regulate access to more than 370 collections of authors’ papers of outstanding national significance.

Archives and Institutions The story of the conception in 1969 and launch in 1973 of the University of Pavia’s Centro Manoscritti is intimately linked to the extraordinary intellectual and persuasive abilities of Maria Corti (Milan 1915–​2002). A textual philologist who was pivotal in importing structuralism into Italy through research protocols and a concerted programme of translations of the key classics, Corti also patronized authors, launched important and long-​lasting scholarly journals (Strumenti critici, Alfabeta, Autografo), and collaborated with several publishing houses and newspapers. A novelist in her own right, Corti established long and profound friendships with the most important intellectuals and writers of her time. It is thanks to her personal cultivation of trust and to the respect that her intellect and passion inspired, that the 1975 Nobel Laureate Eugenio Montale, Romano Bilenchi, Giorgio Manganelli, and others progressively donated their papers and personal libraries to Corti, thus allowing her to form a kernel of important authors’ collections around which the Centro Manoscritti would develop. In her Ombre dal fondo, Corti describes the circumstances leading to the foundation of the Centro, the main actors and stakeholders, and the challenges ambitious archival institutions face in attracting, retaining, and preserving authors’ papers in a field made increasingly competitive by the game-​changing influence of private collectors and wealthy US-​based repositories. It was thanks to targeted generous financial support provided by the University of Pavia and banking institutions, and to the admiration that Corti’s charisma excited in many stakeholders, that the Centro Manoscritti could contend with more well-​endowed bidders. Ombre dal fondo makes clear that the accumulation of authors’ papers needed to go hand in hand with the development of an adequate infrastructure, trained human resources, and a sustained research culture that put the avant-​texte at the centre of its protocols. After Corti’s passing in 2002 and with the appointment of equally committed directors (Renzo Cremante, Angelo Stella, Maria Antonietta Grignani, and Clelia Martignoni), the Centro Manoscritti has continued to hold the status of Sancta sanctorum where most of the Italophone authors aspire to have their papers stored and studied. Housing more than 250 author collections (including the papers of 1986 Nobel Laureate for Medicine, Rita Levi-Montalcini), a number of personal libraries, and the archives of several literary journals, most of which are currently undergoing a programme of digitization with the launch of the initiative PAD-​Pavia Archivi Digitali in 2013, the centre has been consolidated as a national hub for research excellence and curatorial best practice. The role played by charismatic leadership cannot be underestimated in the establishment and foundation of collecting institutions that would achieve international fame and reach. Founded in 1818, Florence’s Gabinetto Vieusseux has played a key role in the city’s cultural life since its inception as a place of intellectual exchange between the local cultural elite and the transient cosmopolitan literary

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community. The Gabinetto became a collecting centre for twentieth-​century Italian and foreign authors when, in 1980, its director Alessandro Bonsanti (Florence 1904–​ 1984) donated to the institution his sprawling personal archive comprising a rich collection of correspondence and personal papers relating to his literary activity and directorship of several important literary journals.6 The Archivio Contemporaneo Bonsanti has attracted a considerable number of donations and deposits of notable twentieth-​century authors, thus becoming the capstone of a considerable array of literary collections, including the archive of Florence-​based publishing firm Vallecchi. Bonsanti’s leadership, and the centre’s outstanding reputation built upon the previous enlightened directorship of Bonaventura Tecchi and 1975 Nobel Laureate Eugenio Montale, who both strove to keep the Gabinetto a place of free cultural exchange, even during the Fascist years. The Archivio Contemporaneo Bonsanti preserves and regulates access to more than one hundred collections, mostly related to Florentine authors and intellectuals, but also some outstanding non-​Tuscan authors such as Neapolitan playwright Eduardo De Filippo (Naples 1900–​1984), novelist Carlo Emilio Gadda (Milan 1893–​Rome 1973), and controversial playwright, poet, essayist, and film director Pier Paolo Pasolini (Bologna 1922–​Ostia 1975) find their home in the Gabinetto. These are only some of the most renowned literary figures whose papers and correspondences the Gabinetto partly or entirely preserves. It is the national cultural value linked to the Gabinetto’s illustrious leaderships and programme of valorization that has led so many authors and estate executors to entrust their papers to the institution. A similar focus on twentieth-​century Italian culture characterizes the Archivio del Novecento Letterario based at the University of Rome, La Sapienza. While the holdings are less numerous than those of the Centro Manoscritti and Gabinetto Viesseux, with twelve archives including the papers of novelists Paola Masino and Carlo Bernari, and literary critic Enrico Falqui, this particular collecting institution’s proactive engagement with the opportunities for preservation and access linked to digitization has allowed it to widen its reach and influence beyond Rome. Founded in 1997, and absorbing within its folds the Archivio del Novecento founded in 1979 by academic Giuliano Manacorda, the institution is led by Francesca Bernardini and supported by La Sapienza, the Regione Lazio, and the receipt of grants from the European Commission. The Archivio del Novecento Letterario quickly established itself as one of the leading institutions of a digital consortium—​Ad900—​that brings together several archives across the peninsula. In the 1990s, the simultaneous digitization projects embarked upon by several of these institutions led to the realization that a connected digital highway was not only a possibility but a necessity. Carte d’autore is the digital portal that provides a unified point of access to the digitized collections and catalogues of eight archives (often linked to universities) from Genoa to Bari, via Rome. Rome is also the epicentre of a wider digital network connecting more than forty archival 6 For an overview of Bonsanti’s work and cultural action see Alessandro Bonsanti: scrittore e organizzatore di cultura, edited by P. Bagnoli.

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institutions collecting documents illuminating Italian twentieth-​century political culture, journalism, activism, and social history—​Archivi del Novecento—​a curatorial digitization initiative launched in 1999, supported by the European Commission. The Roman projects make the most of the rich library holdings available in the capital, as well as the digitization initiatives supported by the National Library, and the libraries and archives of the Senate and Parliament. It is believed that Ad900 and Archivi del Novecento will continue to attract affiliations, thus bringing to a digitally literate and scholarly trained user community a rich wealth of documentation detailing the most salient personalities of the twentieth century. Ambitious digitization projects, however, like Derrida’s “ashes of the archive,” reveal persisting asymmetries of access and funding, as well as uneven practices in preservation and cataloguing procedures across the peninsula. Established in 2011, the SAN-​Sistema Archivistico Nazionale, powered by the Direzione Generale Archivi, constitutes an impressive meta-​ digital highway connecting SIAS-​ Sistema informativo Archivi di Stato, the regional superintendencies, ApeX—​the European Archives Portal, and a set of thematic portals leading to outstanding archival resources on Italian architecture, music, fashion, history, and literature. This structure allows the community of users to access a wealth of information on the diversified cultural enterprises of the Italian twentieth century, while providing an example of a state-​sponsored archive-​enhancing digital initiative. However, this project exposes old problems in new guises, such as safeguarding against digital vulnerabilities and the need for shared best practice in meta-​data tagging. Repositories based in universities or supported by local authorities may adhere to similar enterprises but lack of funding and infrastructure may delay the fulfilment of such aspirations. Yet the digital Arkheion should not be welcomed acritically: its promise to bring together split collections and to activate new synergies through increasingly sophisticated search tools has to be set against its ability to create a new jurisdiction, impose a new notion of what is “archivable,” and define what is deemed worthy of future-​ proofing and what is not.

Geographical Dislocation of the Archive While Centro Manoscritti, Gabinetto Vieusseux, and several literary archives in Rome and in the many centres scattered across Italy often preserve impressive sets of correspondence and papers, the archive related to a single subject producer is often split across a multiplicity of repositories, thus reflecting the personality’s engagement with a variety of subjects, firms, and stakeholders. Two case studies may help sharpen the focus on the factors determining the dispersal or dislocation of an author’s papers, while highlighting the tension between Arkhé, the locus of commencement and affect, and the institutionalizing demands of the Arkheion. Pier Paolo Pasolini’s multifaceted intellectual trajectory managed to illuminate several fields of cultural production, including theatre, film-​making, journalism, publishing, and literary praxis. Traces of his engagement can be found in the archives

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of several publishers (Garzanti, Einaudi, Mondadori), and of the production houses and actors he worked with (most notably Orson Welles). While a vast collection of letters is held at the Archivio Bonsanti in Florence, with some important drafts of his novels and poetry collections donated by his mother to the Centro Manoscritti, the biggest fonds was donated by the author to his muse, actress Laura Betti, who established a Centro Studi Pasolini in Rome, the city that welcomed the intellectual in the post-​war years. Pasolini would immortalize Rome and its people in several of his novels, poems, and films, and in its hinterland he would be killed in 1975. In 2004, Betti donated the sprawling fonds to Bologna, Pasolini’s birthplace. Located in Bologna’s Cineteca, the Centro Studi has ever since engaged in a sustained scholarly outreach programme supporting initiatives on Pasolini’s work. The fact that Pasolini’s papers are in their large part preserved in a dedicated archive (that has travelled from the national capital to one of the most renowned cultural centres of the country), and in other archives of national importance highlights the intellectual’s canonical status. In 2011, the institutive function of the Arkehion was productively disturbed by the announcement of the opening of the Fondo Archivio Pier Paolo Pasolini in Casarsa della Delizia, which was subsequently declared a collection of national relevance. The hometown of Pasolini’s mother, Casarsa features in Pasolini’s early poetry as his own idealized place of commencement. The papers stored at Casarsa document an important phase of Pasolini’s engagement with vernacular languages and with Friulian in particular: drafts of his early Friulian poetry collections sit alongside the full run (and related correspondence) of Stroligùt, the vernacular journal Pasolini founded and directed between 1944 and 1946. This new archive, located in a small village at the margins of national cultural life, productively illustrates the affective pull of place and language, while refracting Pasolini’s role in national culture by highlighting his contribution to the recuperation of peripheral vernacular languages and their cultural traditions. A similar tension between Arkhé and Arkheion can be found in the archival domiciles of diasporic author Luigi Meneghello’s papers. A longstanding friend of Maria Corti, from 1983 Meneghello (Malo 1922—​Thiene 2007) periodically donated parts of his personal archive to the Centro Manoscritti, including after Corti’s death in 2002. His personal admiration for the Centro’s research activities led him to make it the main beneficiary of his papers and patrimony. The Centro in turn initiated a programme of study, still in place, around the Meneghello collection which, to date, is one of the largest hosted by the Centro Manoscritti. This programme has also led to a number of conferences, edited collections, PhD theses, and the publication of several posthumous volumes emerging from his collection.7 Some of Meneghello’s materials, including parts of his personal library are also stored at the Museo Casabianca in Malo, his birthplace. A sizeable portion of his personal 7 For a description and analysis on the Meneghello collections see Chiara Longo’s “Il fondo Luigi Meneghello di Pavia: Inventario (1984–​2001)” and Nicoletta Trotta’s “Fra le carte di Luigi Meneghello,” in Tra le parole della “virtù senza nome”: La ricerca di Luigi Meneghello.

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correspondence was donated by the author in 1999 to the Biblioteca Bertoliana in Vicenza, the place of his early education, and is framed within the collection Scrittori Vicentini del Novecento, which holds the personal papers of twenty-​nine Vicenza-​ born writers, including Vittorio Tomizza, Goffredo Parise, and Guido Piovene. The Meneghello correspondence was opened to the public in 2016, following the author’s dispositions, and has been enriched by his heirs’ donation of Meneghello’s correspondence with Katia Bleier, his wife and holocaust survivor. As in Pasolini’s case, the locations of Meneghello’s archival domicile are linked on the one side to the centre that stores the literary heritage of Italian twentieth-​century national culture, and on the other to repositories linked to his biography and literary work: the Malo and Vicenza holdings emphasize Meneghello’s relationship to his places of commencement and the vernacular traditions rooted in those lands, which were at the centre of his fictional world. However, a fourth pole complicates the mapping of Meneghello’s archival traces: the Meneghello fonds at the University of Reading (UK), the place of the author’s employment for over forty years and where he wrote most of his published works. Reading’s Special Collections hold early drafts of his 1964 resistance novel I piccoli maestri, drafts of the English translation of I piccoli maestri by Raleigh Trevelyan (published by Michael Joseph in 1967), manuscripts of his 1974 autobiographical collection Pomo Pero, and drafts of reflections on Fascist education and the British university system published in 1975 as Fiori Italiani. This collection and its extra-​territorial, transnational domicile reflects Meneghello’s personal mobility and highlights his diasporic trajectory by emphasizing his relation to British literary culture.

Archive Is a Foreign Land Even within the boundaries of a nation, the archival circuit can amplify the fragmentation of the documentary traces of a person’s life, with each hub claiming a stake in its consistency, and each contributing to its framing within regional, national, and supra-​national narratives of identity and tradition. A more acute sense of vulnerability (of the body politic and of the body of work) often accompanies the dismemberment and dispersal of an author’s papers beyond national borders. The sale of Filippo Tommaso Marinetti’s notebooks by his daughters to Yale’s Beinecke Library sparked media outrage in 1979, while the acquisition by the Getty Research Institute in Los Angeles of his early writings and correspondence in 1987 attracted less coverage. A deeper wound seemed to be inflicted on the national pride when 1934 Nobel Laureate Luigi Pirandello’s notebook and a small selection of papers were sold to Harvard’s Houghton Library in 1968. The difference in response may be explained by the fact that beyond the Beinecke and the Getty, Marinetti’s papers are still scattered across Italy and in the hands of private collectors, while Pirandello’s body of work has been located, in the main, in his mansion in Rome since its donation to the State in 1938. Further aggravation was caused in 1986 by the donation of a large epistolary collection by Marta Abba, actress and Pirandello’s muse, to Princeton University rather than to the Italian foundation. Financial

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transactions alone may not explain the considerations behind such high-​profile cases: scholarship, high standards of conservation, and a vision that sees on the one side the authors as surpassing the strictures imposed by national concerns by virtue of their greatness, and on the other, their papers as a commodity and not as a material figment of national heritage, all contribute to feeding the centrifugal power of dispersal and to increasing the tension between affective considerations rooted in the Arkhé and the exclusionary requirements of the Arkheion. However, with personal and professional trajectories increasingly characterized by transnational mobility, it is difficult to allocate the Arkhé to a singular territory, linguistic tradition, or national culture. The factors determining the biographically motivated archival domiciles of Pasolini and Meneghello’s work multiply in scale when observing the geography of location of the papers of journalist, intellectual, and academic Giuseppe Prezzolini (Perugia 1886–​Lugano 1982) and novelist Carlo Coccioli (Livorno 1920–​Mexico City 2003). The launch in 1978 of Lugano’s Fondo di documentazione storico-​letterario-​ artistica del Novecento marked the beginning of a re-​organization of the numerous literary fonds of Italian interest in Swiss libraries. In 2004, Lugano’s Biblioteca Cantonale grouped the Italophone collections under the name of Archivio Giuseppe Prezzolini, the most conspicuous fonds among the twenty-​one Italophone literary archives and thirty-​four minor collections constituting the extent of the repository. A  transnationally mobile cultural operator, a prolific journalist, and cultural commentator of the first order, Prezzolini supported and founded important early twentieth-​century Italian journals. His intellectual skirmishes with Benedetto Croce and Benito Mussolini are recorded in correspondence—​a valuable source of documentation for the intellectual debates of the Fascist period—​spreading over one thousand folders in Lugano, where he resided from 1968 until his death. Soon after Mussolini’s rise to power, Prezzolini left Italy to move to Paris in 1925, and then in 1929 to New York, where he was appointed director of the Casa Italiana, the Italian Cultural Institute of Columbia University. Despite the distance, Italy continued to be at the centre of Prezzolini’s interests, as an impressive collection of newspaper clippings collated between 1944 and 1963, currently held at the Center for Migration Studies in New York and spanning more than fifteen boxes, amply testifies. A substantial collection of his correspondence is held at the Rare Book and Manuscript Library at Columbia University, testifying to Prezzolini’s transatlantic dialogue with many intellectuals engaged in the antifascist struggle and in the reconstruction of the country after the Second World War. If Prezzolini left Italy for fear of persecution, Carlo Coccioli’s journey was motivated by intellectual restlessness, the desire for experimentation, and longing for sexual freedom which in turn thematically inflected his multilingual oeuvre. Author of the first overtly gay Italian novel, Fabrizio Lupo, composed in French and published in Paris in 1952, Coccioli combined the tropes of high modernism with language experimentation while reflecting on religious and sexual identity. In 1955, Coccioli moved from Paris to Mexico City, where he died in 2003, having spent intermittent long spells in Italy. In the Mexican capital, the Casa de La cultura Carlo

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Coccioli promotes research on his work while sheltering a set of personal papers and correspondence mainly in Spanish. The main core of Coccioli’s collection is, however, preserved at the Harry Ransom Center in Austin, Texas. Drafts of his works in French, Spanish, and Italian, and his correspondence, are joined by a conspicuous collection of readers’ letters, especially those of Catholic gay men responding emotionally to the spiritual dimension of Coccioli’s work. Other correspondence with important Latin American intellectuals and publishers such as Abelardo Arias and Renato Pellegrini reveal Coccioli’s militant role in supporting the translation of European queer authors (including, among many others, Julien Green and André Gide) within the Latin American context, and in facilitating a debate around queer visibility, spirituality, and activism.8 The location of the Harry Ransom Center is not such a biographically motivated and symbolically laden locus of conservation as the Biblioteca Marucelliana in Florence, where since 1985 a substantial collection of Coccioli’s Italian and French papers has been preserved, alongside the precious medieval manuscripts the institution holds. It is nevertheless equally important as it reflects the inscription of Coccioli’s work in a transnational narrative of enfranchizement within transnational gay culture and leftfield experimentalism. It is perhaps a fitting tribute to the ephemeral resistance of the Archive, to its ability to weave an enveloping narrative of identity and belonging, and to erect protective and defensive boundaries, that Coccioli’s disjecta membra are preserved in institutions marked by such different legacies and histories. The factors conditioning the dispersal of the collections here discussed, while allowing us to reflect on the many journeys that the material legacies of writers endure, often symmetrically reflecting the mobility of authors and the serendipity of fate, also force us to observe the profound radical meaning that the delicate ecology of conservation holds in today’s world. The Archive is perpetuated by alliances between different stakeholders, protected by frameworks regulating preservation and access. Yet this language of negotiation and protection is not neutral; it is itself the result of coercive decision, a producer of institutional meaning, superimposing narratives of homology only rarely disconnected by the welcoming, within the archival space, of writings rooted in linguistic otherness, demanding inscription, and forcing new interpretations and connections. The tension between a national culture and multiple vernacular traditions—​now enriched by the many languages and cultural experiences that the migration waves from Eastern Europe, Africa, and the Middle East have brought to Italy—​characterizes both the Italian literary space and the archives that preserve the documents of such dialogue. Italy’s fragmentation into many “small fatherlands” rooted in cultural diversity is reflected not only in the linguistic experimentation of many Italophone writers but crucially also in the archival space, where the memory of idioms and literary traditions (old, new, and in the making) is preserved. 8 For more information see Michael A.  Johnson’s “Archival Review of the Carlo Coccioli Collection.”

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The nomadic dimension of many intellectual trajectories of Italian modernity—​ whether in response to persecution, curiosity, or economic need—​is reflected often in the diasporic dispersal of its traces. The location of archival evidence tells a story of journey, discovery, and rescue that cannot be left inert. It is the joint responsibility of scholars and archivists to bridge with connecting pathways different havens and to decode the new meanings that dislocation provokes into existence.

Bibliography Bagnoli, Paolo, ed. Alessandro Bonsanti: scrittore e organizzatore di cultura. Florence: Festina Lente, 1990. Caputo, Francesca, ed. Tra le parole della “virtù senza nome”: La ricerca di Luigi Meneghello. Novara: Interlinea, 2013. Corti, Maria. Ombre dal fondo. Turin: Einaudi, 1997. Cremante, Renzo, and Angelo Stella, eds. Maria Corti: Congedi primi e ultimi. Novara: Interlinea, 2002. Derrida, Jacques. Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995. Duranti, Luciana. “Education and the Role of the Archivist in Italy.” The American Archivist 51 (1988): 346–​55. Johnson, Michael A. “Archival Review of the Carlo Coccioli Collection.” December 10, 2009. www.carlococcioli.com/​download/​contributi/​20101002200301.PDF. Longo, Chiara. “Il fondo Luigi Meneghello di Pavia:  Inventario (1984–​2001).” In Tra le parole della “virtù senza nome”: La ricerca di Luigi Meneghello, edited by Francesca Caputo, 201–​46. Novara: Interlinea, 2013. Maria Corti: Ancora dialogando. Special issue of Autografo 47 (2012). Nesi, Cristina. Dialogo in pubblico. Milan: Rizzoli, 1995. Tamblè, Donato. “Archival Theory in Italy Today.” Archival Science 1 (1981): 83–​100. Treanor, Brian. “What Tradition? Whose Archive? Blogs, Googlewashing, and the Digitization of the Archive.” Analecta Hermeneutica 1 (2009): 231–41. Trevisan, Myriam. Gli archivi letterari. Rome: Carocci, 2009. Trotta, Nicoletta. “Fra le carte di Luigi Meneghello.” In Tra le parole della “virtù senza nome”: La ricerca di Luigi Meneghello, edited by Francesca Caputo, 247–​83. Novara: Interlinea, 2013. “Tutela delle cose d’interesse Artistico o Storico.” UNESCO. www.unesco.org/­ culture/​natlaws/​media/​pdf/​italy/​it_​law1089_​39_​itorof. “World Heritage List Statistics.” UNESCO. http://​whc.unesco.org/​en/​list/​stat.

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Part Three

THE WORLD BEYOND LITERARY ARCHIVES

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UNKNOWN/​UNKNOWNS AND KNOWN/​UNKNOWNS TRUDY HUSKAMP PETERSON

Former US Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld famously said,

Reports that say that something hasn’t happened are always interesting to me, because as we know, there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns—​the ones we don’t know we don’t know. And if one looks throughout the history of our country and other free countries, it is the latter category that tend to be the difficult ones.1

Although that is the famous part of the dialogue, later in the same briefing Rumsfeld said something even more interesting for historians: “I could have said that the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, or vice versa.” When searching for sources, how can researchers handle the unknown/​ unknowns and the known/​unknowns? First of all, let’s dispel three myths: “total archives”; archival exclusion of evidence from social margins; and claims of archival “objectivity.” Antoinette Burton in her introduction to Archive Stories writes that there is a “commonly held belief in the power of a ‘total archive’ ” (Burton, 2005, 18). Hardly. The concept known as “total archives” came from Canada, where it meant “that publicly funded archival institutions—​such as national archives, provincial archives, and city archives—​would acquire, preserve, and make available for public use both government and private sector records in all media, including paper documents and visual and cartographic images, sound recordings, and in more recent years, magnetic and digital media” (Millar, 1998). However, as Laura Millar writes in an article drawn from her dissertation on the “total archives” concept in English Canada: This concept of total archives, while not unique to Canada, differed significantly from archival practice in many other jurisdictions. The United States

1 Department of Defense News Briefing, February 12, 2002.

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has evolved a tradition of separating the care of public and private records between state archives, on the one hand, and historical societies and university libraries on the other. British and European practice, particularly at the national level, has also divided the preservation of public and private sector records between agencies such as England’s Public Record Office, France’s Archives de France, or Germany’s Bundesarchiv and these countries’ national libraries, university libraries, and state and local historical societies. As well, in many countries a number of institutions specialize in the care of specific media materials; in England, for example, specific media materials may find their way to the British Film Institute or the National Sound Archives; in France, the Bibliothèque nationale maintains a specialized Département de la phonothèque et de l’audiovisuel. Millar, 1998

And, writes Millar, Canada too has moved beyond the idea of “total archives.”2 It is not a realistic concept. Second, Peter Fritzsche’s article in Burton’s volume argues, “In order to continually reinforce the viability of the collective subject—​in the most pertinent case, of the nation state—​the archive must exclude evidence from the margins that would jeopardize the continuous instantiation of a common past” (Fritzsche, 2005, 186). At best, this is an overstatement. Part of the issue here is likely an eliding of the difference between an archives in the classical sense and a manuscript collection. The classic archives holds documentary material, of any physical type, made or received by the institution of which the archives is a part, in the pursuance of the institution’s legal obligations or the transaction of its business, and determined to have permanent value. There is no “collecting” per se. There is selection from among the records that the institution creates, but if the government does not, for instance, have a department on women’s health, obviously the archives will not have records on women’s health except as fragments of information are found in other institutional records. Selection is necessary simply because it is physically impossible to save them all—​even the costs of preserving masses of digital records are beyond the capacities of our archival institutions. Selection—​or appraisal, as archivists usually call it—​has been a major topic of disputation in the archival profession for decades. Archivists generally agree that the archives must retain evidence of what the institution did—​its actions and transactions; there is also general agreement that records of the executive direction of the institution should be saved and that records of the “housekeeping” of an organization—​purchasing supplies, managing travel, contracting for services such as janitorial work—​are disposable. There is less consensus on whether records that reflect the operation of programmes rather than 2 “Total archives” as used by both Burton and Millar refers to the holdings of archival institutions, not the idea that that digital technology can capture all information into a universal, searchable archives.

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their direction should be saved, either in whole or in part. It is one thing to save the tens of thousands of files of the US Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) that relate to civil rights investigations; it is quite another to save every US farmer’s application to enrol in the Department of Agriculture’s Conservation Reserve Program.3 The bias that Fritzsche worries about is real, but not for the reason he suggests; i.e. to eliminate the outliers of a common past. Rather, bias arises from the genuine differences between archivists about what records are historically important for the future. I served on the team of archivists that in 1981appraised the records of the FBI. The fifteen of us debated every decision about how much should be retained of each classification: how much should be saved of the then existing 1,155,073 field office and 153,064 headquarters cases of investigations of interstate transportation of stolen property? There were simply honest disagreements. In its working document Basic Principles on the Role of Archivists and Records Managers in Support of Human Rights, the International Council on Archives says, “Archivists and records managers should select, acquire and retain archives that are within the scope and mandate of their archival institution, without discrimination that is proscribed by the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.”4 Further, it says that archivists and records managers should not destroy archives that contain evidence of violations of human rights. These admonitions reinforce the current trends in archival thinking, quite to the contrary of excluding uncomfortable evidence. A collecting institution, on the other hand, focuses on obtaining materials that originate outside it; its holdings are an artificial gathering of materials brought together on the basis of some common characteristic, such as subject or format. These institutions have to set some collecting guidelines (it is simply not possible to collect everything) and they must discriminate as they select what to obtain and what to pass by. The Basic Principles acknowledges this discrimination but urges: “Some archives have a special focus, such as archives of faith-​based bodies, archives of indigenous communities, or archives documenting social movements. These institutions discriminate in their acquisition program in accordance with their mandate, but regardless of their special focus within their mandate they are inclusive.” Today collecting policies may be published on institutional websites, but if the policy is not published, the documents should be available to the researcher upon request.5 Third, to quote Burton again, “the claims to objectivity associated with the traditional archive pose a challenge which must be met in part by telling stories about 3 The Conservation Reserve Program (CRP) is a land conservation program. In exchange for a yearly government payment, farmers enrolled in the program agree to remove environmentally sensitive land from agricultural production and plant species that will improve environmental health and quality. Contracts for land enrolled in CRP are ten to fifteen years in length. 4 Draft in author’s possession. 5 See, for examples, the collection policy of the Archives of Labor and Urban Affairs at Wayne State University, Detroit, Michigan http://​reuther.wayne.edu/​files/​CollectionPolicy_​20141216.pdf and the acquisition policy of the Open Society Archives, Budapest, Hungary http://​w3.osaarchivum. org/​index.php?option=com_​content&view=article&id=49&Itemid=182&lang=en.

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its provenance, its histories, its effect on its users, and above all, its power to shape all the narratives which are to be ‘found’ there.” No archivist would claim that archival records provide “objectivity.” Records are a by-​product of business activity, informed only by the understanding that the creator has at that moment. An ambassador may have a completely false idea of what is happening in a country when they send a dispatch; a missionary reporting to the home missionary board sees events and conveys information about them through the biases of a faith-​based world view. All we can say is that the records in the archives came from a specific institution in the course of its business; we cannot say that the information in a record is objective or even true. It is one of the problems of using secret police archives in lustration processes: you know they are police reports but you do not know whether the information they contain is reliable. Finally, silences in the archives are not the same as the issue of total archives or of bias in selection or of objectivity. Of course silences exist. Identifying the silences is part of scholarship. So now what of the unknown/​unknowns and the known/​unknowns? If a programme or activity or project is truly unknown, finding records of it requires a leak or luck or both. From documents leaked by Edward Snowden, we learned that New Zealand has had a programme of spying on its Pacific Island neighbours and Indonesia and sharing the intelligence with “international allies” (Snowden Documents, 2015). The USA learned about COINTELPRO, an FBI operation in the 1950s and 1960s to disrupt domestic political organizations that the Bureau deemed subversive, after a break-​in at the Media, Pennsylvania, office of the FBI resulted in the theft of some 1000 documents, some of which included the word COINTELPRO. In these cases, archivists and researchers who learn about the programmes can seek the records, but without a clue, a hint, we are stopped. Known/​unknowns give us somewhere to begin. We know the programme or activity or project existed (and may still exist) but do the records? Here we have to consider both unintentional and intentional destruction. In 1996 the International Council on Archives published a report on destroyed and damaged archives, listing known causes of destruction and damage to archives around the world: Fire, accidental Fire, arson Flooding, from outside Flooding, from inside Earthquake Other natural causes

Civil disorder Terrorism Armed conflict Removal by occupying forces

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Inherent instability Bacteria, insects and rodents Mould and humidity Dust Pollution Bad storage conditions Lack of restoration capacity Bad restoration Neglect Loss while moving offices Administrative order Unauthorized destruction Theft

Damage from use (Auer, 1996).

As the list shows, when chasing known/​unknown records, the searcher may be told that the records do not exist. That may or may not be true, of course. The Guatemala police famously told the Guatemala truth commission that they had no records, that they had been destroyed, even though warehouses were full of them. And the destruction may be unintentional or intentional; and if intentional it may be authorized by an approved archival authority or by a person acting outside regular channels. I was the archivist at the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees after the mass return of Rwandan refugees from the camps in Congo in 1996–​1997. One day a staff member came into my office and said he wanted to tell me about the records of the administration of the camps: the staff was afraid of what would happen if they left records behind, so they put the most crucial documents in backpacks and carried them out; the rest of the records they loaded into a truck, hauled to Lake Kivu, and sank. It was intentional destruction not carried out in accordance with any approved records appraisal decision, but I could only agree that destruction of those records was the prudent thing to do. If the archivist or the researcher believes the records may still exist, the next step is to focus on who is likely to hold the records. Here looking at an organization chart of the institution (if one exists and is accessible) and looking at any description of the functions of various offices will help to figure out where to ask about the records. The study of institutional organization is vastly underdeveloped in history departments, and yet understanding an institution’s organization is the key to understanding its records—​and finding them. Let us be clear: when you ask the creating entity about known/​unknown records, even if you are asking the right people, sometimes you succeed, and sometimes you fail. When I was a senior official at the US National Archives, I tried repeatedly to get the US Defense Department to tell the National Archives where the records of MAC-​SOG (Military Assistance Command Special Operations Group) were located and to begin the process of getting them transferred to the Archives. MAC-​SOG was the Vietnam War era “unconventional

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warfare” unit, made up of personnel from various military services and the CIA and controlled by the Secretary of Defense’s Special Assistant for Counterinsurgency and Special Activities. I failed, and as of the last time I checked, which was about a year ago, the MAC-​SOG records have yet to be transferred to the National Archives. Another factor influencing known/​unknown bodies of records is the pattern of high-​level officials taking away official records and keeping them as personal papers. This happens all over the world. At the close of the First Gulf War, US General Norman Schwarzkopf walked off with a major part of his office records, some of which have been returned to the US government (Stormin’ Steams the Army, 1993). Henry Kissinger took the transcripts of his telephone conversations with world leaders while he was Secretary of State and deposited them in the Library of Congress (after protests, copies were made and returned to the records of the State Department).6 In Jamaica in February 2015 former Prime Minister Bruce Golding provided a commission of inquiry with “copies of briefing reports he had received from the security forces” that he had taken as his personal papers; Sir David Simmons, the leader of the inquiry, said in Barbados he was “allowed to take documents with him when he left the Cabinet” and that the former Barbadian prime minister Owen Arthur had kept all his Cabinet documents and planned to donate them to a foundation (Goffe, 2015). When I was at the High Commissioner for Refugees, a retired staff member came and gave me the “Strictly Confidential” files that he had kept when he was the High Commissioner’s Representative in Thailand and thereafter had taken home. Some researchers quietly applaud this trend, arguing that it creates the possibility of easier access to the records because they are not subjected to institutional review processes before opening; however, this leads to privileged access, the risk that information that truly should be withheld for a period of time is released prematurely, and the general impoverishment of the official record, none of which is beneficial to the larger historical process. If the records exist and are in an archives, why might they still be “known/​ unknowns” and how can this be overcome? First, the records may, of course, still be closed, either by the donor or by a law or institutional regulation. In these cases, the archives should at the very least tell the researcher that it holds the material and the reason for the closure. The International Council on Archives’ Principles of Access to Archives, adopted in 2012, says unambiguously, “Institutions holding archives make known the existence of the archives, including the existence of closed materials, and disclose the existence of restrictions that affect access to the archives” (International Council on Archives, 2012, 2014). Many, if not most, archives may not have descriptions of all their holdings, but an archives must at least have a basic record—​if only a list—​of what has been transferred to it; this is true for both classic archives and manuscript collections. This accession record should be available to researchers, and researchers should ask to see it. 6 On March 4, 2015, the National Security Archive sued the State Department for the declassification of the remaining 700 closed Kissinger transcripts. “Archive Sues State Department over Kissinger Telecons,” March 4, 2015, www2.gwu.edu/​~nsarchiv/​NSAEBB/​NSAEBB503/​.

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Second, some researchers believe the description of the archives may itself contribute to the known/​unknown problem. Commenting on her experience in the India Office Library, Durba Ghosh writes, “In Britain, ways of cataloguing and listing the archive’s contents made it extremely unlikely that I would easily find proof of native women’s lives since most of the documents are ordered by and collected under categories like revenue, judicial; foreign, political—​all matters that likely barely touched these women’s lives” (Ghosh, 2005). Well, yes. That is the international standard for describing archives: start by describing records according to their provenance, and within that by their organization and contents (context and content, in other words) (International Council on Archives, 2000; Peterson, 2012). The point of archival description is to be universalist and future-​oriented: a description that provides basic information for the national security researcher as well as the social history researcher, now and a century from now. That bedrock information is what institution created the records and how that institution organized them. If the archives has the resources, it may create finding aids supplemental to the basic description that provide information of most interest to a particular user group, but this is increasingly rare. Part of the reason that archival description is sometimes part of the known/​ unknown quandary is clarity. Like any profession, archives has jargon, and it is important for the user to know at least a few of the basic terms. But archivists also need to do a better job of saying what they know about the context in which the records were created, the institution or part thereof that created them, and the contents. However, archives often have descriptions that were completed decades or centuries ago, by the archives or by the creating institution, and the character of these finding aids is naturally quite different from that of the description produced today (sometimes, of course, they are better and more detailed than those created today). No archives has the resources to revise the older finding aids, and researchers have to cope with the differences. Researchers should be willing to read the descriptions that archivists prepare. An article in the Chronicle of Higher Education about a conference at University College London on research in archives quoted a man saying that his graduate adviser would “read catalogs through from beginning to end.” Then he commented, “Nobody would do that nowadays” (Howard, 2014, A8). Why ever not? The finding aid gives the best quick overview of the records that exists; why not build on it? One of the great changes in the last decade is that researchers no longer sit and read: they stand and photograph. They do not read; they click and go. Once they are back home they may see that important cross-​references existed in the records, other files that could have been explored, but by then the travel budget is spent and the opportunity missed. This is an apparently irreversible trend, but again a reading of a finding aid before coming to the archives might identify some of the useful auxiliary material. Third, researchers need to ask more questions about known/​unknown archives. In her book Along the Archival Grain, Ann Laura Stoler makes the brave admission that she “sought for eighteen years” to find out what happened to a man who was

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one of the subjects of her research, and only after an archivist suggested that she look in the records of the Central Bureau of Genealogy, located just one floor above the reading room she had been using all that time, did she find “forty crammed boxes of a multi-​generational family archive” on the pertinent family. She had never thought to go to that archives (Stoler, 2009, 238–​41). Another sadder story involves unnamed researchers for the International Criminal Tribunals in Rwanda and the former Yugoslavia. “Until recently,” writes Leah Own of the United Nations War Crimes Commission Project of the University of London, “the International Criminal Tribunals in Rwanda and the Former Yugoslavia were seen as the first serious large-​ scale efforts to prosecute rape as a war crime, with the crime being previously seen as an ‘unfortunate but inescapable’ part of many conflicts, with little accountability. The UNWCC [United Nations War Crimes Commission] archives, however, show that rape was an internationally recognized war crime in the 1940s, and was the subject of numerous charges and prosecutions.” It is unanswerable whether using the precedent of the UNWCC would have made the prosecution’s arguments on rape as a war crime easier at the Tribunals or at the Extraordinary Chambers in the Courts of Cambodia, but the researchers—​who could have had access to the records through member governments—​never used the UNWCC records and the prosecutors were denied the opportunity to make the argument (Own, n.d; Plesh, Sa’Couto, and Lasco, 2014). So as Rumsfeld said, “the absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.” Undeniably there are destroyed records, hidden records, missing records, programmes creating records that we have no idea exist. But with good use of the tools we have—​from organization charts to “cc” markings at the bottom of messages or in the address block of an email—​we should be able to find evidence of the absence of records and pursue them. Archivists and researchers working together, with researcher demands for access strengthening the archival voices, is the only way towards making the known/​unknowns simply known.

Bibliography “Archive Sues State Department over Kissinger Telecons.” The National Security Archive, March 4, 2015. www2.gwu.edu/​~nsarchiv/​NSAEBB/​NSAEBB503/​. Auer, Leopold. “Archival Losses and Their Impact on the Work of Archivists and Historians.” In Archivum XLII: Memory of the World at Risk: Archives Destroyed, Archives Reconstituted, 1–​10. Munich: K. G. Sauer, 1996. Burton, Antoinette. “Introduction.” In Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History, edited by Antoinette Burton, 1–​24. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2005. Fritzsche, Peter. “The Archive and the German Nation.” In Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History, edited by Antoinette Burton, 184–​208. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2005.

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Ghosh, Durba. “National Narratives and the Politics of Miscegenation: Britain and India.” In Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History, edited by Antoinette Burton, 27–​44. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2005. Goffe, Susan. “Secrecy, Protocol and Dumping Government Documents.” Jamaica Gleaner, March 1, 2015. http://​jamaica-​gleaner.com/​article/​focus/​20150301/​ secrecy-​protocol-​and-​dumping-​gov%E2%80%99t-​documents. Howard, Jennifer. “When the Archive Won’t Yield Its Secrets.” The Chronicle of Higher Education, December 5, 2014. P. A8. International Council on Archives. International Standard for Archival Description General. 2nd ed. 2000. www.ica.org/​10207/​standards/​isadg-​general-​international​standard-​archival-​description-​second-​edition.html. ———​. Principles of Access to Archives. 2012. www.ica.org/​13619/​toolkits-​guides-​ manuals-​and-​guidelines/​principles-​of-​access-​to-​archives.html. ———​. Technical Guidance on Managing Archives with Restrictions. 2014. www.ica. org/​en/​technical-​guidance-​managing-​archives-​restrictions-​0. Millar, Laura. “Discharging our Debt: The Evolution of the Total Archives Concept in English Canada.” Archivaria 46 (1998): 103–​46. Own, Leah. “The United Nations War Commission in the Netherlands—​A Discussion Draft.” Undated, copy in author’s possession. Peterson, Trudy Huskamp. “Application of ISAD(G) for Human Rights Archives.” International Council on Archives, 2012. www.ica.org/​en/​application-isadghuman-​rights-​archives. Plesh, Dan, Susana Sa’Couto, and Chante Lasco. “The Relevance of the United Nation’s War Crimes Commission to the Prosecution of Sexual and Gender-​Based Crimes Today.” Criminal Law Forum 25 (2014):  349–​81. www.soas.ac.uk/​cisd/​news/​ file93451.pdf. “Snowden Documents:  New Zealand Spying on Pacific Neighbors and Indonesia.” Reuters, March 4, 2015. www.huffingtonpost.com/​2015/​03/​04/​snowden-​new-​ zealand-​spying_​n_​6804742.html. Stoler, Ann Laura. Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial Common Sense. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009. “Stormin’ Steams the Army.” Newsweek, November 28, 1993. www.newsweek.com/​ stormin-​steams-​army-​191416.

