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Voices of the Old Sea Norman Lewis 9780786716906 Books

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Voices of the Old Sea Norman Lewis 9780786716906 Books

I first became acquainted with the travel writing of Norman Lewis some three decades ago when I read A Dragon Apparent: Travels in Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam which concerned his travels in Indochina in the early 50’s, during the French war there. I have now read it twice, reviewing it on Amazon in 2008. I’ve also read "Golden Earth" about his travels in the same time frame, in a country I hold dear: Burma. Thanks to a fellow former Amazon reviewer, I recently read Naples '44: A World War II Diary of Occupied Italy. He also claimed – correctly – that “Voices of the Old Sea” would be worthy of my special “6-star” rating. No question – I’m now “addicted” to Lewis, and fortunately there are a few more works of his that will help steady my “shaking hand.”

The “why” is missing. And thus, one can deduce, at least I did, that it was his insatiable curiosity to see what is around the next curve in the road… without a guide book (or GPS!) to tell you what you might expect. Lewis decides to go live on the Costa Brava, Catalonia, Spain in 1948 (that is the coastal area between Barcelona and the French border). He picked the isolated village of Ferol, on the Bay of Roses. The village no longer exists – even Google cannot find it, returning only the city with two “r’s”, Ferrol, on the other side of Spain, in Galicia.

A revolution. That is what Lewis witnessed, and describes with great care, and with thoughtful objectivity. And I was stunned by the timing, always believing it had happened a couple decades later. The residents of Ferol were living much like their ancestors had in Roman times. Life was hard; grinding poverty and even hunger a mere failed semi-annual return of the shoals of fish. And within two years, virtually all the residents embraced the prosperity of the tourist economy. Money talks, big time, and wages soared.

I have also read Laurence Wylie’s excellent "Village in the Vaucluse". He was a Harvard sociology professor who, along with his wife and two young children, went to live in Roussillon, in Provence, France, for two years, 1950-52. He describes a village trying to recover from the physical and spiritual shock of the Second World War, also quite poor, whose residents would shoot sparrows for food. And yet Lewis describes at least the vanguard of French, German and Scandinavian tourists who were sufficiently prosperous to make an annual pilgrimage to the sun and surf of Spain… shedding some of the moral and civil constraints of “back home.”

But I have gotten ahead of Lewis’ story. Almost the first half of the book describes life in 1948, pre-tourist invasion. The residents of Ferol were almost totally dependent on their fishing ability. Shoals of fish would come only two times of year; if one did not arrive, the poverty was such that marriages and pregnancies of married couples would be delayed. Nearby, the village of Sort, is primarily reliant on the cork forest, which is dying. They also have small vegetable gardens; only 4 km from the sea, they almost never fish. The two villages are intertwined in a number of ways, certainly economically, and have their rivalries. By 1950, the residents of Sort had largely abandoned their village.

Lewis, without formal specialization in anthropology, sociology, or history, describes so many essential details of life in these two villages. Don Alberto is a feudal lord, reading his Roman classics, opposed to any modernization efforts, as “harmful” to his subjects. The priest, Don Ignacio, is naturally a good friend. No male in Ferol will attend church services. Both “Don’s” will be replaced in that three-year period by Muga, a progressive black marketeer, who sees the future as tourism, and rules and manipulates with a “velvet glove.” The eternal needs of men, for the pleasures of the flesh, are handled by one woman, first of all, Sa Cordovesa, and later, by Maria Cabritas, each of whom have their own somewhat heart-breaking stories that Lewis relates. And the Spanish Civil War still quietly reverberates, with Catalonia in particular, being on the losing side. Lewis and one of the villagers take a trip inland, to deliver some money to a former Republican commander, who still hopes to escape to France.

Lewis would lead life “on the edge,” and, bless him, he made it to the age of 95, dying in 2003. May we all be so fortunate as to lead such a fulfilling, observant and fascinating life. 6-stars.


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Voices of the Old Sea Norman Lewis 9780786716906 Books Reviews

This is a sad story of tragic loss. Great reading or rather writing, of course, and obviously moving, but sad to be so fully and eloquently shown a way of life so rewarding, yet so tranquil in its simplicity, so totally destroyed by "development". Farol; a simple fishing village in the old Spain, had the misfortune of being on that coast eventually exploited and destroyed as the "Costa Brava". The author, after a rather tough time in WWII sought out a retreat in the then isolated region just as it was identified by the Spanish government and local entrepreneurs as being "suitable for substantial development as a holiday destination". Which development, of course, not only destroyed the village, its daily life and annual cycles, but the whole culture of the inhabitants.

Lewis painstakingly, over three seasonal domiciles, earned acceptance from the fisher-folk, carefully not to transgress local taboo - no leather on the boats - he gained a grudging place, and was reluctantly given recognition, as an almost honorary local, even to his own "beautifully wrecked" chair outside the local bar. He sought a `sense of place' just at the time that it was torn from the villagers, and their age-old dependence on their local shamans and natural leaders.

