{"id":3324,"date":"2021-07-29T08:00:48","date_gmt":"2021-07-29T07:00:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/writersrebel.com\/?p=3324"},"modified":"2022-03-29T00:34:38","modified_gmt":"2022-03-28T23:34:38","slug":"qa-with-philip-hoare","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/writersrebel.com\/qa-with-philip-hoare\/","title":{"rendered":"Q&A with Philip Hoare"},"content":{"rendered":"
Chloe Aridjis interviews Philip Hoare about his new book, Albert and the Whale<\/em> (Fourth Estate)\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Starting with the monkey in the prologue you brilliantly set up the myriad ways in which our relationship to other species has been defined (artistic, scientific, utilitarian). Would you say much has changed over the centuries or was it established early on?<\/b><\/p>\n I think D\u00fcrer intuited a new way of seeing the natural world, for its own sake, rather than as an alchemical symbol or a religious allegory (although he used those mechanisms, too). He isolated animals like the rhinoceros, the hare, the stag beetle, the spider crab, the walrus, and determined a kind of equivalence with his own species. He seemed to see the same light in their eyes. By setting them apart from medieval history, he launched them into the modern world. He set a new tone of responsibility, I think. To the extent that, if he had drawn a whale the same way he drew a rhinoceros – an animal he also never saw – I wonder if he would have saved the whale, by making us realise the extent of its real state.\u00a0 Or perhaps I’m being overly optimistic.<\/span><\/p>\n I try always to be optimistic.\u00a0 It’s the only course that gives us power to change.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n To feel such a strong kinship with another species (as you do with the whale)\u2014for those who haven\u2019t had the pleasure of reading <\/b>Leviathan<\/i><\/b>, could you describe where this close identification began, how the sea connects you, and whether this was part of what led to your affinity with D\u00fcrer, for whom certain creatures had a mythical hold?\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n I saw my first whale as a captive, an enslaved cetacean in Windsor Safari Park.\u00a0 He was held in a concrete tank.\u00a0 He performed for our amusement, in front of an advertisement for Embassy cigarettes.\u00a0 He scythed through the ersatz turquoise water, a simulacrum of the sea in a Home Counties zoo, and this, the single most successful mammal on the planet, present in every ocean and in their evolved state for six million years, jumped through a hoop, balanced a ball on his nose, and caught a fish in his beak as his reward.<\/span><\/p>\n It was an obscene circus trick and I saw through it, and all its wiles.\u00a0 I determined never to see another whale again.<\/span><\/p>\n Thirty years later, in the waters off Cape Cod, on a boat which I had reluctantly paid $12 dollars to sail upon for the purpose, a 40 tonne 40 forty foot humpback whale breached twenty feet away from me.\u00a0 For a nanosecond she held herself in my world, demonstrating our kinship, holding her pectoral fins out like wings.\u00a0 A barnacled angel, confronting me with her beauty, and my sins.<\/span><\/p>\n I said, very loudly, <\/span>fuuuuckkk.<\/span><\/i>\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n And my life changed.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Your work repositions the human, vividly reminding us we are not central in the universe. Can human nature be better understood through the perspective of the non-human?<\/b><\/p>\n The non-human being is no new invention.\u00a0 Indigenous peoples dealt in that notion a long time before we came to a realisation of it. Look at a raven, an owl, a mountain gorilla, and it is clear that they possess personhood. There is nothing so salutary as meeting a cetacean who knows, after a brief scan, your body better than you do. Slipping species is not just a metaphysical idea.\u00a0 It is a re-creational one.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Whale\u00a0skeletons\/vertebrae seem to foreshadow future\u00a0extinctions as they hang over the hall of many a natural history museum. As you wrote, ‘whales heralded their own disaster’ and elsewhere you mention the extinct sea cow\u2019s\u00a0\u2018pantomime of lovely bones.’ These\u00a0installations now seem to carry yet another narrative: dead oceans. Could you say a bit more about this?\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n Yes, the image you evoke is right.\u00a0 Those empty ribcages and crania hanging in museums around the world echo with the emptiness of sound. The sound they once created which filled entire oceans has been deafened by the roar of our economic progress. The beach is a problematic place. An arena of pain, of disputation, and rapacity. But it remains our liminal introduction to their world. It is not a barrier or a defence but a connexion, a bridging point. Human laws and hubris runs out there, even now. We have as much to gain as to lose, even now.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n You\u2019ve often written about stranded whales.\u00a0Could you tell us what a beached whale represents for you on a more symbolic level?<\/b><\/p>\n It’s a cycle of the stars, the northern lights, the photosynthetic and chemosynthetic process, the dead whales as new economies for other species, interrupted by human gain and disgust. Whales have always died on beaches.\u00a0 The pity is that we feel the need to clean them up. As if we must sweep our guilt away.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Every creature, whale or rhino, pangolin or sacred hare, encompasses a landscape.\u00a0Every creature may someday belong to a museum display of extinct species. Towards the end of your book you write, \u2018it\u2019s hard to know who might go extinct first in this race to the finish.\u2019 Over the years have you found yourself writing\u00a0differently about nature, now that the shadow of extinction looms over every living thing?<\/b><\/p>\n I find it hard to write directly about it. It’s partly why I returned to D\u00fcrer’s experience, five hundred years ago. It’s clear that these events were set in train even then, and perhaps before – as soon as we could kill, remotely. As soon as we set the distance between them and us; as soon as we invented ‘them’ and ‘us’.\u00a0 Art is one way to cope. In a way, I think D\u00fcrer’s hare and his large turf were emblematic of that awareness. The light in an animal’s eyes, the cross-section of dandelions and flowering grass as a slice of time, stilled. By setting these apart, on a page, D\u00fcrer showed what they were.\u00a0 He saw them for their own sake. Then he looked to the future.<\/span><\/p>\n