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Chapter 10

PUBLISHERS’ ARCHIVES,  AUTHORS’ PAPERS, AND LITERARY SCHOLARSHIP ANDREW NASH

Part of the diasporic nature of literary papers arises from the inescapably public aspect of literary production and in particular the process of publication. The entirety of an author’s archive of correspondence can never possibly be located in a single place because of the necessary involvement of multiple hands in the production of texts and the formation of literary lives. Inevitably, debates over the location of individual authors’ papers have focused mainly on the geographical dispersal of discrete collections of material. But manuscripts, letters, and documents of one sort or another written by authors (or relating to them) will always be found within larger archives, including business archives such as those of the book trade. The preservation of authors’ papers in publishers’ archives (the main focus of this essay) has multiple and conflicting implications for the various stakeholders: the creators, owners, preservers, and users of literary papers. Issues of ownership and commercial policy, copyright, privacy, and freedom of access mean that publishers’ archives provoke different sorts of responses to the core questions embraced by this volume. For authors, the dispersal of correspondence chiefly—​but rarely solely—​about the business of literature involves a ceding of ownership (if not of copyright) in private acts of communication. Publishers’ archives can reveal minute particulars of the private negotiations between authors and publishers/​editors. They can also reveal the private deliberations within a publishing house between individual publishers and editors, as well as negotiations with outside parties such as literary agents and booksellers. The availability of such material in libraries and universities makes these private negotiations public, placing a special responsibility upon the owners of collections and the professional archivists who act as custodians. It also impacts upon the users of collections. Publishers’ archives can be a rich resource for literary scholarship, but they can also be frustrating to researchers who encounter a situation where freedom of access and expression is controlled by creators and preservers keen to protect their interests—​or, in the case of archivists, their professional standards. The contents of a publisher’s archive can reveal aspects of a writer’s life and career that some authors (or authors’ descendants) might wish to

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remain hidden, and the continued copyright protection in the UK afforded to unpublished works (including manuscripts and correspondence)—​at least until December 31, 2039—​allows authors’ estates to impose restrictions, not only upon quotation from unpublished material, but also upon access to that material. A recurring feature of this chapter is thus the interface between creativity, business, heritage, and scholarship, both in terms of the preservation of archives and of their use in scholarly research.

The Organization of Publishers’ Archives in the UK Publishers’ archives carry at least three kinds of value: commercial, heritage, and business. When thinking about the latter, it might be more appropriate to state that they carry a business purpose. Publishers keep records for essential day-​to-​day work, and when dealing with literary copyrights days necessarily extend to decades. As a consequence, book trade archives can grow to vast proportions.1 For a commercial business like a publishing firm or a literary agency, an archive can be both a liability (in terms of the costs of preservation and storage) and a financial asset. Sale or disposal of historical records is thus usually a desirable act, though the notorious example of Faber & Faber proves that not all businesses think alike. The commercial value of publishers’ records would seem obvious, and archives can—​and have—​ fetched large sums on the open market. The history of the public organization of publishers’ archives in Britain owes surprisingly little to the open market, however. Most publishing firms are as respectful of the heritage value of their records as they are keen to exploit their commercial potential. As business records, book trade archives hold a different status—​commercially, culturally, and legally—​from individual collections of authors’ papers. While it is easy to see how the contents of a publisher’s archive might be considered national cultural heritage, business archives in Britain cannot be designated National Cultural Property. Consequently, they are not open to funding revenue administered by the National Archives for England, Wales, and the United Kingdom which oversees the Public Record Office. The National Archives can advise businesses on the preservation of their archives, but it cannot financially support the acquisition of those archives by libraries.2 This does not mean that public money is not used to fund the purchase of business collections by libraries or universities. The government allocates money to funding bodies—​e.g. the Arts Councils, and the Heritage Lottery Fund—​which are headed by non-​governmental boards. Universities and libraries then bid for that money which, inevitably, is limited and highly competitive. The channel of funding is thus somewhat labyrinthine and not without 1 The archives of the literary and talent agency Peters, Fraser, and Dunlop, which contains the historical records of the literary agent A. D. Peters, a firm founded in 1924, currently held in the Howard Gotlieb Archival Research Center, Boston University, runs to 600 linear metres of shelving. 2 On the policies and practices of the National Archives, see Tyacke 2005.

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potential controversy, as the example of the John Murray archive, discussed below, demonstrates. The organization of book trade archives in the UK can be traced to the 1960s and 1970s, a period described by one contemporary commentator as “this era of academic affluence” (Fredeman, 1970, 185). Libraries and universities had begun acquiring the historical collections of publishing firms before this period—​the first tranche of the archive of William Blackwood & Sons reached the National Library of Scotland in 1942—​but it was with the dispersal of the Macmillan and Longman archives that a collecting and archival trend (if not a precise policy) began to emerge. The initial organization of the Macmillan archive took place in 1964 when the firm moved its warehousing and administrative departments from London to Basingstoke. The sale in 1957 to the Rosenbach Foundation of Lewis Carroll’s letters to Macmillan had drawn attention to the financial value of the firm’s historical archive, which dated back to the 1840s. As recounted by Elizabeth James, now, in 1964, “the possibility of a lucrative and space-​saving sale of the bulk of the archive seemed doubly attractive” (p. 4). The eventual fate of the Macmillan records proved two important things, however. Firstly, it proved that publishers’ archives, as well as being commercially valuable, are also large and messy, and in need of sorting or professional handling if the financial value of their contents is to be assessed upon terms similar to more discrete collections of literary manuscripts. Secondly, the fate of the records proved that business, scholarly, and heritage values could come together to ensure the preservation of a culturally valuable collection upon terms that were of benefit to the nation as well as to a commercial business. Early negotiations with Sotheby’s revealed that commercial sale of the archive would depend upon separating what was deemed valuable from what was considered residual—​ “winnowing the wheat from the chaff” (James, 2002, 4). The sorting process was undertaken by Simon Nowell-​Smith—​bibliographer, librarian, and book-​collector—​ who was instructed to separate the material into four categories: to keep, to sell, to destroy, and to give up to the British Museum Library. Sotheby’s made it clear that they were not interested in “little known or unknown authors” (Fredeman, 1970, 186) and in November 1965 the correspondence of “less significant authors” was presented to the University of Reading. As James recounts, however, “by then the impending sale ‘of a kind to warm the cockles of American bibliographical hearts,’ as Harold Macmillan famously described it to The Sunday Telegraph, had aroused considerable attention, especially among literary historians concerned by the imminent dispersal of such a unique resource” (p. 4). After lengthy negotiations it was announced in October 1967 that the archive “had been acquired for the nation” (James, 2002, 5) by the British Library. Financial records, contracts, and files necessary for current publishing remained at the firm’s new premises in Basingstoke. The correspondence files of the Macmillan Company of New York were presented to the Berg Collection in the New York Public Library in 1966.3 3 The New York Public Library also contains a “large cache of letters” to Macmillan including some from “important literary names” (Fredeman, 1970, 189).

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At the time, the saving of the Macmillan archive “for the nation” must have seemed like a triumph of co-​operative thinking around seemingly conflicting private and public, commercial and cultural, interests. And so it was. It is significant, however, that a contemporary commentator, when assessing the “bibliographical significance” of the archive, could write: “the decisions taken regarding the London archive have in a very real sense violated a major collection of primary documents. […] Dispersed to four libraries on two sides of the Atlantic, and stripped of its chronological sequence, the Macmillan archive can never again be consulted as a unified historical record” (Fredeman, 1970, 190). The diasporic condition of the Macmillan archive, however, does not simply reflect the absence in 1967 of a coherent policy towards the preservation of book trade archives among publishers, libraries, and manuscript dealers. It also reflects both the international characteristics of the book trade, which work against any notion of a “unified historical record,” and the different kinds of value implicit in the range of documentary material to be found in publishers’ archives, from records of postal costs and insurance claims to the letters and manuscripts of famous authors. The acquisition of the Longman archive by the University of Reading in 1974 was a pivotal moment in the development of that university’s collection and a further milestone in the organization of publishers’ records in Britain. The origins of the Reading collection can be traced to the 1960s when the university purchased the papers of Charles Elkin Mathews—​publisher of the fin de siècle and of early books by Yeats, Joyce, and Pound (Bott, 1992). The acquisition of the Longman archive, however, was the start of a distinct collecting policy. Though substantial parts of the archive were destroyed in a fire in 1861 and during the blitz, the Longman material initially sent to Reading and since augmented by further deposits constitutes a substantial record of a company that dates back to the early eighteenth century. It forms the basis of Asa Briggs’s recent history of the firm, A History of Longmans and Their Books, 1724–​1990: Longevity in Publishing (Briggs, 2008). Following its acquisition of Longman, Reading quickly became established as the principal repository for book trade archives in the UK.4 The initiative was described by its then archivist as simply the “local expression of a general sense that publishers’ records have been strangely neglected by historians of literature and learning” (Edwards, 1979, 30). The Archive of British Publishing and Printing, as the collection is now called, generated the Location Register of British Book Trade Archives: 1830–​1939, originally compiled in 1991, re-​published in a much expanded edition in 1996. A vital factor in the continued growth of the publishing and printing collections at Reading has been the close association between the archivists and the book trade itself. Further deposits of Longman material and of related archives was made possible by the committed involvement of Tim Rix, formerly chief executive and chairman of the Longman group. The formation of the Book Trade History Group in the 1980s allowed for a productive exchange between archivists, academics, 4 See www.reading.ac.uk/​special-​collections/​collections/​archives/​sc-​publishers.aspx.

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and publishers committed to the preservation of book trade material for scholarly research. Such links continue to bear fruit and Reading has successfully acquired, either through donation or discounted sale, the archives of many other leading names in the book trade, including W. H. Smith and Mills & Boon. Had either of these or the many other archives now held at Reading been placed on the open market they would have been priced at a cost well beyond the reach of the university.

The Nature of Publishers’ Archives Although many modern publishers now employ a dedicated archivist—​Macmillan began doing so in 1988—​a commercial business cannot be expected to adopt a systematic policy or procedure towards its records beyond what is necessary for the continuation of the business. Different publishers have different attitudes towards the preservation and ultimate disposal of their records, which affects what material survives and what may subsequently become available to researchers. The concentration of ownership in the publishing industry which has been so characteristic in the last forty years only adds to the potential for book trade archives to disappear altogether or, where they have survived, to become concealed in other collections. For example, the archive of Routledge & Kegan Paul (split between Reading and University College London) contains miscellaneous and incomplete records of associated companies including Methuen, Tavistock and Croom Helm, International Thomson Publishing Services Ltd, Chapman & Hall, Sweet & Maxwell, Eyre & Spottiswoode, Associated Book Publishers, and other minor subsidiaries.5 Historically, external factors have also had an influence. The Longman archive is not alone in being depleted by fire, flood, or bombing. Portions of the Duckworth archive, held at Senate House Library, London, were destroyed in two fires of 1928 and 1953, as well as during enemy action in 1942. War took its toll on the book trade, especially in the London blitz when substantial quantities of stock and historical records were wiped out, but also in the earlier conflict: the bulk of the incoming correspondence in the Chatto & Windus archive (which dates to the 1850s) was sent for salvage in 1915 to aid the war effort. As a consequence the firm’s records after that date are much fuller than in the earlier period. Researchers seeking to trace the negotiations between Chatto and its Victorian and Edwardian authors—​which included Algernon Charles Swinburne, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Arnold Bennett—​have to reconstruct the relationship from one-​way correspondence (some early incoming correspondence survives in the collection of author contracts). More than other kinds of archives, therefore, book trade records carry their own unique characteristics and vary from collection to collection. As a consequence, repositories are confronted by problems of cataloguing and space. Even in their partial state, publishers’ archives tend to be large and resistant to conventional structures of classification and storage. The cost of space is a perennial 5 See www.reading.ac.uk/​special-​collections/​collections/​sc-​routledge.aspx.

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problem, especially for UK universities for whom the building of large laboratories for the development of research is never a priority in the humanities as it is in the sciences. The issue of cataloguing is compounded by what Simon Eliot terms the “messy, mixed, multiple and muddled nature” of publishers’ archives” (Eliot, 2002, 78). While some collections reach repositories in a sorted or semi-​catalogued state, in-​house ordering is rarely more than rudimentary. Editorial and correspondence files are fairly easily catalogued, although in the case of many publishers, especially those operating in the nineteenth century, outgoing correspondence is preserved in duplicate form in “letter books,” making cataloguing by author a laborious and perhaps unnecessary task. Outside editorial correspondence, however, there are vast quantities of material that can only ever be partially catalogued. For example, in the George Allen & Unwin archive at Reading, the correspondence records, along with the collection of readers’ reports, have all been catalogued on the library’s general cataloguing system, but the financial records, production ledgers, records of payments to authors, stock figures, advertising costs, outgoing correspondence, payment records for overseas shipments, and numerous other records relating to non-​editorial aspects of the business are not catalogued, nor could they ever effectively be catalogued. A researcher, therefore, in search of answers to questions about the history of a publishing firm’s activities—​or even the publishing history of a single author or text—​has to be prepared to sift through large amounts of material that was not preserved for that particular purpose.

Public and Private Ownership: Two Case Studies The tensions between commerce, heritage, and scholarship discussed so far are further complicated by the issue of public and private ownership. This relates to those companies who have deposited rather than donated or sold their archives to libraries. In such instances there is a partnership between a public institution and a private organization, and the motives and responsibilities of both will inevitably be different. They might also fluctuate over time with changing policies or changing commercial ownership. One such example is the Archive of Random House Publishers held at Reading. This collection includes the historical records of numerous publishing houses including Jonathan Cape, the Bodley Head Ltd., the Hogarth Press, and Chatto & Windus. The initial deposit was made in 1982 by the company Cape, Chatto, Bodley Head, which was then taken over by Random House later in the decade. The Random House archive has since grown and the company has also established its own Random House Library and Archive where (as with Macmillan) contracts and files relevant to the current business are stored. The vast bulk of the material, however, remains on deposit at Reading where it is administered by the university’s Archives and Special Collections Services. Random House (which in 2013 became part of Penguin Random House) remains committed to making its historical records available for scholarly research and has provided financial support for a university employee to oversee cataloguing of the archive. The company, however, also holds a duty of care towards its authors and

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their estates, the interests of which are affected by the archive being made accessible to the public. The company is at risk of litigation on grounds of privacy, and there have been instances where authors or authors’ estates have invoked privacy laws to prevent documents being made available to researchers. For Random House, maintaining the confidence of authors and their estates is a key business requirement, and legally, as creators/​owners of the archive, the company remains the “arbiter of access” (Tyacke, 2005, 215n16). Its recent policy has been to require researchers to obtain permission from individual authors or authors’ estates to access sensitive material (mainly correspondence files but also readers’ reports on manuscripts). While it is easy to understand the motives behind such a policy, there are attendant problems for the working practices of both archivists and researchers. From the perspective of the repository, there is the potential that portions of a privately owned archive stored in a publically resourced institution might be inaccessible for scholarly use. An added complication is that universities are subject to the Freedom of Information Act, which came into effect in 2005 and which entitles members of the public to request information held in publicly funded organizations. From the researcher’s perspective, restricted access imposes an impediment over and above that normally encountered with copyright and privacy laws. Researchers are accustomed to seeking permission from copyright holders to quote from unpublished material in archives, but it is unusual for permission to be required simply to access material which is available in a public institution and by extension made open for the purposes of scholarly research. These are the kinds of problems that can arise when an archive is made available for research purposes but remains privately owned. They should not be insurmountable and a working arrangement that accommodates the responsibilities of both owner/​creator and custodian yet facilitates the scholarly use of historical records is of paramount importance for all parties. The situation is compounded by the peculiar characteristics of publishers’ archives. The issue of exactly what material can be identified as sensitive and thus potentially closed to access is complicated. Researchers seeking an overview of a firm’s publishing activity will want to trace its dealings with printers, binders, booksellers, other publishers, etc. This can be done only by having free access to the full range of correspondence (incoming and outgoing) as well as all other parts of the archive. The problem is that copyright and privacy laws are primarily author-​driven. Yet it is not always possible to determine the authorial origin of material in a publisher’s archive. For example, in both the Jonathan Cape and Chatto & Windus archives there are collections of readers’ reports on manuscripts submitted to the firms. In many cases it is possible from internal evidence and knowledge of a firm’s history to determine the author of individual reports. Between 1909 and 1926 the novelist and critic Frank Swinnerton was the chief reader at Chatto while Cape’s main reader in mid-​century was William Plomer, who worked for the firm from 1937 to 1973 (see Nash, 2003; Low, 2012). Housed alongside the reports by these two salaried readers, however, are many other reports in different, sometimes unidentified, hands. Determining the author of an individual report, and gaining that author’s or author’s estate’s permission

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to view their unpublished commentary on a submitted manuscript is difficult, perhaps impossible. Furthermore, it is unhelpful to a scholar seeking to understand the entirety of a firm’s operations if only those reports which can be identified as belonging to a particular author are made available. A different example of the interface between public and private ownership—​ one pertaining to the moment of acquisition—​is the John Murray archive mentioned briefly above, which was acquired by the National Library of Scotland in 2006.6 The Murray archive is a large publishing collection which includes original manuscripts by Byron, Jane Austen, and Charles Darwin among others. It was originally valued by Quaritch, the rare book and manuscript dealers, at a minimum value of £45 million. It was offered to the National Library of Scotland, however, by the Murray family for £33m, subject to funding from various sources. Although this was a price significantly less than its commercial value, the offer received criticism in the press, notably from the historian Owen Dudley Edwards who called upon the Murray family to drop their price in a bid to save the collection for Scotland, claiming that the £33m figure lacked “public spirit” (Scotsman, December 21, 2004). Eventually, a grant of £17.7m from the Heritage Lottery Fund together with additional funding provided by the Scottish Executive and monies raised by the National Library enabled the archive to be acquired. If it had been placed on the open market it would probably have been broken up and sold abroad for a much larger sum. The acquisition of the Murray archive is an example of public money being used to fund the retention of national heritage materials, even if that money had to come via a circuitous route. Furthermore, the millions spent by the Scottish taxpayer and the British lottery player was never intended to line the pockets of the family (as might have first appeared), but was paid into a charitable trust used for cataloguing, conserving, and digitizing the archive, and for developing public engagement and educational projects. Without the significant amount of money attached to the acquisition via that trust, the National Library would not have been able to provide the same standard of curatorial handling and archival enhancement. The archive’s dissemination includes the digitization of some 15,000 images, a website providing the main catalogue, and other biographical, bibliographic, and interpretive sources. The charitable trust also promotes other conservation activities in the UK and works with the National Library in educational and promotional projects, serving a more diverse audience in addition to traditional scholarly users.

The Use of Publishers’ Archives in Literary Scholarship Literary scholarship has been slow to assimilate itself to developments in the discipline of book history, and the “business” of writing and publishing is too often separated from the act of critical interpretation. Even in those ventures which demonstrate a commitment to incorporating book-​historical perspectives on literary 6 I am indebted to David McClay, curator at the National Library of Scotland, for factual information contained in this section. See also McClay, 2010.

