Page 31 - September 2020
P. 31

LITTERATEUR

                           Mary Blindflowers and The


                                        Black Star of Mu


             Who is acquainted with Mary Blindflowers as an
             essayist  and  a  poetess,  who  dealt    with  her
             distinct  aptitudes  as  a  detailed  researcher  and

             texts’  collater  sounding  autonomous  reworkings
             of       authors’         and         historical-literary
             phenomenologies’  explanatory  theses  or  her
             language  and  conceptual  experimentations  in
             lyrical  creation,  maybe  will  be  wondering  at
             discovering a further faceting of this many-sided
             writer  reading  “Mu’s  Black  Star”,  a  story  where
             shines  all  the  pyrrhonism  permeating  the  global
             conception  of  human  fate  by  such  a  skilful
             contemporary  composer.  Her  essays’  analytical
             rigour  and  cogent  adherent  synthetic  reworking
             make  room  for  a  fanciful  paper  where,  yet,  one
             foresees  at  brightest  lights  writer’s  “creed’s”
             philosophical underlayer, wisely cloaked by plot’s
             characters’  historical  symbology,  constantly
             catchy  and  highly  mimetic  despite  its  diegetical
             sections physiologically taking turns.
             .
             Everything  is  originated  in  an  effluvium  of  semantic  brightness  in  Great  Mothers’
             mythical  world,  the  longed  forbear  of  the  phallic  gang  which  ruled  over  human
             history,  and  the  reader  little  by  little  perceives,  in  the  link  of  dark  and  warlike

             onomastics and consanguinities of such a glow, that story’s connective tissue is a
             clever  oxymorical  and  antithetical  game  Mary  Blindflowers  runs  after  during  the
             entire  narration  whose  akmé  arrives  just  on  darkness’  acquaintance,  Chaos’
             mythological  fruit  and  Night’s  blood-relation,  in  a  counterpoint,  in  my  opinion,
             deliberately  pursued  to  mimic  St  John’s  passage  “and  men  loved  darkness  rather
             than  light”  (John,  III,  19)  reflecting  etymologically  the  contrast  between  the  two
             worlds the text speaks about, divided by a sort of chasm, a kind of depth, the so-
             called Unknowable Beyond (that is Chaos’ original meaning: precipice), when from
             brightness  will  come  off  shadiness,  signified  by  the  godhead  of  indecision,
             slipperiness and mystery. And mystery is all the ritual sealing the witch-like entrance
             into Great Mothers’ world, in an evocation of dates and names which semantically
             stamp as power’s orgy’s zenith Italian Republic’s historical events a careful reader is
             going to pick out unexpectedly.


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