D Wood describes how craft activates the fictional worlds of “Blue Caftan” and “The Healing Season of Pottery.”
The OED cites eleven meanings for the word ‘fiction’. In the times in which we currently live, we are enured to the negative definition: “the action of ‘feigning’ or inventing imaginary incidents, existences, states of things, etc., whether for the purpose of deception or otherwise.” Examples include the stealing of the 2020 US election by Joe Biden, herd immunity precluding the need for COVID vaccinations, UK sub-postmasters being culpable in the Horizon IT scandal, and Russia’s innocence in the poisoning of Alexei Navalny. We could also add CGI (computer-generated imagery) in movie production within the category of invented truths.
Another definition of fiction—“concerned with the narration of imaginary events and the portraiture of imaginary characters”—applies to novels as well as motion pictures. The themes of twenty-first-century fiction are frequently based in reality—love lost and found, existential angst, a hero’s journey, environmental depredation, and true crime—yet their authors sometimes require readers to stretch their imagination to implausible limits.
That is why it is refreshing to encounter a book or film centred on craft as an activity grounded in reality and readily related. Two instances I have recently savored are The Blue Caftan and The Healing Season of Pottery.
The Blue Caftan, by the Moroccan director Maryam Touzani (2022), tells the story of a small shop in a city in northwestern Morocco that is operated by a tailor and his wife. Halim makes sought-after caftans with elaborate embroidery decoration, while Mina assists customers with fabric selection and keeps track of accounts. They have hired a number of apprentices in the past, none of whom have stayed until the latest one, Youssef, who exhibits a flair for the craft and a desirable work ethic.
The film, which was the official submission of Morocco for ‘Best International Feature Film’ at the Academy Awards in 2023, is notable for its depiction of the relationship between Halim and Mina and, subsequently, Halim and Youssef, particularly as homosexuality is illegal in Morocco. But notable, too, is the apprentice’s creation of gold cord for embellishing the caftans—I gained knowledge of the practice here—and the exacting stitching to place it around sleeves and collars. The climax of The Blue Caftan, which epitomizes the value of craft and what it symbolizes for a maker, had this curmudgeon in tears. I highly recommend this film for its acting, direction and attention to traditional craft practice.
The Healing Season of Pottery by Yeon Somin (translated by Clare Richards) is not as emotional yet presents a down-to-earth tale about a young Korean woman’s abandonment of employment to take stock of who she is and where she should be. After spending months cloistered in her flat in “self-loathing”, Jungmin forces herself out into the streets around Chestnut Burr Village. She seeks refuge from the heat in an unsigned shop she assumes is a café. It turns out to be a pottery studio. Despite the smell of clay and shelves loaded with cups, the owner makes Jungmin an iced coffee, which tastes delicious. The owner, Johee, explains:
The reason our coffee tastes good, is because of the cups. These are robust ceramics fired in a kiln at 1,250 degrees. If you serve coffee in a jade celadon cup, it tastes better. And the sweet coffee I mentioned earlier, you have to drink it out of glossy white porcelain. Maybe because it conjures up the image of sugar, but it’s more delicious that way.
The upshot of the mistaken identity (workshop vs. café) is that Jungmin signs up for lessons, not only in pottery but, concurrently, in life. Her graphic design and writing skills from her previous job assist the studio and she becomes a valuable part of a small community.
The fascination about a Korean novel devoted to a familiar craft is that it provides a glimpse of how things are done elsewhere. Jungmin makes pots, meets people, shares food and has experiences that enlighten a Westerner’s view. The Healing Season of Pottery posits plenty of warm philosophy about pottery, such as, “Firing pottery is like lighting a fire in your heart. There might be something inside that you’re trying your best to ignore, but it’s only by turning your gaze toward it that you can see it clearly.” In addition, there’s a boy-meets-girl-potter thread in the narrative. The book cannot claim profundity, but it amply satisfies the need to feed a craftsperson’s soul.
Often, gems such as Maryam Touzani’s film and Yeon Somin’s novel are discovered by accident. They are all the more memorable because they’ve popped out from the rest and demonstrated that truth isn’t a stranger to fiction.