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history, such as the two multi-​volume series the Oxford English Literary History (2002–​) and the Oxford History of the Novel in English (2011–​), the chapters on authorship, publishing, bookselling, reading, etc. are placed at the front of the main narrative, where they run the risk of acting like a preface to the subsequent critical discussion, rather than forming part of an integrated approach to the subject. The main way in which publishers’ archives have contributed to literary scholarship is in studies of individual publishing houses or books and essays on major canonical authors. The Macmillan archive, in its various locations, has been widely exploited, advancing research into major nineteenth-​and twentieth-​ century authors, including Tennyson, Hardy, W. B. Yeats, and Henry James (see James, 2002). Editions of the firm’s correspondence with James, Lewis Carroll, Walter Pater, and Edith Wharton have also been produced. The new availability of the John Murray archive is likely to prompt similar research. A trailblazing account of Jane Austen’s dealings with the firm has already been produced (Sutherland, 2013). One area where publishers’ archives have begun to be used more extensively is literary biography. Historically, it was only when a biographer had privileged access to book trade records that an author’s relations with his or her publisher were closely documented. For example, Lovat Dickson, who worked for Macmillan from 1938–​1964, drew extensively on that firm’s records for his biographical study of H. G. Wells, H. G. Wells: His Turbulent Life and Times (1969). As archives have become more readily available, however, literary biography has developed to the point where a writer’s relations with publishers, agents, and the literary marketplace are now perceived as an integral part of the biographer’s art. Nevertheless, there is considerable range in the extent to which biographers exploit available evidence. For example, Peter Conradi’s authorized life of Iris Murdoch, published in 2001, contains only a handful of references to the vital relationship between Murdoch and her publisher Norah Smallwood, whom the author considered “a combination of comrade, leader, mother, business partner and muse” (quoted in Nash, 2015, 26). By contrast, John Carey’s biography of William Golding is underpinned by extensive information drawn from the Faber & Faber archives, particularly correspondence between the author and his influential editor, Charles Monteith. Shy and “scornful of publicity,” Golding “was strongly averse to the idea of a biography being written in his lifetime” (Carey, 2009, ix). Carey was invited to write his book by the novelist’s daughter and had unrestricted access to a private archive which remains in the hands of the family. But the permission given by Faber & Faber (publisher of the resultant biography) to make use of its own records—​an archive which, historically, has been notoriously difficult to access—​is the outstanding feature of Carey’s portrait of Golding’s writing career, laying bare the “spectacularly successful working relationship” (p. x) he enjoyed with Monteith. The nature of the evidence to be found in publishers’ archives has not only nuanced the art of literary biography, however. It has contributed to the emergence of a new—​albeit still underdeveloped—​field of “textual biography.” Simon Gatrell’s foundational Hardy the Creator: A Textual Biography (1988) sets out to show “how insights into the development of separate texts might be seen in relationship to the

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growth of Hardy’s career as a novelist” (p. ix), combining evidence from publishers’ archives with the study of extant manuscripts and published versions of texts.7 Textual biography represents the point when biographical scholarship meets and interlinks with the theory and practice of textual editing. In the case of one author, W. B. Yeats, evidence from a publisher’s archive fuelled an intricate, hotly contested, debate about the textual arrangement of the author’s work (see Gould, 2002). That debate demonstrated how, as source material, publishers’ archives have destabilized traditional notions of authorial intention and forced scholars into a deeper understanding of how the material conditions of cultural production form literary texts and authors’ careers.

Coda One large topic remains to be discussed, and here only very briefly. In the increasingly digital environment of libraries and humanities scholarship the issues outlined above—​the problems of ownership and access, copyright and privacy, cataloguing and preservation—​become ever more complicated. Publishers’ archives offer considerable potential for digital humanities projects, but the enormous costs involved in digitizing such large collections, and the complications arising from the multiplicity of stakeholders and copyright owners, are formidable obstacles. Furthermore, as discussed above, the range of documentary material to be found in a book trade archive makes the digital reproduction of an entire collection a challenging, if not impossible, task. In the 1970s Chadwyck-​Healey successfully microfilmed a selection of book trade archives in a series entitled “The Archives of British Publishers on Microfilm.” These proved valuable in enabling book history research, not least for the way they brought together dispersed collections, such as the archives of Richard Bentley & Son, divided between several repositories in the USA and the UK. They were, however, extremely expensive (understandably so), and in some instances amounted to reproductions only of portions of an entire archive because of the difficulty of photographing certain kinds of documentary material. Digital reproductions will likely follow a similar model. One initiative, still very much in its infancy, the Modernist Archives Publishing Project, has wisely adopted an approach that identifies particular kinds of documentary material ripe for digitization, initially drawn from one major archive, the Hogarth Press.8 In 2002, a volume based on a conference on Digital Access to Book Trade Archives held in The Hague, Netherlands, struck an optimistic note: “With the infrastructure provided by the networked computer, the world lies at our feet in a technical sense” (Dongelmans et al., 2002, vii). Fifteen years on that technical world is still at our feet. But the obstacles of the legal, political, and financial world are also clearly in view. 7 On the concept of textual biography as a component and extension of literary biography and textual criticism, see also Atkins, 1998; Gould, 1998. 8 See www.modernistarchives.com/​content/​about-​project.

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Bibliography Atkins, Antony. “Textual Biography: Writing the Lives of Books.” In Writing the Lives of Writers, edited by Warwick Gould and Thomas F. Staley, 277–​ 92. Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1998. Bott, Michael. “The Archive of British Publishers at Reading University Library.” Leipziger Jahrbuch zur Buchgeschichte 2 (1992): 439–​48. Briggs, Asa. A History of Longmans and Their Books, 1724–​1990: Longevity in Publishing. London: British Library, 2008. Carey, John. William Golding: The Man Who Wrote “Lord of the Flies”. London: Faber, 2009. Dongelmans, Berry, Ad Leerintveld, and Adriaan van der Weel, eds. Digital Access to Book Trade Archives. Leiden: Academic Press Leiden, 2002. Edwards, J. A. “Publishers’ Archives at Reading University.” Business Archives 45 (1979):  27–​30. Eliot, Simon. “Two Catalogues, Three Projects—​and a Tentative Proposal.” In Digital Access to Book Trade Archives, edited by Berry Dongelmans, Ad Leerintveld, and Adriaan van der Weel, 69–​83. Leiden: Academic Press Leiden, 2002. Fredeman, William E. “The Bibliographical Significance of a Publisher’s Archive: The Macmillan Papers.” Studies in Bibliography 23 (1970): 183–​91. Gatrell, Simon. Hardy the Creator. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988. Gould, Warwick. “‘Witch’ or ‘Bitch’—​Which?: Yeats, Archives, and the Profession of Authorship.” In Writing the Lives of Writers, edited by Warwick Gould and Thomas F. Staley, 173–​90. Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1998. ———​. “W. B. Yeats on the Road to St Martin’s Street, 1900–​17.” In Macmillan: A Publishing Tradition, edited by Elizabeth James, 192–​ 217. Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002. James, Elizabeth. “Introduction.” In Macmillan: A Publishing Tradition, edited by Elizabeth James, 1–​10. Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002. Low, Gail. “Reading the Reader: William Plomer at Jonathan Cape.” In Postcolonial Audiences, edited by Bethan Benwell, James Procter, and Gemma Robinson, 86–​ 98. New York: Routledge, 2012. McClay, David. “Charles Darwin and the John Murray Archive.” Archives 35 (2010):  45–​57. Nash, Andrew. “A Publisher’s Reader on the Verge of Modernity: The Case of Frank Swinnerton.” Book History 6 (2003): 175–​95. ———​. “The Material History of the Novel, 1940–​1973.” In The Oxford History of the Novel in English. Vol. 7: British and Irish Fiction since 1940, edited by Peter Boxall and Bryan Cheyette, 21–​36. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Sutherland, Kathryn. “Jane Austen’s Dealings with John Murray and His Firm.” Review of English Studies 64 (2013): 105–​26. Tyacke, Sarah. “Archives in a Wider World: The Culture and Politics of Archives.” In The Commonwealth of Books: Essays in Honour of Ian Willison, edited by Wallace Kirsop, 209–​26. Centre for the Book: Monash University, 2005.

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Chapter 11

DIASPORIC ARCHIVES IN TRANSLATION RESEARCH:  A CASE STUDY OF ANTHONY BURGESS’S ARCHIVES SERENELLA ZANOTTI

The “Archival Turn” in Translation Studies In recent years, archival methods have been rapidly gaining ground in the field of Translation Studies. This renewed interest in the history of translation and its material dimension has resulted in unprecedented attention to translators’ archives, the material conditions of their work, and the traces left by translatorial activity (see for instance Munday, 2014; Raine, 2014; Qi, 2016; Paloposki, 2017), leading to consolidation and significant expansion of archival-​based translation scholarship, which seems to point to an “archival turn” in Translation Studies. As Jeremy Munday (2012; 2013) points out, the study of primary sources such as translators’ manuscripts and correspondence may open windows into the translation process and decision-​making, but it also has the potential to open up new perspectives on translation history (Munday, 2014), by putting the translator as an individual at the centre of the scene (Pym, 2009). Archives have been recognized as the best sources for recovering and reconstructing a translator’s intellectual biography (D’hulst, 2001; Dawkin, 2014), and for investigating agency. As Paloposki (2009, 196) suggests, translators’ manuscripts and correspondence allow us a glimpse not only of individual decision-​making processes but also, and more importantly perhaps, of the limits of the translator’s power. As Deborah Dawkin suggests, translators’ drafts and translation-​related correspondence are the two main areas that have been investigated by Translation Studies scholars to date. While the study of translation drafts and related documents allows access to the process of decision-​making, examination of “the correspondence between translators and their editors and publishers, the original author and even censors” helps to shed light on a most crucial and certainly quite underexplored aspect, i.e. “that translation is rarely carried out in blissful solitude by a translator, but [is] rather the product of many agents in collaboration (or dispute)” (Dawkin, 2014, 33), as pointed out by recent research on collaborative translation (see Cordingley and Frigau Manning, 2016).

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Looking at translators’ papers from an archivist point of view, Helen Melody (2014, 41) argues that what is specific to this type of material is that it “require[s]‌archivists to think differently as the nature of a translator’s work crosses geographical and language barriers. […] Decisions about exactly what should be collected also require identification of the types of material which would be of interest to researchers.” An interesting approach has been put forward by María Costanza Guzmán (2013, 172), who stretches the notion of the “translator’s archive” to encompass “a composition of the translations themselves, of other writing products and practices, as well as of the translator’s biography.” Guzmán suggests that the notion of the translator’s archive should be extended “beyond the strictly textual, so as to involve the translator’s lives and experiences” (pp. 180–​81). By combining archival and ethnographic approaches, Guzmán proposes a method of inquiry that “is not limited to the archive’s materiality, to the translator’s written statements, but which includes translators’ biographies, their practices, the agents involved in the translating event, and the relations among them” (p. 179). Another important strand of research is concerned with genetic methods (Durand-​Bogaert, 2014; Agostini-​Ouafi and Lavieri, 2015; Cordingley and Montini, 2015; Montini, 2016; Bollettieri and Zanotti, forthcoming). In the view of genetic translation scholars, “translators’ archives should no longer be considered the curiosities of the scholar or collector but rather essential resources for understanding the processes engaged in the act of translation” (Cordingley and Montini, 2015, 14). According to Sergio Romanelli (2015, 88), looking at translation from the perspective of the edited text impoverishes the analysis, as it results in the translator’s role being disregarded. Conversely, the genetic approach offers “the opportunity to study the translation process empirically, looking at the operating mechanisms from within” (p. 102), thus making visible the translator’s work as well as “those elements that characterize [it] (poetical, social, human interferences) and that constrain it but that disappear in the edited text” (ibid.). The usefulness of textual genetics lies in the fact that, by examining “the material traces of the translation process” (Van Hulle, 2015, 45), it “allows the researcher to delve deeper not only into the mechanics of translation as a craft, but also the affects it produces” (Karpinski, 2015, 36) and the multitude of voices that crowd a translation’s story. As Cordingley and Montini (2015, 13) rightly argue, genetic translation studies make it possible to establish “the many hands that contribute to the translation process,” thus marking a shift towards the collaborative paradigm in translation research, which proposes a model of translation “constructed around a plurality of actors and processes.”

Diasporic Archives and Dispersed Collections in Translation Research One of the issues that translation scholars are faced with is the fact that translation-​ related material is very often dispersed across different locations, which most typically, though not exclusively, coincide with authors’, publishers’, and translators’ archives. It must be pointed out, however, that very little attention has been paid

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to the implications that the diasporic nature of literary archives has for translation research. This is quite surprising, though, given that dispersed papers constitute a recurring problem. Translators’ papers are in fact less likely to be preserved in dedicated collections than among authors’ papers or in publishers’ archives, thus tending to end up scattered across various collections. As David Sutton observes, “[t]‌he scattering of literary papers in diverse and unpredictable locations is thus one of their defining characteristics”: In contrast with most other types of archives—​business archives, medical archives, architectural archives, religious archives or municipal archives—​ literary archives are often scattered in diverse locations without any sense of appropriateness or “spirit of place.” Sutton, 2014, 296

The existence of “split collections” is thus an almost defining characteristics of literary papers, for “[i]‌n addition to their tendency to end up very far from home, [they] are often found, for any one author, to be divided between several collecting institutions” (Sutton, 2014, 297). The Anthony Burgess papers offer a classic example of a split collection. After the writer’s death, Anthony Burgess’s papers were dispersed across three main repositories: the Anthony Burgess Papers at the Harry Ransom Center at Austin, Texas; the Anthony Burgess archives at the Anthony Burgess Centre, University of Angers; and the International Anthony Burgess Foundation in Manchester. Like other similar cases (e.g. Samuel Beckett, James Joyce), the collection of Anthony Burgess is “a collection which can only make archival sense by constant cross-​ referencing” to the collections by the same author in other repositories (Sutton, 2014, 296). In what follows, I  will illustrate the difficulties translation scholars are faced with in dealing with manuscripts located in split collections. The work presented in this chapter builds on previous research by the author (Zanotti and Bollettieri, 2015; Bollettieri and Zanotti, 2014) and discusses the ways in which the dispersion of literary papers affects our understanding of a translation’s genesis as well as the implications that the “diaspora of literary manuscripts” (Sutton, 2014, 297) may have for historical translation research. The study focuses on translation-​related material in the Anthony Burgess archives. More specifically, it examines the surviving manuscripts relating to a translation project carried out by Anthony Burgess and Italian actor Mario Maranzana for a stage adaptation of Burgess’s Blooms of Dublin (Burgess, 1986; henceforth BD).

Studying Translations across Dispersed Collections: The Case of Anthony Burgess’s Blooms of Dublin and its Aborted Italian Version

Blooms of Dublin is a musical version of James Joyce’s Ulysses by Anthony Burgess. It was first broadcast by BBC Radio 3, simultaneously from Dublin and London,

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on February 2, 1982, to celebrate the first centenary of Joyce’s birth. The libretto was originally entitled The Blooms of Dublin but, as Burgess recalls, “the BBC announcer, inspired, cut out the definite article, thus emphasizing what had once flowered in the city and not an implausible half-​Jew whom no Dubliner could believe might ever have lived there” (2002, 370–​74). That Joyce did not find the inspiration for the character Leopold Bloom in Dublin but in Trieste is an idea that Burgess had endorsed in an article published in The New York Times as early as in January 1982: Being full of sailors, Trieste was a convivial town, and Joyce drank more than he earned. It was full of Jews, who were more welcome there than in other cities of the empire, and Joyce was able to dream up a Leopold Bloom, the father-​seeking-​a-​son of Ulysses, with an authentic Jewish background—​difficult to do in Dublin, where the Jewish population was small (according to Mr. Deasy, in Ulysses, it is nonexistent). Leopold Bloom is more a Triestine figure than a Dublin one. Burgess, 1982

As will be shown, it was from this initial intuition, and long before the libretto was published in book form, that the project of an Italian stage adaptation of Blooms of Dublin was devised. It must be pointed out that Burgess was not only a prolific writer but also an equally prolific composer (see Phillips, 2010). According to its author, Blooms of Dublin is “a musical adaptation in a popular mode” of Joyce’s Ulysses (Burgess, 1986, 11). It was “the kind of thing Joyce might have envisaged, or earned for his characters. He was the great master of the ordinary, and my music is ordinary enough. I had felt for some time that he might have had demotic musicalization in mind” (Burgess, 2002, 371). As Burgess stated in his Re Joyce, the importance of song in Joyce’s works is evident, especially in Ulysses, which “sings all the way or, when it does not sing, it declaims or intones.” This made it particularly apt to “be turned into an opera” (Burgess, 1965, 28). As Phillips observes, “Blooms of Dublin presents Ulysses in a form celebrating the popular musical culture of Joyce’s Dublin” (2010, 266). According to Zack Bowen, the music of Blooms of Dublin was “something of a cross between Broadway musical comedy and Dublin bawdy” (2002). Selections from Joyce’s novel alternated with songs (thirty-​seven in total), which were “in the style of Gilbert and Sullivan” (Bowen, 2002). According to Bowen, the reason for interspersing Joyce’s musical verbiage with new tunes and lyrics composed by Burgess himself was […] two-​fold: first, to offer a new essentially comic twist to the text to call attention to its already comic and musical tone […]; and secondly to afford Burgess the pleasure of participating in an artistic collaboration with Joyce himself in creating a new Ulysses somewhat different from the original, but intended more for a popular audience. Bowen, 2002

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As pointed out by Bowen, the result of this authorial rewriting was “an ingeniously creative textual explication which conveys a strong sense of the presence of the explicator (Burgess) as well as the author” (2002). In his Introduction to the published libretto, Burgess anticipated that Blooms of Dublin was to have “a theatrical future as well as a radio past” (Burgess, 1986, 11). As early as in the summer of 1982, he embarked on the project of adapting his musical for the stage in collaboration with Mario Maranzana (1930–​2012), an Italian actor, stage director, and scriptwriter he had met in Rome in the late 1970s. They were assisted by Burgess’s Italian wife Liliana Macellari, an Italian translator and literary agent.1 In his autobiography, Burgess describes Maranzana as “an actor friend” who recited the originals of Gioacchino Belli’s poems that Burgess had translated into English at a recital hosted by the Accademia Americana in Rome.2 In Burgess’s own words, Maranzana was a Triestine who could manage most of the Italian dialects. He had dubbed the speech of the prison officer in Arancia Meccanica. For him I had contrived a Falstaff play out of the better Italian versions of Shakespeare. He was himself a Falstaffian figure, gross, full of gross language. Cazzo was never out of his mouth. […] He called himself a communist and Solzhenitsyn a traitor. Obscene and blasphemous Belli was up his street. Burgess, 2002, 328

That the project of an Italian theatrical version of Blooms of Dublin was almost contemporary to the radio broadcasting of 1982 is demonstrated by tape recordings of discussions between Burgess and Maranzana, all of which revolved around Joyce’s Ulysses and Blooms of Dublin.3 The meetings took place in Trieste in the summer of the same year. As will be shown in the following sections, these recordings provide a fascinating documentation of Burgess’s approach to Ulysses, as well as important information regarding the Italian translation of the libretto. Diasporic Collections, Collective Authorship, and Translation in the Archives Blooms of Dublin offers a good illustration of the complexities involved in recons­ tructing the genesis of a translation project whose material traces are dispersed across different collections. The interest of this project lies as much in its bearing witness to Burgess’s lifelong interest in Joyce, amply documented in his publications 1 She translated, among others, Thomas Pynchon’s novels V. and The Crying of Lot 49, as well as Burgess’s A Malayan Trilogy and Earthly Powers. 2 The translated poems were included in the novel Abba (1977). 3 The original tapes are in the possession of Maranzana’s widow, Maria Luisa Rado, who kindly put her husband’s papers and other useful materials at our disposal. I want to thank her for her kindness and for sharing her memories with me and with Rosa Maria Bollettieri.

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and biographies,4 as in the Italian adaptation itself.5 The rich documentation that was produced during the translation process is scattered in three main collections: • the Anthony Burgess Papers at the Harry Ransom Center in Austin, Texas (HRC);6 • the International Anthony Burgess Foundation, based in Manchester, UK (IABF);

• Mario Maranzana’s personal papers, owned by his widow Maria Luisa Rado and located in Rome.

