Dak li l-Lejl

Last night, Merlin’s flagship author Pierre Mejlak launched his latest collection of short stories entitled “dak li l-lejl iħallik tgħid” (“what the night lets you say”). The event was held in the sumptuous settings of Mdina’s Palazzo Falson – a jewel in Malta’s heritage crown and will surely be registered as an all-round success by the organisers. Merlin has hit on a winning formula that is a combination of finding worthy texts, packaging them in an exciting wrapping and creating an aura of anticipation around them. In doing so it may be leading the way to the rediscovery of Maltese literature by an ever widening audience.

Marketing ploys may spice up the look, feel and spin of a literature piece but the proof of the pie is in the eating. Whether you are leaving the magnificent setting of Palazzo Falson or walking out of your bookshop of choice with book in hand, there is only so much that the package can sell (and it has gone some way in doing so by getting to buy the book). The list of deserved praises that Mejlak’s previous works have attracted might tickle the fancy of a first-time reader but there’s no better selling point than the wonderful weaving of ideas and words that is Pierre’s imagination set to paper.

The moment you start reading a story of Pierre’s you switch off from reality and follow the author’s melodic pan pipe into the realm of fantasy. In pIerre’s case, the elaborate insights of an observant narrator combine to provide a simple, unputtdownable text that transforms the mundane into an attractive fun-fair. You willingly join the Pied Piper for the ride and enjoy every single word of it.

Minor spoiler alert: the next paragraphs contain hints of the first story without revealing the plot.

I confirmed this feeling with the Prelude and first story (“l-ambaxxatriċi”) last night. Pierre promised, Pierre delivered. (I’m quite sure he’d deny the promising bit but he will definitely smile half-shyly at the delivery stage). For the story about the lady ambassador, Pierre has ventured to the Europe of Mitterand, Spadolini and Platini – and his characters now roam the corridors of the Elysée as happily as they did the piazzas of Qala and Nadur.

The storyline pushes the suspension of belief to its limits – toeing the fine line between credibility and fisherman’s lies – until you notice that the narrator is not desperately marketing the latest twisted truth but is actually conniving with you, the reader, in awe and appreciation at how quickly an elaborately designed story served someone else a dual purpose. And the moment you actually reach the end of Pierre’s Archer-like tale you are at one with the narrator’s observation … this time gazing angrily at a coffin.

Objective achieved : you thank the narrator for the ride and eagerly turn the page for a ticket on the next rollercoaster ride in a very, very colourful and unpredictable playground.

Two-thumbs up. Again.

One for nottebrava: