Brevity Collective Reveals Mercurial Carnival

By Anmarie Bowler, Brevity Editor & Founder

Prompt. To make something happen.

Writing prompts are needles that pierce a storyteller’s consciousness. But they’re often slapdash and dull. Lacking a point, prompts sometimes hardly scratch the surface.

To create the Sept/Oct Brevity anew for the CAN YOU HEAR US? cultural celebration I invited a selection of talented Island writers to become a temporary collective. To meet, talk and write to a prompt that I hoped was sharp, shiny and well-tooled. I was joined by Cody Pevreall, VEX editor and poet; Jean G-Owen, writer and founder of Figmentum Books, an indie publisher; Sarah Nichole, writer and Poet Laureate finalist, and Teresa Leiva, writer and doctor. The meeting in Quay Arts Café buzzed.

The prompt, carnival obscure, urged writers to swerve the obvious. Examine the dark underbelly of carnival. Is it ever menacing? Is the menace intentional? What of the public spectacle? Watchers versus walkers? Is carnival an invitation to misbehave? To become something we’re not? Or to revel in who we really are? If the
lively conversation around the table was any indication, the needle had jabbed the writers’ imaginations.

While I intended to pen a short work of fiction inspired by my carnival in the American Midwest, I wanted to breathe in the local vibe, and what better place than the Carnival season kick-off in Sandown. It had just been named one of 15 towns across the UK to be shortlisted for the coveted Town of Culture 2028 designation, so when the Tide Turners – the insightful instigators who wrote the Sandown bid – invited me to walk in the procession holding the Tide Turner sign, I was excited.

If you’ve never walked in carnival, if you’ve never marched in a carnival band, sat on a carnival float, pulled on a costume and by hook or by crook, inserted yourself into the roving, writhing procession of mercurial sound and fury, then you have not lived. I won’t soon forget the parting waves of people billowing toward us as we held the stretch of banner that announced Sandown’s ambition. It felt like a privileged point of view, but the beauty of carnival is it’s open to everyone. Just say yes. The costumed dancers in front of us were a charity group raising money for a worthy cause who played the theme tune from the film Footloose on repeat. I’m still singing “…please Louise, pull me off of my knees…” under my breath. Not the worst morning mantra.

The Brevity writers submitted their stories, and I got to work cutting and gluing the issue into place, readying it for print day at Boojum & Snark. Brevity is a classic zine (pronounced zeen), old school, handmade but high quality. And when I saw the lino cut image artist John Bowler created for the cover, I knew we were making something happen.

In the meantime, the collective of writers, having written, were reflective.

Writer Teresa Leiva said, “Being part of the collective encouraged me to explore memories and ideas that I might not have discovered while writing alone. Also, Carnival would have not been something I had chosen to write about. It was wonderful to listen to other people’s experiences and to discover how people from
different cultures—myself as Spanish and the other members of the group as English and Anmarie from the US—see and remember carnival.”
“I grew up with no carnival at all and only discovered it later in adulthood. Teresa explained. “I have a void—a deep emptiness—in relation to the joyful side of carnival. Its prohibition during the early years of my life, and the way my village transformed it, left an imprint on me. I see carnival more through its morbid, fearful and transgressive aspects than as a colourful, innocent and joyful celebration.”

 “Growing up on the Island, carnivals are something so familiar I barely give them a thought,” Cody Pevreall, writer and co-director of VEX the Ventnor Exchange Spoken Word Collective admitted. “I really enjoyed taking an intrinsic part of the Island’s culture and examining it from various perspectives. It was great to have an opportunity to come together at the start of the project and take inspiration from everyone before starting our own personal piece.”

Writer and Poet Laureate finalist Sarah Nicole said, “Anmarie championed us all to go out and shed some glittery, sparkling light on the story of carnival: either inspired by its rich and winding history, or coming from a completely new perspective. After our first meeting, I left Quay Arts with my feet barely on the ground. I was thrilled to be contributing to this unique collection of short stories.”

“The collective meeting at Quay Arts was lively. Everyone brought something different to the table. Ideas bounced around about spectacle, disguise, ritual, misrule and the darker possibilities of carnival,” writer Jean G-Owen said. “I started digging into Yarmouth’s traditions and the physical character of the town itself. There was plenty to work with. Somewhere between the history, the harbour and that conversation around the table, Yarnival 2226 began to take shape.”

She continued, “Paired with Paul (Mclaren) from Shademakers, I managed to sneak two delightful conversations out of a very busy, very established artist. What he shared about his passion for carnival, as well as his ambitions and hopes for how it is understood more widely, made me rethink my own views and gave me a much deeper respect for the artistry and tradition carnival upholds every summer.”