The manuscripts that were considered most relevant for the purposes of this study are the following:

1) a typescript entitled “I Bloom di Dublino,” consisting of seventy-​six photocopied, numbered pages with corrections in pen and pencil (HRC, Anthony Burgess Papers, Manuscript Collection, box 5, folder 4, henceforth HRC 5.4);

2) a typescript with corrections in pen bearing the inscription “Ulysses Part II Italian version,” which starts on p. 78 with the “Oxen of the Sun” chapter and ends on p. 123 with an incomplete “Penelope” chapter (HRC, Anthony Burgess Papers, Manuscript Collection MS-​0601, box 48, folder 9, henceforth HRC 48.9);

3) a typescript with the title “Ulissea, commedia musicale di Anthony Burgess” (act 1), adapted and translated by Mario Maranzana, consisting of 121 pages with handwritten corrections and annotations in pencil and ink (IABF box 2 folder 7, henceforth IABF 2.7); 4) a typescript dated 20 February 1993 and entitled “ ‘Ulyssea’. Musical di Anthony Burgess,” consisting of sixty-​five pages with annotations and corrections by Burgess and others. On the cover page, the text is presented as a theatrical adaptation by Mario Maranzana, translated by Liana Macellari and Mario Maranzana, and revised by Edmo Fenoglio (IABF box 2, folder 5, henceforth IABF 2.5);7

5) a typescript entitled Ulyssea, consisting of 180 bound pages bearing corrections in pen, as well as additions on small pieces of paper glued onto the pages, resulting from the assemblage of various versions in different typewriting styles (Maranzana, personal papers, henceforth Maranzana); 6) seven loose, numbered, pink paper sheets containing a translation of Molly’s monologue in Liana Macellari’s handwriting; on the back of the sheets there are notes in Maranzana’s handwriting (Maranzana, personal papers, henceforth L. Burgess).

4 See Burgess, 1965, 1966; Biswell, 2005, 32n4. 5 On genetic approaches applied to the performing arts see Lebrave, 2009. 6 The author wishes to thank the International Anthony Burgess Foundation, Manchester, UK for granting permission to publish extracts from manuscripts held at the International Anthony Burgess Foundation and at the Harry Ransom Research Center in Austin, Texas. 7 According to Maria Luisa Rado, this is the version that was officially registered with the Italian Authors’ and Publishers’ Copyright Agency (SIAE) at the beginning of 1993 (personal communication).

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This rich documentation is supplemented by tape recordings of Maranzana’s discussions with Anthony Burgess and his wife Liana regarding the project. They met several times, not only in Rome, where the Maranzanas lived, but also in Bracciano, where the Burgesses lived, and in Trieste, where the musical was to be performed. The conversations were recorded on two tapes labelled “Discussion,” and dated July 31 and August 2, 1982 respectively. In addition to various audio and manuscript materials, which are mostly typewritten drafts of the text that Maranzana was preparing for the Italian stage, Maranzana’s papers include musical scores with Italian versions of the lyrics by Liana Burgess. The surviving manuscripts provide us a glimpse of the project as it evolved over a decade, between 1982 and 1993. A musical entitled Ulyssea, based on Burgess’s Blooms of Dublin and adapted by Mario Maranzana, was to be staged by Teatro Comunale “Giuseppe Verdi” in Trieste, Sala Tripcovich, in June 1993. Listed as the last event in the 1992–​1993 theatrical programme, in the end it was never performed. As pointed out by Elisabetta D’Erme (2015), who carried out research in the archive of Teatro Verdi, various factors contributed to the failed staging of Ulyssea. These include delays in finalizing the text of the Italian version as well as lack of communication and understanding between the translators, the author, the theatre, and Burgess’s agent. The HRC Manuscripts As mentioned above, there are two typescripts in the Burgess collection at the Harry Ransom Center that relate to this project:  one is filed among the documents pertaining to Blooms of Dublin (HRC 5.4); the other features in another section of the archive and is described as “Ulysses, Italian translation typescript fragments, n.d.” (HRC 48.9). The connection with Burgess’s opera is therefore not immediately apparent. The typescript entitled “I Bloom di Dublino” (HRC 5.4) contains a fairly literal translation of Burgess’s libretto. The manuscript displays corrections and annotations in two different handwritings, one of them being clearly identifiable with that of Mario Maranzana (Bollettieri and Zanotti, 2014). Since a copy of this typescript was found among his papers, it seems plausible to suggest that this translation was done to assist Maranzana in his work on the Italian stage adaptation, as his command of the English language was very limited. A more elaborate translation of Blooms of Dublin is to be found in the other manuscript (HRC 48.9), which led us to hypothesize that it was carried out at a different stage and with a different purpose by the same or a different translator. An illustrative example is provided by the excerpt below, where we find an almost verbatim transcription of the chant that opens the chapter “Oxen of the Sun” in Joyce’s Ulysses: WOMEN: Send us, bright one, light one, horhorn, quickening and womb-​ fruit. (BD, p. 57) DONNE: Inviaci, splendore, lumen, numen, ravviva, frutto del ventre. (HRC 5.4, p. 41) [Women: Send us, splendour, lumen, numen, quicken, womb-​fruit]

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DONNE: Dacci, clarus, levis, cornus, hornus, fructum ventris. (HRC 48.9, p. 71) [Women: Give us, clarus, levis, cornus, hornus, fructum ventris]

The second translation clearly emphasizes the Latin element, which aligns the translated text with Burgess’s reading of Joyce’s chapter. As Burgess explains in one of the recorded conversations with Maranzana, in “Oxen of the Sun” Anglo-​Saxon and Latin represent the masculine and feminine elements respectively: Burgess: Comincia adesso la vera drama, la vera narrativa. … Nel libro Joyce presenta la storia, la narrativa in forma di una storia della lingua inglese cominciando con i due elementi, il anglosassone e il latino, maschio e femmina, che si mescolano e producono e parlano in una forma di inglese molto strano. [Burgess: The real drama, the real narrative starts now … In his book Joyce presents the story, the narrative as a history of the English language starting from two elements, the Anglo-​Saxon and the Latin, the male and female element respectively, which mix and produce a very strange kind of English.]8

This other example, from a scene based on the “Circe” chapter of Ulysses, reveals that the translation in HRC 48.9 adopted a different approach to the Shakespearean allusions in Burgess’s text: BLOOM: This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke. By heaven, I am guiltless as the unsunned snow! (BD, p. 71) BLOOM: Questa è follia di mezz’estate. Qualche scherzo agghiacciante. Per dio, sono innocente come la neve sulla quale non ha mai battuto il sole. (HRC 5.4, pp. 56–​57)

[BLOOM: This is midsummer madness. Some dreadful joke. By God, I am innocent as snow where the sun has never shone]

BLOOM: Ma questa è una pazzia di \fine di/​ primavera avanzata. Uno scherzo orribile. Sa il Cielo se non sono innocente come neve senz’ombra di sole. (HRC 48.9, p. 89) [BLOOM: This is end of spring madness. Some terrible joke. God knows if I am not as innocent as unsunned snow]

What makes HRC 48.9 especially interesting is the presence of typewritten annotations such as the following: “Anthony Burgess desidera sopprimere questo numero” [Anthony Burgess wants to delete this song], which can be found on page 72 in reference to Song No. 18, and “ANTHONY NON HA ANCORA DECISO TRA MODIFICARE O SOPPRIMERE IL No. 19” [Anthony has not yet decided whether to modify or delete song No. 19], which appears on page 74. This seems to suggest that the translation was carried out under Burgess’s supervision, probably by his wife Liana. 8 Tape 1 (A) Discussion, 34.46’–​35.27’.

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The IABF Manuscripts The manuscripts located at the IABF display close similarity, even though they clearly stem from different stages in the translation process. Significant departures from the source text are already evident in the title pages, where the original title Blooms of Dublin is replaced by a new one, Ulissea (IABF 2.7 and Maranzana)/​Ulyssea (IABF 2.5), which clearly brings the Homeric element to the fore. Even more significant are the departures occurring at the textual level. One of the Manchester manuscripts (IABF 2.7) contains only Act 1 and bears evidence of an original project by Maranzana involving a radical rewriting of Blooms of Dublin. This new script started with an elaborate overture that included the projection of a film where the same actors that were to play Stephen, Bloom, and Molly in the musical appeared as Telemachus, Odysseus, and Penelope in a Homeric setting. The manuscript contains a rather free adaptation of Blooms of Dublin that at some point Maranzana submitted to Burgess for approval. There are corrections, deletions, and revisions, some of which provide evidence that Burgess did read the manuscript. For example, on page 14 the vocative Dedalus! was reinserted possibly by Burgess himself (“Come up, Dedalus. Come up, you fearful Jesuit.”) and the translation for the epithet fearful was changed (pauroso “fearful” > orribile “dreadful”). This manuscript thus seems to be the first draft of Ulyssea, a text which was amended by the author and subsequently re-​written by the translator–​ adapter, as evidenced by the complete manuscript in Maranzana’s archive. IABF 2.7 also shows that the core idea of the project was to establish a parallel between Joyce’s Dublin and the Italian city of Trieste, where the Irish writer lived for more than ten years, and to use the Triestine dialect and setting as a means for evoking and transposing the Irish element in Ulysses. This identification is confirmed by the poster for the musical as outlined in the manuscript (IABF 2.7, p. 6), which labelled Joyce as “scrittore eirotriestino” (“Irish-​Triestine writer”). As we shall see, the problem of how to linguistically mark Bloom’s speech was a central object of discussion in the recorded conversations and the decision made was to have him speak like a Triestine. Adapting Ulysses for the Stage: The Tape Recordings In the summer of 1982 Burgess and Maranzana met several times in Trieste to discuss their project. Their recorded conversations, as found in the tapes located in Maranzana’s papers, centred on various aspects of Blooms of Dublin, which they commented on scene by scene as they listened to a recording of the BBC broadcast version, with Maranzana posing questions on Joyce’s Ulysses and Burgess offering his interpretation of crucial passages. The aim of these discussions was to serve as a preliminary stage in approaching the theatrical adaptation that Maranzana was to prepare. Focusing on both textual and performance levels, they addressed aspects they thought would be most challenging in translation. Burgess’s wife Liana had an active role in the meetings: not only did she translate passages of the libretto, but she also discussed possible translation solutions with Maranzana. For example, there was a lot of brainstorming as to how to translate the name of the horse Throwaway (BD, p. 29) and that of Molly Bloom’s lover Blazes Boylan (BD, p. 30; tape 2B, 43.47’).

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Since Blooms of Dublin in its Italian adaptation was to have a Triestine setting, it is not surprising that a major part in the discussion was devoted to the linguistic characterization of Leopold Bloom and the way it could be transposed into Italian. Burgess explained that Bloom does not have a markedly Dublin accent; rather, he speaks cultivated English with Celtic vowels (“un inglese coltivato, colto con i vocali celtici”). The solution proposed by Maranzana was to have him speak cultivated Triestine with an accent characteristic of the Jews of Trieste, a sweet way of speaking (“una parlata molto dolce”). Burgess commented that this was exactly the situation (“È esattamente la situazione”), since Bloom has the reasoning voice of an intellectual, which is markedly in contrast to that of his brutal interlocutors (tape 2A, 44’). Collaborative Translation or Translation in Parallel? Though this may in actual fact not be the case with the HRC manuscripts, it does seem, from what we have seen so far, that the project called Ulyssea was intended to propose a “triestinized” version of Blooms of Dublin, which involved substantial changes and additions to the text of Burgess’s libretto. At the same time, if read together, the manuscripts seem to suggest that two different projects were actually carried out at different moments in time: the first, undertaken by Mario Maranzana, initially under Burgess’s supervision, aimed at producing an adaptation for the stage that emphasized both the Homeric and the Triestine element, which resulted in significant departures from the text of Blooms of Dublin (manuscripts IABF 2.7 and 2.5, Maranzana); the second, which aimed to offer a more source-​oriented version of Blooms of Dublin (manuscript HRC 48.9). The translation of Molly’s monologue contained in the handwritten pages located in Maranzana’s personal papers can without doubt be attributed to Liana Burgess. It was probably because Molly’s monologue had remained incomplete in manuscript HRC 5.4 that this translation was produced. As illustrated by the following passage from Molly Bloom’s monologue, both HRC 5.4 and the handwritten translation by Liana Burgess provided the textual basis on which the Ulyssea project was developed: That time, that kiss, the first real one, but then he had to put his hand where he did, excited with it, and then I had to go to Father Corrigan. He touched me, father. And what harm if he did? Where, my child? And like a fool I said on the canal bank. But whereabouts on your person, my child? On the leg behind was it, high up? Yes father. Rather high up was it, where you sit down? Yes father. O Lord, couldn’t he say bottom right out and have done with it? (BD, 90)

Quella volta, quel bacio, il primo vero bacio, ma poi ha messo la mano dove l’ha messa, acceso dal bacio, e io son dovuta andare da Padre Corrigan. Mi ha toccato, padre. E che male c’è, anche se lo ha fatto? Dove, figliola? E come una scema a rispondergli sul bordo del canale. Ma i paraggi della tua persona, figliola? Sulla gamba, da dietro, era? Sì, padre. Un po’ verso alto, era, dove ci si siede? Sì, padre. O Dio, non poteva dire sedere e farla finita? (HRC 48.9, 120)

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Quella volta quel bacio—​il primo vero bacio, anche se ha dovuto mettere la mano dove l’ha messa, eccitato com’era dal bacio, e poi son dovuta andare da Padre Corrigan. Mi ha toccato, Padre. E che male c’è? Dove, figlia mia? E come una scema ho risposto sul bordo del canale. Ma dove sul tuo corpo, figlia mia? Sulla gamba, dietro in alto? Sì, padre. Abbastanza in alto, vero? Dove ci si siede? Sì, padre. O Dio, non potevi dire sedere direttamente e farla finita? (L. Burgess, 1)

Quella volta quel bacio il primo vero bacio, anche se ha proprio dovuto mettere la mano là dove l’ha messa e poi sono dovuta andare da Padre Corrigan mi ha toccato padre e che male c’è dove figlia mia e come una scema ho risposto sul bordo del Canale ma dove sul tuo corpo figlia mia sulla gamba dietro in alto si padre abbastanza in alto vero dove ci si siede si padre oh Dio non poteva dire sedere direttamente e farla finita (Maranzana, 83/​176)

Quella volta quel bacio il primo vero bacio, anche se ha proprio dovuto mettere la mano là dove l’ha messa e poi sono dovuta andare da Padre Corrigan mi ha toccato padre e che male c’è dove figlia mia e come una scema ho risposto sul bordo del Canale ma dove sul tuo corpo figlia mia sulla gamba dietro in alto sì padre abbastanza in alto vero dove ci si siede sì padre oh Dio non poteva dire sedere direttamente e farla finita (IABF 2.5, 58)

This example clearly indicates that HRC 48.9 contained a different translation from that in HRC 5.4. It was directly supervised by Anthony Burgess, who gave instructions as to the songs that had to be omitted in the final version. The translation that Maranzana was using for his adaptation was evidently HRC 5.4, as both the typescript in his archive and the final version dated 1993 follow the text in that manuscript quite closely. The manuscript evidence thus shows that there were two different translations: one carried out by Mario Maranzana, the other by Anthony Burgess with his wife Liana. Both the Manchester and the Maranzana manuscripts refer to an adaptation for the stage which departed from its source text significantly, while the two typescripts at the HRC offer more faithful translations into Italian of Burgess’s libretto. These two projects eventually converged into the text identified as IABF 2.5. Research conducted in the archive of Teatro Verdi provided evidence that this was indeed the case. On November 18, 1992 Mario Maranzana informed Gianni Gori, the production manager of the Teatro Verdi of Trieste, that an Italian version of Act 1 of Blooms of Dublin created jointly by Burgess and his wife Liana had been sent to him. Maranzana resentfully remarked that Mrs. Burgess had entirely ignored the work that he had done.9 He thus informed Gori that the final 9 Letter by Mario Maranzana to Gianni Gori, file “Corrispondenza,” Archivi della Fondazione Teatro Lirico G. Verdi of Trieste. I would like to thank Elisabetta D’Erme for her help in locating and transcribing this letter.

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version of the libretto that he was preparing for the stage would be the result of a “mélange” of the two versions, his and the Burgesses’. IABF 2.5 thus represents the final version of the theatrical adaptation that was prepared for the 1993 staging in Trieste. The text was the result of revisions and cuttings carried out by both Mario Maranzana and Edmo Fenoglio, a scriptwriter who was engaged by Teatro Verdi to edit Maranzana’s lengthy, almost elephantine adaptation. Ulyssea was therefore dramatically reduced and condensed, taking the translated text closer to its original.

To Conclude The case of the Italian adaptation of Blooms of Dublin is interesting in more than one way. First, it casts new light on Burgess’s relationship with Joyce’s work, a lifelong obsession that kept him bound to this specific project for more than ten years. As we have seen, started as early as in 1982, it came to completion only in 1993, just six months before Burgess’s death. Even though Ulyssea was never presented on stage, it left a range of archival traces, including manuscripts and audio materials, which attest to Burgess’s personal involvement in the project. In fact, not only was he directly involved in the translation, but he also played an important role in developing ideas for the Italian staging. The Italian Blooms of Dublin offers an interesting case of authorial involvement in a collaborative translation process. Working in close dialogue with the author and his Italian wife, Mario Maranzana was able to offer an interpretation of Joyce’s Ulysses which was directly inspired by Anthony Burgess, who had been a pioneer in pointing to the Triestine roots of Joyce’s novel. Most importantly for the purposes of this chapter, the Blooms of Dublin case allows for investigation of how the frictions that often characterize collaborative translation (see Anokhina, 2016) are somehow reflected in the diasporic dislocation of the manuscripts that relate to this project. Focusing on three different sets of archival documents, the study shows that two parallel translations were in fact carried out: one by Mario Maranzana, who adapted Burgess’s libretto rather freely using a literal translation by an unidentified author; the other by Burgess himself in collaboration with his wife Liana, which instead offered a more source-​oriented translation. The final version was in fact a mixture of the two, a compromise that left all actors involved not entirely satisfied. Studying translation manuscripts that exist in dispersed collections can be challenging, since it is only by carefully gathering all available information within and without an author’s diasporic archives that we can make sense of apparently contradictory material traces. The case of the Italian adaptation of Blooms of Dublin shows not only the challenges posed to translation scholars by split collections, but also the unique insights that can be gained through archival methods.

