By way of discussing the writing
of this collection I have reproduced the introduction:
This is my third book of librettos
and once again I have taken a different approach to the form. Similarities
to my earlier efforts will also be obvious – a willingness
to locate opera well away from great theatres, a certain irreverence,
an avoidance of the tragedies and horrors of the European genre,
et cetera. The main consistency in my approach lies in
my belief that different times and places call for different
operas. This idea is taken a little further in the present
collection.
Each of these librettos refers to a particular
place, and is meant to be performed there, although there is
no reason why people elsewhere shouldn’t borrow it if
they so desire. This
idea is a little more radical than it sounds. The events
of most of the great European operas have a location – Nuremberg
(Wagner’s Meistersingers), Rome (Puccini’s Tosca), or,
let us say, Seville (Rossini’s Barber, Bizet’s
Carmen, Mozart’s
Don Giovanni). Et cetera. How important
these places, these settings, were to the composers, I cannot
say. Audiences, I am inclined to think, rarely locate
the famous operas in actual places; they all occur in the spaces
of the imagination, that is to say inside the minds of those
who watch them. Once this relationship between the events
being staged and the minds of the listeners, the viewers, has
been established, the opera is secure because it no longer
needs location. It wanders the firmament as freely as
Goldilocks or Macbeth (can you tell me where Dunsinane is? Yes,
it’s in Scotland, but where?)
So each of the
librettos refers to a particular place: how innovative is this,
if at all? How important?
To the librettist, very. I
wish to give the places of my country a voice. This means
the people too. In
writing these librettos I have imagined them being performed
in front of visitors to the opera’s region, people who,
I hope, will feel that they are being both accepted and to
some degree inducted by watching a performance. If libretto,
music and performance are good, then there is an assertion
and acceptance of local pride. Nations need to be built
on pride or prides, silly as some of them may be.
To the composer
in the act of deciding whether or not they want to set a particular
libretto, not important at all. They
will judge what they read by whether or not it gives them expressive
opportunities within their scope. If they decide to compose,
however, the spirit of the chosen place will enter them to
some degree. They will be setting events, and dialogue,
yes, but also something more, flowing in from outside the particulars
on the page.
To the audiences, if I may look that far
ahead, both yes and no. They will want a good show, or
they’ll
be bored, or stay away. If the performance is successful,
however, they should feel that they’ve encountered something
which is not theirs, but which they can have access to while
they are in the region that gave rise to it. I see these
librettos as a means whereby local lore, legend and atmosphere
can be displayed with pride and accepted with respect. In
that sense, then, each of these librettos is the beginning
of a dialogue between those who know something and those who
are curious to find out.
The librettos in this collection, or
rather the events they depict, are a somewhat scattered collection
of things that entertain, interest or amuse one particular
writer, which means, obviously enough, that they are limited
by their creator’s
mind. I will be pleased if this project succeeds, but
much more pleased if what I offer here gives rise, eventually,
to a new tradition in which the contents of this book are not
the quirky offerings of one writer, but a tiny part of a much
greater practice which has subsumed its beginning.
I
put them before you in hopes of your enjoyment, amusement, or
what you will. I think acceptance would be enough.
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