Dear Readers:
At long last, I am pleased to present the inaugural issue of the re-publication of the Journal of Caribbean Literatures (JCLs). It has been a period of absence that could not have been foreseen, but one as well which allowed the staff to get reorganized and to ensure the continued publication of the journal. I want to thank the many subscribers and institutions which supported us in readjustment, which was brought on by a shift in academic positions by the Chief Editor. I am now Dean of the College of Liberal Arts at the University of Central Arkansas (UCA), a post which will allow for more flexibility and control. The support that I and the journal have received during this transition cannot be underestimated, since many academic journals have floundered in the past several years. We are assured of continuing to serve our readers.
It is appropriate that the JCLs' inaugural issue of the millennium is a special issue on Wilson Harris, a writer of such prominence that his bibliography expands almost daily. I consider Harris to be the most important Caribbean writer today, and one of the most influential in the total history of the literature. His dedication to the craft is tireless; his imagination and creative spirit are limitless; and his understanding of humanity and its various nuances are without equal. These praises are quite appropriate when one examines the extent of Harris's work and his impact on scholarship. I will not comment on that now but direct you to the extensive and still expanding bibliography included in this issue.
I first met Harris by telephone in the early eighties. He was at the University of Texas on a writer-in-residence appointment, and I called to invite him to give a special seminar on Caribbean Literature at Bard College. He was willing to come, but I was unable to work out all the details, and my plans were not realized. I had no contact with him again until 1994, when I invited him to speak and read at an international conference on the short story in English, which I was directing. As you all know, Harris's genre is the novel, not the short story, but I was so eager to have him in any capacity, that I persuaded him to come and speak. As those who attended the conference know, Harris became the dominant influence on that conference, so much so that two books based on or inspired by his talks and interviews were published in 1996.
During this conference, in an interview with Harris, I asked him about the relationship between the writer and literature, based on what it means to be an American writer, Caribbean writer, etc. He responded: "Well, I think it's quite understandable, every writer would like the public to see his or her work as he would like it to be seen, or as she would like it be seen. This is very human. The point, however, that you raised when you said that fiction moves into reality, is that a writer has to bear the torment of a reality which is not necessarily the real world. That reality, therefore, when it breaks out of the real world, can bring different voices in. And some of these voices will address his or her fiction in terms of which he or she may find......Because the fiction that is moving into reality, is not within the writer's grasp, therefore the writer should not be a tyrant, but open himself to many voices."
It is these many voices which Harris represents. One student once asked me who should claim Harris, since he was born in Guyana but spent most of his productive life in England. I am certain that the student, aware of American Literature, was familiar with the histories of Henry James and T.S. Eliot, who had similar histories, i.e., being born in the states, but spending the majority of their lives in England. The obvious answer is that both countries claim Harris, but in reality, it is clear that in Harris's case, he is claimed by the world. And that is as it should be.
Maurice A. Lee