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Bibliography Agostini-​Ouafi, Viviana, and Antonio Lavieri, eds. Poétiques des archives: genèse des traductions et communautés de pratique [Special issue]. Transalpina 18 (2015). Anokhina, Olga. “Vladimir Nabokov and His Translators: Collaboration or Translating under Duress.” In Collaborative Translation: From the Renaissance to the Digital Age, edited by Anthony Cordingley and Céline Frigau Manning, 111–​ 29. London: Bloomsbury, 2016. Biswell, Andrew. The Real Life of Anthony Burgess. London: Picador, 2005. Bollettieri, Rosa Maria, and Serenella Zanotti. “Re Ulysses: A View from the Burgess Archives.” In Outside Influences. Studies in Honour of Franca Ruggieri, edited by Richard Ambrosini, John McCourt, Enrico Terrinoni, and Serenella Zanotti, 39–​ 52. Modena: Universitas Studiorum, 2014. ———​. “Translations Avant-​textes: A Study of Umberto Eco’s Interaction with His Translators.” Translation Studies (forthcoming). Bowen, Zack. “Burgess’ Blooms.” Newsletter of the Anthony Burgess Centre 5 (October 2002). www.masterbibangers.net/​ABC/​index.php?option=com_content&view= article&id=101&Itemid=131. Burgess, Anthony. Re Joyce. New York: Norton & Company, 1965. ———​. A Shorter Finnegans Wake. London: Faber & Faber, 1966. ———​. “In the Footsteps of James Joyce Trieste.” New York Times, January 17, 1982. www.nytimes.com/​1982/​01/​17/​travel/​in-​the-​footsteps-​of-​james-​joyce​trieste.html?pagewanted=2. ———​. Blooms of Dublin: A Musical Play Based on James Joyce’s Ulysses. London: Hutchinson, 1986. ———​. You’ve Had Your Time: Being the Second Part of the Confessions of Anthony Burgess. London: Random House, 2002. Cordingley, Anthony, and Chiara Montini. “Genetic Translation Studies: An Emerging Discipline.” Linguistica Antverpiensia, n.s., Themes in Translation Studies 14 (2015): 1–​18. Cordingley, Anthony, and Céline Frigau Manning, eds. Collaborative Translation: From the Renaissance to the Digital Age. London: Bloomsbury, 2016. Dawkin, Deborah. “Journey into a Translator’s Archive.” French Studies Library Group Annual Review 11–​12 (2014–​16):  30–​37. D’Erme, Elisabetta. Paper presented at The 19th Annual Trieste Joyce School, July 1, 2015. D’hulst, Lieven. “Why and How to Write Translation Histories.” Crop 6 (2001): 21–​32. Durand-​Bogaert, Fabienne, ed. Traduire [Special issue]. Genesis 38 (2014). Guzmán, María Constanza. “Translation North and South: Composing the Translator’s Archive.” In Translating Concepts in Human and Social Sciences: Around Daniel

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Simeoni’s Thinking, edited by Hélène Buzelin and Alexis Nouss [Special issue]. TTR 26 (2013): 171–​91. Karpinski, Eva. “Gender, Genetics, Translation: Encounters in the Feminist Translator’s Archive of Barbara Godard.” Linguistica Antverpiensia, n.s., ​Themes in Translation Studies 14 (2015): 19–​39. Lebrave, Jean-​Louis. “Can Genetic Criticism Be Applied to the Performing Arts?” In Genetic Criticism and the Creative Process: Essays from Music, Literature, and Theater, edited by William Kinderman and Joseph Jones, 68–​82. Rochester: University of Rochester Press, 2009. Melody, Helen. “Collecting Translators’ Archives at the British Library.” French Studies Library Group Annual Review 11–​12 (2014–​16): 38–​41. Montini, Chiara, ed. Traduire: genèse du choix. Paris: Éditions des archives contemporaines, 2016. Munday, Jeremy. Evaluation in Translation: Critical Points of Translator Decision-​ Making. London: Routledge, 2012. ———​. “The Role of Archival and Manuscript Research in the Investigation of Translator Decision-​Making.” Target 25 (2013): 125–​39. ———​ . “Using Primary Sources to Produce a Microhistory of Translation and Translators: Theoretical and Methodological Concerns.” The Translator 20 (2014): 64–​80. Paloposki, Outi. “Limits of Freedom: Agency, Choice and Constraints in the Work of the Translator.” In Agents of Translation, edited by J. Milton and P. Bandia, 189–​208. Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 2009. ———​. “In Search of an Ordinary Translator: Translator Histories, Working Practices and Translator–​Publisher Relations in the Light of Archival Documents.” The Translator 23 (2017): 31–​48. Phillips, Paul. A Clockwork Counterpoint: The Music and Literature of Anthony Burgess. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2010. Pym, Anthony. “Humanizing Translation History.” Hermes 42 (2009): 23–​48. Qi, Lintao. “Agents of Latin: An Archival Research on Clement Egerton’s English Translation of Jin Ping Mei.” Target 28 (2016): 42–​60. Raine, Roberta Ann. “ ‘Translation Archaeology’ in Practice: Researching the History of Buddhist Translation in Tibet.” Meta 59 (2014): 278–​96. Romanelli, Sergio. “Manuscripts and Translations: Spaces for Creation.” Linguistica Antverpiensia, n.s., Themes in Translation Studies 14 (2015): 87–​104. Sutton, David. “The Destinies of Literary Manuscripts: Past, Present and Future.” Archives and Manuscripts 42 (2014): 295–​300. Van Hulle, Dirk. “Translation and Genetic Criticism: Genetic and Editorial Approaches to the ‘Untranslatable’ in Joyce and Beckett.” Linguistica Antverpiensia, n.s., Themes in Translation Studies 14 (2015): 40–​53. Zanotti, Serenella, and Rosa Maria Bollettieri. “Exploring the Backstage of Translations: Translators’ Manuscripts in the Anthony Burgess Archives.” Linguistica Antverpiensia, n.s., Themes in Translation Studies 14 (2015): 127–​48.

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Part Four

CONCLUSION

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CONCLUSION:  THE FUTURE OF LITERARY MANUSCRIPTS—AN INTERNATIONAL PERSPECTIVE DAVID C. SUTTON

Diasporic Lives and Natural Archival Homes The chapters in this book combine a wide variety of subject matter with consistency of theme, bound together by the notion of literary archives as characteristically “diasporic.” Most of the authors of the chapters participated and discussed together during the workshops of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network, so, although they did not have the opportunity to read each other’s contributions as the book took shape, it is perhaps not surprising that there is a notable consistency and a natural inter-​relationship between the points of view expressed in the different essays. The essays by André Derval, Alison Donnell, Maureen Roberts, and Jennifer Toews all lay stress on the diasporic lives lived by many literary authors, especially but not exclusively in a postcolonial and post-​imperialist context. Authors from poorer countries, with fewer job opportunities and a less developed publishing industry at home, often gravitated towards richer countries, when they could. Authors whose origins lie in the former colonies of the Caribbean region or North and West Africa, for example, or in the “protectorates” of the Arab countries and southern Africa, would tend to move between the countries of their birth and the countries of the colonial rulers—​for economic, financial, political, and sometimes literary reasons. Many of these diasporic lives were, of necessity, quiet and cautious in the new locations in richer countries, although Maureen Roberts gives us the quite exceptional story of Eric and Jessica Huntley, who, forced out of the then British Guiana because of their political and community activism, became unrelenting political and community activists in London. In many and varied situations, the archival collections have come to reside in the new diasporic destination, in the country of wealth and power and, sometimes, safety. The attitudes of Adonis towards France, C. L. R. James and Una Marson towards Britain, and Octavio Paz towards the USA combine a keen awareness of imperialist imposition with a sense of financial, literary, and even archival necessity. The archives of Octavio Paz are in the Harry Ransom Center of the University of Texas perhaps primarily for

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financial reasons whereas the archives of Adonis are in the Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine for reasons of a more geopolitical nature, but both archival placements form part of the same wider diasporic pattern. It is typical of the nature of this pattern that Paz had no particular connection with Texas and Adonis no particular connection with Normandy. Their diasporic lives followed a separate pattern to that of their diasporic literary archives. As cartographic software becomes increasingly sophisticated, we can expect to see more research projects, into the 2020s, which will map diasporic literary lives against diasporic archival collections. In some cases the determining factors will be ideas of archival appropriateness, as expressed in the phrase “natural archival home”; in other cases the market, the auction room, and institutional wealth will pull in other directions; and serendipity, combined with the frequent separation of collecting practices from any clear collecting policy, will also play its part. Despite our primary focus here on the diasporic, there have been plenty of examples of natural archival homes throughout the essays in this volume. One thinks of the papers of Margaret Atwood in Toronto; Honoré de Balzac and Victor Hugo in different parts of Paris; Alejo Carpentier in Havana; Charles Causley in Exeter (there being no historic university in Cornwall); Elfriede Jelinek in Vienna; Frederick Philander in Windhoek; José Saramago in Lisbon; and Roger Mais and Anthony C. Winkler in Kingston. Capturing this idea perfectly, the celebration event in Kingston on April 6, 2017 was badged as “Home at Last: the presentation of the Anthony Winkler archives to the National Library of Jamaica.” There are more and more collections worldwide finding their natural homes (at last) in this way, and it has been part of the work of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network to encourage and facilitate this development, whose impetus and appeal may derive from varied drivers ranging from patriotism to more local or regional loyalties, to a concern about patrimony and national culture, to an anti-​imperialist ideological commitment. For the Network, the flagship event was the arrival of the papers of Monique Roffey at the University of the West Indies in St. Augustine, which was seen as a potential turning-​point and a significant exemplar for the future (Roffey, 2016). Daniela La Penna’s comprehensive essay “Italian Archives: Legacies and Challenges” provides us with an important set of references to these emerging ideas from a proud and distinctive literary culture. The ideas of natural archival home and national patrimony are clearly present in her description of the outrage caused in Italy by the sale of Marinetti’s notebooks to the Beinecke Library at Yale and some of Pirandello’s manuscripts to the Houghton Library at Harvard. Although several Italian authors (notably Pasolini and Meneghello) led the sorts of diasporic lives which can be mapped against their diasporic archives, the existence of strong collecting institutions combined with a strong sense of national patrimony has led to many of the most important Italian literary manuscript collections remaining in Italy. The Kauaria–​Sutton essay on literary archives in Namibia, in looking at the international models available to Namibian archivists, describes a similar situation in

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respect of literary manuscripts in Brazil, where an impressive array of collecting institutions is combined with a definite awareness of the importance of literary manuscripts to the national heritage. In both of these cases, Italy and Brazil, national collecting is helped by the fact that the international (and especially the North American) market is less competitive in respect of works written in the Italian and particularly the Portuguese language. The UNESCO Memory of the World programme, described in the essay by Jens Boel, lays a particular emphasis on appropriateness of location, and it may be hoped that the widening scope of the programme in the future will allow it to give further support to the retention of local literary archive collections in appropriate and natural local archives repositories.

Diasporic Appropriateness Moving on from the idea of the natural archival home, we can contrast cases of diasporic appropriateness and diasporic serendipity. The example of Ernest Hemingway and his diasporic literary life provides ways of looking at this. Had his archival destiny been one of diasporic appropriateness, his papers might have ended up in Paris and Havana, as well as Florida and Idaho. Instead, in a striking example of diasporic serendipity, the decisions taken after his death by Mrs. Hemingway and Mrs. Kennedy led to their finding a home in the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library. This brings to our attention a subset of the workings of diasporic randomness, namely that which derives from the actions of surviving heirs (typically widows and/​or children, occasionally widowers). The placing of the literary papers of Léopold Sédar Senghor in Paris (his political papers remaining in Dakar) and of the archive of Shiva Naipaul in London by their respective widows are typical examples. Disagreements among surviving family members will also have to be factored into this subset. Other examples can be found, however, which clearly belong under the rubric of diasporic appropriateness—​a close mapping of a diasporic life and a diasporic archive. These would include the papers of Tom Sharpe at the University of Girona (mentioned in the Introduction) or the papers of David Hawkes, held by the Chinese University of Hong Kong. Some of the Caribbean authors whose lives and whose archives ended up in London and Toronto provide further examples.

Possible Futures for Literary Archives A question frequently put to us has been whether the work of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network indicates that literary manuscripts have an assured and certain future, whether on the contrary that future is uncertain, or even whether the age of the literary manuscript is drawing towards a close. In early presentations on the work of the Location Register of English Literary Manuscripts and Letters, in fact, I several times suggested that the great age of English literary manuscripts would come to be seen as 1688–​1988. That suggestion would

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now have to be heavily qualified, partly because of the great increase in interest in literary manuscripts to which the authors of this volume (and many other literary archivists and scholars) have contributed. The ongoing work of the UK Location Register itself witnessed a continuation in the creation and collection of traditional literary manuscripts well beyond 1988, and, if typewriters and hence typescripts have now almost disappeared, handwritten literary manuscripts from the second decade of the twenty-​first century continue to be received by archives and libraries. Authors continue to write early drafts into notebooks; authors continue to have favourite pens and favourite papers. More unexpectedly, the Location Register’s researchers have found that for the first decade of the present century, in the UK at least, the most typical form of literary manuscript was beginning to be the computer print-​out with handwritten annotations. Again the fact that these documents were finding their way into the archives, rather than the waste-​bin, the recycling-​bin, or the shredder, is a reflection of the good work done by a generation of literary archivists in alerting authors to the value of the earlier drafts and versions of their creative writings. This archival continuity, decades beyond my long-​ago suggested date of 1988, is comforting and encouraging, for archivists and literary researchers alike. The traditional literary manuscript, created on paper, has endured—​endured much longer than archivists and scholars thirty years ago were predicting. This means that between 1990 and 2020 we have been in a transitional or hybrid phase in the history of literary manuscripts. Although more and more authors create their works digitally, a significant part of their creative output has continued to arrive in archives in paper formats. In addition, many literary archival deposits from living authors in the period since 2010 have themselves been hybrid—​partly on paper and partly digital—​and this has also provided reassurance: reassurance to the archivist that at least the paper part of the archive can be consulted easily, and reassurance to the accountant because at least the paper part of the archive can be valued with some firm points of reference. As we approach 2020, the great uncertainty (for valuers, archivists, and scholars) concerns the future of born-​digital literary archives. This was my assessment four years ago: One of the unresolved issues which presently adds great uncertainty to our consideration of born-​digital archives is that of value. Most born-​digital materials presently in archival collections have been either donated, or purchased as part of a hybrid archive with a substantial paper component, or purchased as a test-​case, in this experimental mind-​set. No systematic set of terms of reference for valuation of born-​digital archival collections has yet been established. There is an absence, firstly of precedents and secondly of information about users and likely users. There is a natural concern that users of a costly digital manuscript collection may turn out to be very few.

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Emails are much safer to collect. In fact emails are often more revealing than collections of letters. This is both because of the typical two-​way nature of email threads and because of the lack of restraint which the email format often appears to generate in its users. Emails are certain to provide a highly-​ valued future trove for biographers. But literary manuscripts in digital formats remain fraught with uncertainties. If the study of literary manuscripts is in large part a study of variants, versions and progress of composition, how can scholars be certain of the authenticity of the variants within digital media? And even if technology does provide such certainty (through very sophisticated hardware and software) will scholars want to use media of this sort which they cannot pick up and hold in their hands? It is widely perceived that there is little of the “magic” of paper manuscripts in digital materials, and that therefore digital study may hold less attraction, allure or prestige. Moreover, the digital literary manuscript of ten years ago is already slipping away from us. Composition on smart phones and storage in various forms of cloud present different challenges, and archivists are having to open urgent discussions about the implications of Google and Microsoft Cloud Storage and similar platforms. In 2014 the status and nature of literary manuscripts ten years hence is probably more uncertain than for any ten-​year period since 1700, and the longer-​term future similarly more difficult to predict. Very few specialists doubt that literary manuscripts have a fascinating and exciting future, but even fewer are prepared to forecast, between 2015 and 2025, exactly what form that future will take. Sutton, 2014

Since 2014 we have seen some important developments especially in technology (processing, storage, deep-​analysis, and retrieval) but great uncertainty remains about users. Comparatively few teachers in universities appear to have developed courses with regular use of born-​digital materials. By contrast, archivists in richer countries have been proactive in creating projects and activities which have attracted groups of users in special circumstances, but at the same time regular run-​ of-​the-​mill digital users remain rare. We see holders of a post which might typically be entitled “digital archivist” working hard to encourage users to come and work with them on projects, research, and digital analysis. Special events including poetry readings and celebrations of modern publishing remain more amenable to work with born-​digital sources than traditional analysis of texts and versions. It seems likely that in the foreseeable future much more research based on digital materials will be archivist-​mediated, and even archivist-​created. The vital importance of archivally collected emails (whether digital or printed out) to biographical and literary research is already established and certain. By contrast, the coming decade is likely to determine the future of scholarly use of born-​ digital original writings.

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Let us move towards the conclusion of the Conclusion by looking at four key themes of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network, which will continue to dominate international discussions about the nature of literary archives. These are split collections; the ethics of acquisition; the politics of location; and the forms of displaced archives.

Split Collections The nature and the implications of “split collections” have provided a central theme for the work of the Diasporic Literary Archives Network. It appears clear that split archival collections are a key characteristic of literary archives and literary research, and the splitting occurs for many different reasons. The reasons most important to the arguments of this Conclusion concern diasporic literary lives and the pull between the “natural archival home” and the workings of the market. A good illustrative example of this latter form of split is provided by the papers of D. H. Lawrence, which are half in the natural home in Nottingham and half in the market home in Austin, Texas. Alison Donnell’s essay provides a similar example for the manuscripts of Samuel Selvon (split between Trinidad and Austin), and we might also think of the Derek Walcott papers in Trinidad and Toronto, or (less straightforwardly) the Doris Lessing papers in Norwich and Austin, Texas. A special case is provided by the papers of Samuel Beckett, with natural homes in Dublin and Paris, a market home in Austin, and a curious diasporic home in Reading, based on Beckett’s own choices and friendships. Serenella Zanotti’s essay describes some of the implications of a similar complexity in the locations of the papers of Anthony Burgess. An epitome of the division between the market home and the natural home is provided by the archival story, mentioned in the essay by Jennifer Toews, of Seamus Heaney, who had sold an important part of his manuscript collection to Emory University in Atlanta, but shortly before his death personally delivered, in the presence of his son, his own archival Nachlass to the National Library of Ireland.

The Ethics of Acquisition In her excellent book The Ethical Archivist, Elena S. Davidson proposes three models of cultural property ownership: the free market model, the nationalist model, and the regulated model (Davidson, 2010). These are clear and useful distinctions, with the free market model operating in the USA, the nationalist model in China and Russia, and versions of the regulated model in most western European countries. As I have argued elsewhere, however (Sutton, 2014; Sutton, 2016), a primary consideration is always the language in which the author writes. A completely free market does not operate, even in the USA and even for Nobel Laureates such as José Saramago or Orhan Pamuk, in Portuguese language or Turkish language archives. Nonetheless the concept of the ethics of acquisition is one which is seriously under-​discussed in international archives organizations, conferences, and publications, and one which now merits much closer attention. As Davidson implies,

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archivists and administrators should explain and justify their acquisition of any particular collection, in terms of ethics as well as institutional policy.

The Politics of Location The movement of literary manuscripts from one country to another can become highly political and highly contentious. The word “outrage” recurs with surprising frequency. Alongside the examples of Marinetti and Pirandello drawn from Daniela La Penna’s essay, we could refer to the furious reaction in Mexico to the purchase of the archive of Carlos Fuentes by Princeton University, described in the Introduction; the reaction in Chile to the sale of the papers of the poet Enrique Lihn to the Getty Research Institute in Los Angeles; or the more restrained sense of sadness and loss in Colombia after the archive of Gabriel García Márquez was sold to the University of Texas in November 2014, when there are several splendid (but less wealthy) collecting institutions for literary manuscripts in Colombia—​ ranging from the Biblioteca Nacional in Bogotá to the Instituto Caro y Cuervo in Yerbabuena. The politics of archival location becomes part of a wider consideration of cultural hegemony, and the struggles of poorer countries to assert their own cultural identity and pride. There is a need for a reassessment of policy—​similar to that which has happened in recent years in the world of museums—​in the very small number of countries (arguably only the USA, the UK, Canada, and France) which regularly and systematically collect the literary archives of the nationals of other countries (Sutton, 2014).

Displaced Archives, Alienated Archives, and Diasporic Archives Moving from diasporic archives to alienated archives to displaced archives, the terminology becomes increasingly severe. “Displaced archives” are archives which have been caused to be in the wrong place, with bad consequences. An example often cited would be the administrative and governmental archives of Algeria before 1962, most of which are retained in France on the basis that Algeria was legally a part of France until 1962, a department not a colony. The use of the term “displaced” to describe these Algerian archives is strongly contested by lawyers and archivists in France, while Algerian representatives refer to the infrastructural and other projects in their country which have been made much more difficult by the absence of proper documents and plans. The situation was exacerbated by allegations emerging in 2017 that the papers were not being properly conserved or looked after.1 Displaced archives form a significant point of discussion within postcolonial cultural politics. The term “alienated archives” was coined by Professor Kenneth Ramchand (2016) to give a powerfully negative description of literary archives which have been removed from their natural archival home to a location with which the author had no 1 Follow “La conservation des archives rapatriées d’Algérie en 1962 est ‘défaillante’ ” on various ephemeral blog sites.