The story of that journey to acceptance and the all too rapid evaporation of the mores of such simple rustic values by the corruptions of development and tourism - headed mainly by a former bandit of this arid region with its villages of cat lovers contesting with the village of dog owners - is a fascinating read. As Cyril Connolly wrote ... "Lewis is able to write about the back of a bus and make it interesting"

Here Lewis had a far more significant subject - a community in its still hopeful death throes in the path of `progress'.
This is one of the best books I've read in a long time. Norman Lewis is a fine writer, not well known in the US. Around 1950, with little visible means of support, he spent parts of several years in a small fishing village somewhere south of Barcelona--working on fishing boats and chronicling a dying way of life. The villagers' culture, rituals, and beliefs were pre-modern to say the least, perhaps going back one or more millennia--but already in the early stages of being swept aside by the coming tidal wave of the seaside tourism industry. Those who fought against Franco's army have to keep a low profile, and guard secrets. Lewis is a wonderful storyteller and great painter of characters, with eyes and ears for the tragedies and comedies of life. Not to be missed are his descriptions of the "cat village" where he lived, full of non-church going fishermen and their families, who follow ancient pagan rituals and superstitions--versus the nearby "dog village" of stolid, God-fearing farmers who, of course, look down on the cat villagers while they also see their ancient culture slipping away..
I first became acquainted with the travel writing of Norman Lewis some three decades ago when I read A Dragon Apparent Travels in Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam which concerned his travels in Indochina in the early 50’s, during the French war there. I have now read it twice, reviewing it on in 2008. I’ve also read "Golden Earth" about his travels in the same time frame, in a country I hold dear Burma. Thanks to a fellow former reviewer, I recently read Naples '44 A World War II Diary of Occupied Italy. He also claimed – correctly – that “Voices of the Old Sea” would be worthy of my special “6-star” rating. No question – I’m now “addicted” to Lewis, and fortunately there are a few more works of his that will help steady my “shaking hand.”

The “why” is missing. And thus, one can deduce, at least I did, that it was his insatiable curiosity to see what is around the next curve in the road… without a guide book (or GPS!) to tell you what you might expect. Lewis decides to go live on the Costa Brava, Catalonia, Spain in 1948 (that is the coastal area between Barcelona and the French border). He picked the isolated village of Ferol, on the Bay of Roses. The village no longer exists – even Google cannot find it, returning only the city with two “r’s”, Ferrol, on the other side of Spain, in Galicia.

A revolution. That is what Lewis witnessed, and describes with great care, and with thoughtful objectivity. And I was stunned by the timing, always believing it had happened a couple decades later. The residents of Ferol were living much like their ancestors had in Roman times. Life was hard; grinding poverty and even hunger a mere failed semi-annual return of the shoals of fish. And within two years, virtually all the residents embraced the prosperity of the tourist economy. Money talks, big time, and wages soared.

I have also read Laurence Wylie’s excellent "Village in the Vaucluse". He was a Harvard sociology professor who, along with his wife and two young children, went to live in Roussillon, in Provence, France, for two years, 1950-52. He describes a village trying to recover from the physical and spiritual shock of the Second World War, also quite poor, whose residents would shoot sparrows for food. And yet Lewis describes at least the vanguard of French, German and Scandinavian tourists who were sufficiently prosperous to make an annual pilgrimage to the sun and surf of Spain… shedding some of the moral and civil constraints of “back home.”

But I have gotten ahead of Lewis’ story. Almost the first half of the book describes life in 1948, pre-tourist invasion. The residents of Ferol were almost totally dependent on their fishing ability. Shoals of fish would come only two times of year; if one did not arrive, the poverty was such that marriages and pregnancies of married couples would be delayed. Nearby, the village of Sort, is primarily reliant on the cork forest, which is dying. They also have small vegetable gardens; only 4 km from the sea, they almost never fish. The two villages are intertwined in a number of ways, certainly economically, and have their rivalries. By 1950, the residents of Sort had largely abandoned their village.

Lewis, without formal specialization in anthropology, sociology, or history, describes so many essential details of life in these two villages. Don Alberto is a feudal lord, reading his Roman classics, opposed to any modernization efforts, as “harmful” to his subjects. The priest, Don Ignacio, is naturally a good friend. No male in Ferol will attend church services. Both “Don’s” will be replaced in that three-year period by Muga, a progressive black marketeer, who sees the future as tourism, and rules and manipulates with a “velvet glove.” The eternal needs of men, for the pleasures of the flesh, are handled by one woman, first of all, Sa Cordovesa, and later, by Maria Cabritas, each of whom have their own somewhat heart-breaking stories that Lewis relates. And the Spanish Civil War still quietly reverberates, with Catalonia in particular, being on the losing side. Lewis and one of the villagers take a trip inland, to deliver some money to a former Republican commander, who still hopes to escape to France.

Lewis would lead life “on the edge,” and, bless him, he made it to the age of 95, dying in 2003. May we all be so fortunate as to lead such a fulfilling, observant and fascinating life. 6-stars.