The Future Library

I’ve been thinking about the Future Library for some time now and finally got to visit its striking wood-lined repository in Oslo a few weeks ago. I hadn’t planned to visit. In fact, I think I’d forgotten that the project was housed in Oslo and just chanced upon it when visiting the magnificent new Deichman public library. The project (conceived by Katie Paterson) is simple: a library of manuscripts will be collected over the space of one hundred years. From 2014 to 2114 an original work will be entered into the collection. One thousand trees have been planted and, in 2114, an anthology of the library’s works will be printed on paper made from this forest. Of course, while the final authors to contribute will, we assume, be alive to witness the publication of this anthology, many of the writers will be long dead by the time the project culminates. The first to contribute was Margaret Atwood who noted: ‘how strange it is to think of my own voice — silent by then for a long time — suddenly being awakened after 100 years’. On the fifth floor of the Deichman there is a wooden passageway into a little beehive-hut type room. Visitors are asked to remove footwear. You can sit and spend time with the manuscripts but cannot touch or read them. The manuscripts are kept in the wall behind illuminated glass slits. The distortion on the glass makes it hard to discern the names of the author (most of them are currently empty) but I manage to make out a few of them: Atwood, Shafak, Sjón, Schalansky (whose Atlas of Remote Islands is one of my absolute favourite books) and, of course, Knausgaard among others. The first time I visit is on a Saturday and, huddled up inside is a teenage couple, watching TikToks and, I assume, willing me to leave them alone. I come back again on a weekday and just sit there, with books I will never, can never, read.

Why am I so interested in this project? Probably, for the same reasons I am drawn to artists like On Kawara—the focus is on time and, therefore, ideas pertaining to mortality. If you are one of the very few people to read these words, you will be long gone by the time the Future Library project comes to fruition. There seems to be an interesting dichotomy at play here. In submitting work to the library the author acknowledges their mortality while, at the same time, inserts themselves into the future, assuring themselves of some kind of legacy, an afterlife of sorts. While there is a sense of letting go—no need to concern themselves with shifting units, reviews, movie deals etc.—there is also a sense of holding on. Of course, it may happen that, in a future beset by environmental collapse, the Future Library is never completed. There is definitely a chance that these manuscripts will never be read. To will the Future Library good fortune is to choose hope. If you’re ever in Oslo, go check it out.

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As for me, to some extent, it feels like promotion of Let the Dead is winding down as we approach the end of the year. I had a great time reading and discussing my work at Electric Picnic with Elaine Feeney and Khanyisile Mbukwane in the Manifesto stage and, recently I participated in a Poetry at the Lexicon event. Hosted by Rosamund Taylor there were readings by myself, Sara Berkeley and Jo Clement followed by a short Q&A session. Sara and Jo are wonderful poets and I was honoured to read with them. The recording can be now viewed here. Please go have a look and share with anyone you think may be interested.

In November I’ll be doing a reading and a workshop for the Cork-based Winter Warmer festival. My participation will be online and details will be ready very soon. I’m particularly excited about the workshop. I’ll let you know how you can sign up very soon.

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In early 2019 I received an email from the Ireland Chair of Poetry Trust informing me that then Ireland Professor of Poetry, Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin had chosen me as recipient of the Ireland Chair of Poetry Bursary Award. The prize consisted of having time to write at the Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annaghmakerrig, County Monaghan. I booked myself in for a few weeks in summer 2020. Of course, the world changed and I couldn’t avail of the prize. Until now. I thought COVID had scuppered my chance of ever making it here but a few weeks became available and finally, I have made it to Annaghmakerrig.  My desk is placed at a window at the front of the house looking out onto the lake. I can’t remember the last time I wrote anything at a table that wasn’t the kitchen table and so feel privileged to be here. Already a few poems have come and I’m looking for more. Writing a poetry book is a long process but it feels like I’ve begun.

If you have not yet got yourself a copy of Let the Dead, please considering buying one. You can get it straight from my wonderful publishers, Banshee Press, here.