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connection. Ramchand had in mind in particular the papers of V. S. Naipaul bought by the University of Tulsa and those of Samuel Selvon which had been acquired by the University of Texas. Ramchand’s sense of archival appropriateness is strong and heart-​felt: “I cannot think of a better place to be than Guyana when looking at a Wilson Harris or Roy Heath manuscript” and “If I had the power I would pass legislation to the effect that the collections of certain authors are national treasures, and attach regulations about sale or lease” (Ramchand, 2016, 327). There are certainly occasions when the stronger term “alienation” seems preferable to our more descriptive word “diasporic,” and when the eventual location seems ludicrously inappropriate. On occasion the sense of alienation may be expressed by reference to the author’s presumed view of the location. Visitors to the Berg Collection, for example, used to be told how much Virginia Woolf would have hated the idea of her archives being held in New York. “Diasporic,” then, is a more general and sometimes more neutral term than “displaced” or “alienated.” The stronger terms raise the sensitive and highly charged question of “archival return.” Algeria wants its historic archives back; Ramchand feels that V. S. Naipaul’s papers should be where they naturally belong, in Trinidad not in Oklahoma. Archival return, however, is extremely rare, primarily because of fear of precedent. If the principle of cultural return became enshrined in ethical cultural best practice (or even law), what would happen to the most important collections of the British Museum or the Ashmolean? To date, the only literary examples of archival return or archival rehousing have come in cases where the original location was based on deposit rather than ownership. Archival return, however, is a topic which should remain on agendas for future discussion, within a context of the wider ethics of acquisition. The International Council on Archives, like most international bodies with membership in most of the world’s 200 or so countries, is extremely reluctant to intervene in cross-​boundary issues, or even to comment upon them, but nonetheless has a clear responsibility to provide a forum for continuing discussion about the ethics of displaced archives, alienated archives, and archival return.

Finale

The essays in this volume have ranged the world, to bring together examples and case studies from England and Scotland, Italy, Portugal, Turkey, Canada, the USA, Australia, Brazil, Colombia, India, Syria, the Republic of Congo, Madagascar, Mali, Namibia, Vietnam, Haiti, Trinidad and Tobago, Jamaica, and many other countries. They have also moved beyond literary archives to show how our key themes of diaspora and location extend into areas of business archives (in Andrew Nash’s insightful essay about publishers’ archives); the archives of translation (in Serenella Zanotti’s detailed review of the work of Anthony Burgess); and then the universal dimension as represented by UNESCO (described by the UNESCO Archivist, Jens Boel), and the contentious issues of archives at risk, archival ethics, principles for access to archives, and human rights as a key archival issue (magisterially outlined for us by the leading author in this field, Trudy Huskamp Peterson).

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Several essays scrutinize the special and distinctive nature of literary manuscripts, within these wider contexts. The workings of printers and publishers are central to this analysis, and their activities naturally vary from country to country. One of the regular laments of literary authors encountered during the Network’s archival work in Namibia was the absence of a thriving publishing business in the country. If there is no significant publishing industry, what then are the implications for literary manuscripts? As Sophie Heywood emphasizes in her essay, the idea that literary manuscripts can be regarded primarily as early versions of a book or a poem is culture-​specific, not universal, and may not apply very well in the global south, where many authors find it much more difficult to find publishers. In these circumstances, literary manuscripts can sometimes be final and definitive versions. Several of our authors direct our attention to the fundamental questions of what literary archives are like, what collected literary archives are for, and how this is influenced by the literary diaspora. The best scholars, critics, biographers, and textual analysts in the past one hundred years have naturally spent many hours of their lives in the archives, giving depth, original content, and texture to their studies. There may be a future in which digitization and the use of cloud storage make location a less important and less hotly debated issue, and where born-​digital archives may have an existence in multiple locations. At the present time, however, archivists and scholars in the rich literary cultures of African countries, Latin American countries, and Caribbean countries in particular feel that their access to the key artefacts of their own literary patrimonies are often alienated from them, in diasporic locations far away. The Diasporic Literary Archives Network is remaining in existence in order to ensure that these issues continue to be addressed, and will welcome co-​workers and future contributors in a spirit of international solidarity.

Bibliography Baker, Fran, Jessica Gardner, Chris Sheppard, and David C. Sutton. “Magical and Meaningful: Thirty Years of Literary Manuscripts Collecting in the UK and Ireland.” Archives 122 (2010): 21–​27. Davidson, Elena S. The Ethical Archivist. Chicago: Society of American Archivists, 2010. Location Register of English Literary Manuscripts and Letters website. University of Reading. www.locationregister.com. Ramchand, Kenneth. “Tell Me Where to Look.” Caribbean Quarterly 62 (September 2016):  321–​30. Roffey, Monique. “Private Notes Made Public.” Caribbean Quarterly 62 (Sep–​Dec 2016):  344–​56. Sutton, David C. “The Destinies of Literary Manuscripts: Past, Present and Future.” Archives and Manuscripts 42 (November 2014): 295–​300. ———​. “The Diasporic Literary Archives Network and the Commonwealth: Namibia, Nigeria, Trinidad & Tobago, and Other Examples.” New Review of Information Networking 21 (2016): 37–​51.

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Appendix 1

AUTHORS AND THEIR PAPERS:  A GUIDANCE SHEET FOR AUTHORS AND WRITERS

1. Rationale. Authors’ literary papers are precious to cultural heritage and to scholarship, and many have wider popular appeal. They inform literary and biographical studies, textual studies, cognitive studies, and many areas of research. Above all, they are precious because of the information they provide about the creative process and what influences this, recording successive versions, drafts and variations. The preservation of these papers in public institutions will be welcomed by a wide range of users, in various fields of education, lifelong learning, biographical and cultural research and the creative arts, and the wider public. Authors are encouraged to think in terms of each literary work as passing through several archival stages of development and to seek to preserve each stage. When this guidance refers to “papers” this means all of the materials relating to an author’s working life, in whatever format—​paper or digital, or audiovisual. 2. What to keep. Authors may often be tempted to destroy early plans and discarded drafts. These should be kept wherever possible. Libraries and archives are interested in collecting early drafts, notebooks, handwritten and typescript versions, working notes, study notes, and research material in any format. In addition, there is an interest which extends beyond literary research: • in correspondence: both incoming mail and drafts and copies of outgoing mail; both personal and professional correspondence; • in emails, audio-​visual materials (literary and personal), diaries, journals, and commonplace books; • in disks, memory-​sticks, and computer drives;

• authors’ personal libraries are also of great interest, especially where books and journals are annotated.

All kinds of materials and correspondence relating to literary festivals, reading tours, conferences, seminars and literary organizations should be regarded as an integral part of any author’s archive. In determining what to keep, authors

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should bear in mind that, in addition to illustrating the creative literary process, their papers are likely to have a wider cultural and historical interest. If the literary work has been influenced by visual arts, music, or other forms of expressive culture then the author’s information on these, programmes of concerts, exhibitions, and events would also constitute a vital part of a full “author’s archive.” In short, all the raw material relating to a writer’s life and work is likely to be of interest to an archive service and to researchers.

3. Digital records, web content and downloads. Archivists are increasingly aware that much of an author’s archive is likely to be created and stored in digital form. Whilst acknowledging that digital formats may lead to increased privacy concerns for authors, archivists are keen to build collections which include digital records as well as email correspondence and online content. Personal web browsing histories are also important, as are collections of downloads, which may be the equivalent of a twenty-​first-​century version of the “author’s library.” Similarly, authors’ professional correspondence is likely to include transactions with companies such as Amazon, Google Books and, providers of online services and cloud-​storage.

4. How to keep it. Authors should try to keep these archival materials dry and clean and safe –​avoiding lofts, garages, and garden sheds, because these are at risk from damp, changes in temperature, dirt, and pest damage. The storage area should be clean, dry and secure. Materials should be stored in acid free boxes and folders. Printed photographs should be stored in archival polyester sleeves. Metal filing cabinets are excellent, if space permits. Disks and electronic copies should be stored in their original packaging, or other containers designed for that purpose. They should not be stored in drives for long periods of time.

5. Transferring papers to an archives service: choosing the most appropriate archives. The choice of repository is a key part of the process, whether the author is donating or depositing. The recommended practice is to consult a nearby archivist or to check an appropriate Location Register (e.g. www. locationregister.com or National Register of Archives), to find out which institutions already have collections of similar materials. The Literary digest on the Accessions to Repositories survey provides information on collections taken in by archives each year: www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/​accessions/​ Authors can consult with interested organisations such as GLAM (the Group for Literary Archives and Manuscripts), the Society of Authors, or Archive Sector Development at the National Archives. Authors should take time to ensure that they make the right choice of archive service for donation or deposit, and this may require a period of negotiation and discussion. It is important that there is sympathy and synergy between the author’s collection and the archival institution which will be responsible for its care and promotion. Seeking to change archive service once the process is underway can be a difficult process.

15

Authors and Their Papers

6. Transferring papers to an archives service: gift, bequest, permanent loan, or deposit. There should be a deed of gift, bequest, or deposit, covering all the following points. Gift is a better long-​term solution than temporary deposit. If a loan or deposit is made the repository may expect a contract including reimbursement for sorting, cataloguing, and storage, and right of first refusal in the event of withdrawal and/​or sale. Although financial considerations may be paramount, often they are not. Gift (or where appropriate, sale below probable market value) may allow the author a greater measure of control over the conditions of use, cataloguing, and storage of the collection

7. Sale of papers and archives. Some authors choose to place their archive for sale by auction, but in that case the archive may end up in one or several repositories anywhere in the world. Archives are most valuable when kept together as a complete collection and are easier to access and use for research. It is strongly recommended to keep a collection together, even if the decision has been made to sell. When a collection is broken up or “dispersed” it is difficult to find all of the component parts. In the event of an open-​market sale, the archive service or purchaser will usually take control of all rights except copyright. The National Archives monitor the sale and movement of archives collections across the UK. Advice on the sale of archives, including related legislation and tax is available online and on request. www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/​archives-​ sector/​cultural-​property.htm

8. Valuation. In cases where open-​market sale is considered, a proper independent valuation should be obtained before proceeding with the sale. In certain other circumstances, a full valuation can also be helpful (e.g. for tax purposes). The National Archives Sales Monitoring team collects information on prices realized and can provide general advice on pricing for private sales, to funders and archives seeking to purchase.

9. Offsetting value. In many countries, the value of a donated literary archive can be offset against taxation liabilities or against death duties. This would also be dependent on an independent professional valuation. Further details are available online here: www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/​archives-​sector/​ cultural-​property.htm

10. The author’s own listing of the papers. It is good practice for the author to make their own list of the materials which they have preserved, in numbered boxes and/​or folders. Correspondence may be listed chronologically, year by year, or alphabetically, correspondent by correspondent. Generally, both researchers and valuers find A-​Z arrangement by correspondent more useful. It is helpful if, with correspondents who sign only with forenames or nicknames, the author adds the surname in pencil, to the folder or to a slip of clean paper inserted in the document.

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11. Terms of transfer: storage. With a gift, conditions of storage should be specified. Many archive services are able to provide optimal storage conditions, though smaller services may not be able to achieve this. The recognised standard is PD5454, which applies to all formats of archival material and specifies the ideal temperature and humidity controls for archival storage. The collection should be stored in acid-​free archival boxes or folders, on shelves and never on the floor. Authors should seek assurances that their own collection will be stored at least as well as the main collections already owned by the institution—​storage areas should be clean, dry, secure, protected from light, and environmental conditions should be stable. Guidance is available from the British Library: www.bl.uk/​aboutus/​stratpolprog/​collectioncare/​ publications/​booklets/​basic_​preservation.pdf

12. Terms of transfer: cataloguing. With a gift, there should be an agreed commitment to catalogue the collection within a definite time-​period, prior to making it fully available to the public. Two years for a small collection and three years for a larger collection might be considered reasonable. There may be opportunities to seek external funding to support the process of sorting and cataloguing and this can be discussed as part of transfer negotiations. 13. Terms of transfer: access and use. Once catalogued, the collection should have clear terms of access and use. For example, these could range from: • “free access to all parts of the collection;”

• through “mostly free access; some highly personal papers closed until 2035;” • to “access only by permission of the author during the author’s lifetime.”

Researchers and archivists will prefer the lightest restrictions, or none, but the author can specify. Authors should be aware that some archives institutions will find it difficult to take in collections with too many restrictions on access.

14. Terms of transfer:  copyright. It should be specified whether copyright is retained by the author or transferred to the repository. Copyright should not affect access, but should control the ability to quote or make copies. The author may prefer to retain copyright but to agree a “management arrangement” with the repository (e.g. major enquiries only to be referred to the author). Some parts of an author’s archive may contain the copyright of others, usually described as “third party” copyright. Archivists can advise on this further as part of transfer discussions. Further information is available online from the Information Commissioners Office: www.gov.uk/​government/​organisations/​ intellectual-​property-​office

15. Terms of transfer: rights to make copies. The author should consider the extent to which they are content for copies to be made of their paper and digital literary archives. In the case of an open-​market sale, the author would be unlikely to have control over this. With a gift or a private sale agreement, authors can specify their terms. They could specify a maximum of 30 pages

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for any one researcher, for example; or could insist upon no copying at all for the first five years following transfer. This may depend upon the personal sensitivity of the papers’ contents; if there is no such sensitivity then a more generous approach to copying could be taken.

16. Terms of transfer: weeding. The deed of gift or deposit should specify the arrangements for weeding a collection. Weeding is the removal or “weeding out” of unwanted or irrelevant material, and duplicate copies. The author may wish to weed certain documents before transfer; the repository would normally prefer that this was not done in advance. It is better for the archivist to weed collections, as they can ensure that valuable information is not removed, and apply professional and ethical expertise. With gifts or deposits of non-​ literary collections, repositories are often given “weeding rights.” With a literary collection, the author might specify weeding of “printed duplicates only; no manuscript material.” 17. Terms of transfer: repository’s rights of use. The repository will expect the right to use selected material for exhibitions, displays, catalogues and not-​for-​ profit publications. The author should be fully credited in all such ventures. Living authors should be offered the opportunity to participate fully in events and promotions, and, if collections contain highly personal materials, may wish to have a right of veto or closure over the selection of materials for display or publication. As collections of literary papers are often newsworthy, arrangements for publicity should be fully discussed and agreed at the time of gift, bequest, or deposit. 18. Terms of transfer: digitization. The deed of gift or deposit should have a clause on digitization. With literary archives a normal clause might be that digitization would be “only by permission of the author during the author’s lifetime.” It is important to recognize, that researchers’ expectations are growing and that pressure for early digitization of archival collections will continue to increase. Digitization can include commercial licensing to generate income and the author and receiving archive can discuss the potential and the terms of such an arrangement. 19. Other considerations: conserving born-​ digital materials. Many archivists now collect born-​digital material, including emails, websites and documents. They are best placed to give advice about conservation of born-​digital literary materials. Advice should be sought at an early stage in cases where an author typically works straight onto a computer. Authors who produce mainly digital drafts and documents should take steps to preserve access to these materials over time. Digital records require active preservation to ensure that they are accessible even in the short-​to medium term. Basic advice and further sources are available online here: www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/​documents/​ archives/​digital-​preservation-​guidance-​how-​to-​look-​after-​arts-​records.pdf

20. Other considerations: publishers and literary agents. Authors who are entering into an arrangement with a collecting institution will wish to check

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Authors and Their Papers

with their publisher(s) and literary agent(s) as to which of their papers are held by those organizations. It may happen that such papers should belong to the authors but have been retained by their representatives, or there may be a mixture of material. Again, publishers and agents should be involved in discussions where possible, especially where there are commercial or copyright considerations.

Compiled by representatives of;

Diasporic Literary Archives Network (DLAN) Group for Literary Archives and Manuscripts (GLAM) Society of Authors (SoA) The National Archives (TNA)

Other sources of guidance:

Hull History Centre, Personal Papers: www.hullhistorycentre.org.uk/​discover/​ hull_​history_​centre/​about_​us/​caring_​for_​the_​collections/​personalpaper.aspx Staffordshire Archives Safekeeping: www.staffordshire.gov.uk/​Resources/​Docu ments/​i/​InformationLeaflet03Insafekeeping.pdf Religious Archives Group, Advice on Personal Papers: http://​religiousarchives group.org.uk/​advice/​rag

The National Archives, Advice on Deposit: www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/​docu ments/​archives/​loanagreement.pdf The National Archives, Archival Principles and Practice: http://​webarchive. nationalarchives.gov.uk/​+/​http://​www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/d ​ ocuments/​ information-​management/​archive-​principles-​and-​practice-​an-​introduction-​ to-​archives-​for-​non-​archivists.pdf The National Archives, Archiving the Arts resources: www.nationalarchives.gov. uk/​archives-​sector/​archiving-​the-​arts-​resources.htm

159

IN D EX

Abba, Marta, 98 Achebe, Chinua, 3–​4 Adamov, Arthur, 43, 47 Adonis (Ali Ahmed Said Esber), 5, 46–​47, 86, 143–​44 Africanus, Leo, 60 Al-​Aqsa Mosque,  62 Albert-​Birot, Pierre,  47 Algeria, 79, 82–​83, 149–​50 Allen & Unwin archive, 120 Allendy, René, 47 Allio, René, 47 Althusser, Louis, 5 An-​Nahar,  86 appraisal and selection, 59, 79, 106, 108–​9, 157 appropriateness of location, 2, 3, 4, 77, 80, 84, 144–​45, 148–​50, 154 archival ethics, 4–​6, 77, 107, 148–​51 archival return, 5, 6, 22, 86–​87, 93, 110, 150 Archives Portal Europe, 96 Archivio Contemporaneo Bonsanti, 93, 95, 97 Archivio del Novecento Letterario, 93, 95 Archivio e Fondazione Benedetto Croce, 92 Archivio Giuseppe Prezzolini, 99 Archivio Laterza, 93 Archivio Primo Conti, 93 Arias, Abelardo, 100 Arthur, Owen, 110 Ashmolean Museum, 150 Atwood, Margaret, 144 auction room, 44, 71, 144, 155

Audiberti, Jacques, 47 Austen, Jane, 122–​23 Austin, Texas, 7, 8, 23, 51–​53, 82, 100, 129, 132–​34, 143–​44, 148 Australian Defence Force Academy, 3 Avicenna, 61

Bâ, Hampâté, 44, 79, 86 Bagouet, Dominique, 47 Baker, Josephine, 52 Baldwin, James, 52–​53 Balzac, Honoré de, 144 Banti, Anna, 93 Barbados, 19–​21, 69, 110 Barbedette, Gilles, 47 Barnes, Julian, 51 Barrie, J. M., 71 Barstow, Montagu, 51 Basic principles on the role of archivists and records managers in support of human rights, 107 Baudrillard, Jean, 47 BBC Written Archives’ Centre, 20 Beach, Sylvia, 53 Beckett, Samuel, 7, 47, 86, 129, 148 Beirut, 86 Belafonte, Harry, 52 Belli, Gioacchino, 131 Belloc, Hilaire, 71 Bemba, Sylvain, 77 Ben Jelloun, Tahar, 47 Bennett, Arnold, 119 Bennett, Louise, 24 Béraud, Henri, 47 Berg Collection, New York Public Library, 8, 117, 150

160

160

Index

Bernardini, Francesca, 95 Bernari, Carlo, 95 Bernstein, Henri, 45, 47 Berr, Henri, 43 Betti, Laura, 97 Biasi, Pierre-​Marc de, 75, 77–​78 Biblioteca civica Bertoliana, 98 Biblioteca Marucelliana, 100 Biblioteca Nacional de Colombia, 149 Biblioteca Nacional de España, 52 Biblioteca Nacional de México, 52 Biblioteca Nacional de Uruguay (BIBNA), 68 Bibliothèque nationale de France, 2–​3, 79, 106 Bilenchi, Romano, 94 Binyon, Laurence, 71 Black Experience Archive Trust (BEAT), 38 Black Women in the Arts, 40 Blackwood, William, & Sons, 117 Bleier, Katia, 98 Blin, Roger, 47 Blunden, Edmund, 71 Bodleian Library, 3, 9–​10 Bodley Head, 120 Bogle-​L’Ouverture,  33–​40 Bonnefoy, Yves, 47 Bonsanti, Alessandro, 95 Book Trade History Group, 118 Bosquet, Alain, 47 Bottomley, Gordon, 71 Bourgeade, Pierre, 45, 47 Bove, Emmanuel, 43 Brathwaite, Edward Kamau, 16, 20, 26 Brazil, 4–​5, 10, 67–​68, 144–​45, 150 Brick Lane Circle, 40 Bridges, Robert, 71 British Library, 9, 25, 29, 31, 62, 70–​71, 75, 117, 156 British Museum, 6, 117, 150 Brodsky, Joseph, 54 Buirge, Susan, 47 Burgess, Anthony, 127–​40, 148, 150

Burgess, Liana, 131–​38 Burgos, Julia de, 16 Burton, Antoinette, 105–​7 Busby, Margaret, 37 Byron, George Gordon, Lord, 122

Calder, John, 47 Calvino, Italo, 93 Cambodia, 112 Camus, Albert, 53 Cape, Jonathan, 21–​22, 120–​21 Cardenal, Ernesto, 52 Carew, Jan, 26 Carey, John, 123 Caribbean Artists Movement, 25 Caribbean Voices, 18, 25 Carpentier, Alejo, 144 Carroll, Lewis, 117, 123 Cartomac, 79 Casa Museo Marino Moretti, 93 Casarsa della Delizia, 97 Castro, Fidel, 4 Cataloguing, 35, 37, 43, 70, 72, 79–​80, 96, 111, 119–​20, 122, 124, 155–​57 Causley, Charles, 144 Cayrol, Jean, 47 Céline, Louis-​Ferdinand,  47 Center for Migration Studies of New York, 99 Centro per gli studi sulla tradizione manoscritta di autori moderni e contemporanei, vii, 6, 7, 90, 93–​94, 96–​97 Centro per lo studio della letteratura del Novecento, 93 Centro Studi Pier Paolo Pasolini, 97 Césaire, Aimé, 79, 80 Chadwyck-​Healey,  124 Chapman & Hall, 119 Charles, Ray, 52 Chatto & Windus, 119–​21 Chedid, Andrée, 46 Chéreau, Patrice, 47 Chinese University of Hong Kong, 145

16

Index

Churchill, Winston, 2 Clarke, Austin, 26 Coccioli, Carlo, 99–​100 Cohen, Leonard, 53–​54 Coindreau, Maurice-​Edgar,  47 Colette, 47 Collins, Merle, 27 Colombia, 82, 149–​50 Columbia University, 19, 99 Combet, Fernand, 47 Congo-​Brazzaville, 75, 77, 79, 150 Congo-​Kinshasa,  109 Conradi, Peter, 123 conservation and preservation, 2, 20, 22, 27, 28, 33, 41–​46, 59–​63, 71, 76–​87, 90–​92, 94–​97, 100, 105–​6, 115–​20, 122, 124, 149, 153, 155–​57 Conservation Reserve Program, 107 Constantine, Learie, 17 copyright, 10, 66, 71–​72, 76, 81, 85, 115–​16, 121, 124, 155–​56, 158 Corti, Maria, 89–​91, 94, 97 Cremante, Renzo, 94 Croce, Benedetto, 92–​93, 99 Croom Helm, 119 cummings, e. e., 53

Dakar, 85, 145 Darwin, Charles, 122 Davidson, Elena S., 148–​49 Davis, Miles, 52 de Burgos, Julia, 16 De Filippo, Eduardo, 95 Delaney, Beauford, 52 Derrida, Jacques, 47, 89–​91, 96 Deutsches Literaturarchiv, 9–​10 Diasporic Literary Archives Network, vii, 1–​3, 5–​12, 23, 41–​42, 45–​46, 49, 59, 62–​63, 65–​66, 72–​74, 85, 143–​45, 148, 151, 158 Dib, Mohammed, 79, 83 Dichy, Albert, 75, 85–​87 Dickson, Lovat, 123 Didi-​Huberman, Georges,  47

digitisation and digital archives, 5, 7–​8, 10–​11, 25, 28–​29, 49, 59, 62, 68, 72–​73, 75, 78–​79, 81, 84–​86, 91, 94–​96, 105–​6, 122, 124, 146–​47, 151, 153–​54, 156–​57 Dino, Abidine, 46 displaced archives, 148–​50 Dubillard, Roland, 47 Dublin, 7, 129–​38, 148 Duby, Georges, 47 Duckworth archive, 119 Dumur, Guy, 47 Duras, Marguerite, 44, 47 Duvignaud, Jean, 47

Edwards, Owen Dudley, 122 Ekoungoun, Jean-​Francis,  79 Elgin Marbles, 6 Eliot, Simon, 120 Elmayan, Aline, 47 emails, 10–​11, 35, 70, 72, 112, 147, 153–​54, 157 Emory University, 54, 148 Endangered Archives Programme, 9, 62–​63, 75 Equiano, Olaudah, 35 Esber, Ali Ahmed Said (Adonis), 5, 46–​47, 86 ethics in archives, 4–​6, 77, 107, 148–​51 Eyre & Spottiswoode, 119 Ezra, Yinnon, 34

Faber & Faber, 51, 116, 123 Falkner, John Meade, 2 Falqui, Enrico, 95 Fanon, Frantz, 47, 86 FBI, 107–​8 Fenoglio, Edmo, 132, 138 Feraoun, Mouloud, 79, 81, 83 Filippo, Eduardo de, 95 Firmin, Anténor, 16 Fleming, David, 37 Florence, 93–​95, 97, 100 Follain, Jean, 47

161

162

162

Index

Fondazione Arnoldo e Alberto Mondadori, 93 Fondazione Corriere della Sera, 93 Fondo Guido Gozzano, 93 Forstrom, Michael, 7–​8 Foucault, Michel, 5, 47 Fowokan (George Kelly), 39 Frankétienne, 79, 83 Freud, Sigmund, 89 Freund, Gisèle, 47 Fritzsche, Peter, 106–​7 Fuentes, Carlos, 4, 149 Fundação Casa de Rui Barbosa, 3, 67 Futurism, 93

Gabinetto Vieusseux, 94–​96 Gadda, Carlo Emilio, 95 Gallant, Mavis, 50, 54 Gallimard, 81 Gandhi, Indira, 50 García Márquez, Gabriel, 82, 149 Gaspard, Lorand, 46 Gatrell, Simon, 123–​24 Gauvin, Lise, 82 gay writers, 27, 52, 99–​100 Genet, Jean, 5, 45, 47 George Allen & Unwin archive, 120 Getty Research Institute, 98, 149 Ghosh, Durba, 111 Gide, André, 100 Ginzburg, Natalia, 93 Girodias, Maurice, 47 Giroud, Françoise, 47 Glave, Thomas, 27 Golding, Bruce, 110 Golding, William, 123 Goldmann, Lucien, 47 Gori, Gianni, 137 Goulbourne, Harry, 34 Grant, Cy, 36 Graves, Robert, 8 Green, Julien, 100 Grignani, Maria Antonietta, 94

Grotowski, Jerzy, 47 Group for Literary Archives and Manuscripts (GLAM), 10–​11, 154, 158 Guatemala police archives, 109 Guerne, Armel, 44 Guterres, António, 63 Guyana, 23, 33, 143, 150

Hachette-​Livre,  43 Haiti, 17, 75–​76, 79, 83, 150 Hansib Publications, 36 Hardy, Thomas, 123–​24 Harris, Wilson, 150 Harry Ransom Center, 7, 8, 23, 51–​53, 82, 100, 129, 132–​34, 137, 143–​44, 148, 149, 150 Harvard University, 3–​4, 8, 52, 98, 144 Haston, Jock, 19 Havana, 144, 145 Hawkes, David, 145 Heaney, Seamus, 54, 148 Hearne, John, 26 Heath, Roy, 150 Heckmann, Hélène, 44 Heinemann African Writers, 4 Hemingway, Ernest, 4, 53, 145 Heritage Lottery Fund, 35, 39, 116, 122 Hikmet, Nâzim, 46, 86 Himes, Chester, 52–​53 Hoffman, Michel, 47 Hogarth Press, 17, 21, 120, 124 Holroyd, Michael, vii Hong Kong, 10, 145 Howe, Darcus, 37 Hughes, Ted, 29, 51 Hugo, Victor, 144 Hull History Centre, 6, 158 human rights, 7, 17, 33, 38, 52, 62, 75, 83, 84, 107, 150 Hungry Generation (Bengal), 52 Huntley, Eric, 33–​40, 143 Huntley, Jessica, 33–​40, 143

163

Index

hybrid archives (paper/​digital), 10, 73, 146 Hyvernaud, Georges, 47

Ibn Sina, Abu Ali (Avicenna), 61 India Office Library, 111 Institut des textes et manuscrits modernes (ITEM), 9, 77–​87 Institut Mémoires de l’édition contemporaine (IMEC), vii, 5, 7, 9, 41–​48, 85–​87, 144 Instituto Caro y Cuervo, 149 International Anthony Burgess Foundation, 129, 132, 135–​38 International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and the Restoration of Cultural Property, 62–​63 International Council on Archives, 1, 9–​11, 62, 65–​66, 68, 73, 107–​8, 110–​11, 150 International Federation of Library Associations and Institutions, 62 International Thomson Publishing, 119 Ishiguro, Kazuo, 51 Istanbul, 61 Ivory Coast, 79

Jacques, Amy, 26 Jamaica, 4, 9–​10, 17–​20, 24–​27, 33, 68–​ 69, 110, 144, 150 James, C. L. R., 17–​20, 23, 24, 26, 143 James, Elizabeth, 117, 123 James, Henry, 123 Japan, 3, 51 Jelinek, Elfriede, 4, 144 Jelloun, Tahar Ben, 47 Jenkins, Deborah, 34, 38 John Murray archive, 117, 122–​23 Jonathan Cape Ltd, 21–​22, 120–​21 Jouffroy, Alain, 47 Joyce, James, 53, 118, 129–​38 Kafka, Franz, 9–​10 Kateb, Yacine, 44, 47, 82

Kelly, George (Fowokan), 39 Kennedy, John F., 4, 145 Kent State University Library, 53 Khomeini, Ayatollah, 49 Kipling, Rudyard, 8 Kissinger, Henry, 110 Knowlson, James, vii Kofman, Sarah, 47 Kourouma, Ahmadou, 79, 80, 83, 86 Kundera, Milan, 59 Kwei-​Armah, Kwame,  37

La Rose, John, 37 Laâbi, Abdellatif, 46 Labou Tansi, Sony, 77, 79–​80 Lafitte, Pierre, 47 Lamming, George, 20–​21, 26 Lammy, David, 37 Larkin, Philip, 5–​6 Lawrence, D. H., 148 Leduc, Violette, 47 Lee, John, 28 Leo Africanus, 60 Lessing, Doris, 50–​51, 148 Leverhulme Trust, 1 Levi-​Montalcini, Rita,  94 Levinas, Emmanuel, 47 Lherminier, Pierre, 47 Library of Congress, 8, 110 Library Larousse, 43 Lihn, Enrique, 149 Lilongwe, 73 Limoges, 80 Lindgren, Astrid, 61 Livingstone, Ken, 36 Location Register of British Book Trade Archives, 118 Location Register of English Literary Manuscripts and Letters, 2, 6, 8, 12, 145–​46, 154 London Metropolitan Archives, 33–​40 Longman archive, 117–​19 Losfeld, Éric, 47 Lugano, 99

163

164

164

Index

Macellari, Liana, 131–​38 Macmillan archive, 117–​120, 123 Madagascar, 76–​77, 79–​80, 150 Mais, Roger, 20–​21, 25–​27, 144 Maison de Balzac, 3, 144 Malcolm X, 53 Mali, 75, 79, 150 Manacorda, Giuliano, 95 Manganelli, Giorgio, 94 Manguel, Alberto, 50 Manuscrits francophones du Sud, 77–​81, 83–​84 Maranzana, Mario, 129, 131–​38 Marchand, Jean-​José,  47 Marinetti, Filippo Tommaso, 98, 144, 149 Marquette University, 3 Marson, Una, 17–​20, 143 Martí, José, 16 Martignone, Clelia, 94 Masino, Paola, 95 Mathews, Charles Elkin, 118 Matzneff, Gabriel, 47 McDonald, Ian, 23 McEwan, Ian, 51 McMaster University, 24 Memmi, Albert, 79, 80 Memory of the World Programme, 30, 61–​63, 66, 75, 145 Meneghello, Luigi, 97–​99, 144 Meschonnic, Henri, 47 Methuen, 119 Mexico, 4, 10, 52, 99–​100, 149 Millar, Laura, 105–​106 Mills & Boon, 119 Miotte, Jean, 53 Mittelholzer, Edgar, 20–​21 Modernist Archives Publishing Project, 124 Montalcini, Rita Levi-​, 94 Montale, Eugenio, 94–​95 Montand, Yves, 52 Monteith, Charles, 123 Moody, Harold, 17

Morihien, Paul, 47 Moving Here, 36 Murdoch, Iris, 123 Murray, John, archive, 117, 122–​23 Musée des Lettres et Manuscrits, 45 Museo Casabianca, 97 Museum of Modern Japanese Literature, 3 Mushelenga, Peya, 70 Mvula ya Nangolo, 66

Naipaul, Shiva, 145 Naipaul, V. S., 20, 27, 150 Namibia, vii, 6, 9–​11, 65–​74, 144, 150–​51 National Archives (Kew), 9–​11, 36, 106, 116, 154–​55, 158 National Library and Archives of Namibia, vii, 9, 65–​74, 151 National Library of Ireland, 6, 54, 148 National Library of Jamaica, 9, 19, 24, 69, 144 National Library of Scotland, 6, 117, 122 National Library of Singapore, 68 National Library of Trinidad and Tobago, 7 National Library of Wales, 6 Némirovsky, Irène, 5, 86 Nigeria, 3–​4 Nowell-​Smith, Simon,  117 Orczy, Emmuska, 51–​52 Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie, 76, 81, 84, 85 Ortese, Anna Maria, 93 Orwell, George, 60 Ouseley, Herman, 37

Palmyra, 45, 60 Pamuk, Orhan, 4, 148 Paris, 3, 45, 46, 51–​54, 60, 78–​80, 82, 99, 144, 145, 148 Parise, Goffredo, 98 Parker, Gabrielle, 82 Pasolini, Pier Paolo, 95–​99, 144

165

Index

Pater, Walter, 123 Paulhan, Jean, 43 Pauvert, Jean-​Jacques,  47 Pavese, Cesare, 93 Pavia, vii, 6, 7, 90, 93–​94, 97 Paz, Octavio, 52, 143–​44 Pellegrini, Renato, 100 PEN International, 9 Peters, Fraser and Dunlop, 116 Philander, Frederick, 66, 144 Phoenix, Sybil, 36 Pia, Pascal, 47 Picasso, Pablo, 53 Pinter, Harold, 29 Piovene, Guido, 98 Pirandello, Luigi, 98–​99, 144 Place, Jean-​Michel,  48 Planète libre, 81 Pléiade, 47, 81 Plomer, William, 121 Poitier, Sidney, 52 politics of location, 7, 15–​31, 81, 85, 148–​49 postcolonialism, 22, 28, 34, 52, 68, 76, 78, 83, 85–​87, 143, 149 Pound, Ezra, 118 Prescod, Colin, 38 Présence Africaine, 86 Prezzolini, Giuseppe, 99 Princeton University, 4, 8, 52, 53, 98, 149 privacy, 81, 115, 121, 124, 154 Proust, Marcel, 2 publishers’ archives, 33–​40, 42, 44, 47, 80, 85–​86, 93–​97, 115–​26, 127–​29, 150–​51, 157–​58

Rabearivelo, Joseph, 77, 79–​81, 83 Radiguet, Raymond, 47 Rado, Maria Luisa, 131–​32 Ragon, Michel, 47 Ramchand, Kenneth, 20, 22–​23, 149–​50 Random House, 120–​21 Ready, William B., 3

Resnais, Alain, 47 Riffard, Claire, 77, 79, 81, 83–​84, 87 Rix, Tim, 118 Roach, Eric, 23 Robbe-​Grillet, Alain,  47, 82 Rodney, Walter, 33–​34, 37 Roffey, Monique, 9, 23–​24, 144 Rohmer, Éric, 47 Rosenbach Foundation, 8, 117 Rothschild, Emma, 60 Ruiz, Raul, 47 Rumsfeld, Donald, 105, 112 Rushdie, Salman, 49–​50 Ruskin, John, 8 Russell, Bertrand, 2 Rwanda, 109, 112

Sabatier, Robert, 47 Sachs, Maurice, 47 Saillet, Maurice, 53 Salkey, Andrew, 20–​21, 25–​26, 33 Sancho, Ignatius, 35 Sandinistas, 69 Saramago, José, 4, 144, 148 Sartre, Jean-​Paul,  53 Satie, Erik, 5, 47 Schehadé, Georges, 46, 47, 86 Schomburg Center for Research in Black Study, 27, 53 Schwarzkopf, Norman, 110 Seacole, Mary, 16, 35 Selvon, Samuel, 20–​23, 25–​26, 148, 150 Senate House Library, 119 Senghor, Léopold Sédar, 76, 82, 145 Senghor University in Alexandria, 81 Sharpe, Tom, 5, 145 Shelley-​Godwin Archive,  8 Simone, Nina, 52 Singapore, 68 Smallwood, Norah, 123 Snowden, Edward, 108 Sony Labou Tansi, 77, 79–​80 Sotheby’s, 117 Soupault, Philippe, 43

165

16

166

Index

South Bank University, 38 split collections, 6–​11, 24, 53, 96, 129, 138, 148 Staffordshire Archives, 158 Stella, Angelo, 94 Stevenson, Robert Louis, 119 Stoler, Ann Laura, 111–​12 Stoppard, Tom, 51 Stuart, Moira, 37 SWAPO, 69 Sweet & Maxwell, 119 Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 119 Swinnerton, Frank, 121 swisspeace, 9, 11, 75 Syria, 5, 46, 75, 86–​87, 150

Tansi, Sony Labou, 77, 79–​80 Tardieu, Jean, 43 Tavistock Publications, 119 Teatro Verdi di Trieste, 133, 137–​38 Tecchi, Bonaventura, 95 Tennyson, Alfred, 123 Thomas, Ewart A. C., 37–​38 Thompson, Shirley, 38 Timbuktu, 45, 60–​61 Tolkien, J. R. R., 3 Tomizza, Vittorio, 98 translators’ archives, 127–​40, 150 Treilles, 78, 83–​85 Trevelyan, Raleigh, 98 Trieste, 130–​31, 133, 135–​38 Trinidad and Tobago, vii, 4, 6–​7, 17–​20, 23–​26, 54, 69, 85, 148, 150 Trinidad Theatre Workshop, 25, 54 Trinity College Dublin, 7, 148 UNESCO, 9, 11, 59–​64, 66, 75, 78, 91, 145, 150 Unite4Heritage, 60 United Nations, 63, 109, 112 Universitat de Girona, 5, 145 Université Senghor d’Alexandrie, 81 University College London, 119

University of East Anglia, 51, 148 University of Hull, 6, 19 University of Nottingham, 148 University of Reading, vii, 1, 4, 6, 7, 12, 98, 117–​120, 148 University of Texas, 7, 8, 23, 51–​53, 82, 100, 129, 132–​34, 137, 143–​44, 148, 149, 150 University of the West Indies, vii, 9, 19–​20, 22–​26, 33, 54, 69, 144, 148 University of Toronto, 25, 50, 54, 66, 144–​45, 148 University of Trinidad and Tobago, vii, 6 University of Tulsa, 27, 150 Uruguay, 10, 68

Vasseur, André, 48 Vietnam, 109–​10, 150 Vitez, Antoine, 43 Vittorini, Elio, 93

Wahl, Jean, 43 Walcott, Derek, 15, 23–​25, 49, 54, 148 Walker, Rudolph, 38 weeding, 157 Welles, Orson, 97 Wells, H. G., 123 Wharton, Edith, 123 White, Kenneth, 47 William Blackwood & Sons, 117 Windhoek, 66–​67, 69–​71, 144 Winkler, Anthony C., 9, 69, 144 Witbooi, Hendrik, 66 Woolf, Virginia, 17, 150 Wright, Richard, 52–​53 Yacine, Kateb, 44, 47, 82 Yale University, vii, 7, 8, 11, 52–​54, 98, 144 Yeats, W. B., 118, 123–​24 Yourcenar, Marguerite, 52 Yugoslavia, 112