By the time you read this, I will be gone.
Q: Ovid, Byron, Wilde, Hyde - what thing do these four titans of literature have in common?
A: They all went into exile.
Like Byron and Wilde, my exile is a self-imposed act1. Widely open to interpretation, it can be seen as a programme of strict discipline and restraint in which I have removed myself from all I hold dear - friends, family and Curzon Mayfair to dedicate myself entirely to pursue my goals, or a hissy fit.
The primary conceit of the exile is to not return to England until I have obtained a literary agent. I’m going to give everything I have to the one thing I want and not have to concern myself with Microsoft Teams. It could take a day, a month, or a year. I would prefer it not to be a year because I want to see Fumi Kaneko dance Swan Lake with Vadim Muntagirov in May. I guess I might miss my family too.
I have come to Gdańsk, which I have never visited, let alone lived in before. My friend Jo said it seemed like a good match, that we both had, ‘icy, glam, goth vibes’, and according to both a recent tarot reading and this week’s Sagittarius horoscope in The Cut, my exile is going to be a grand success.
There is something about this part of the world (to the right of Germany but no lower than Hungary) that makes my soul sing. When I was 21, I made a pilgrimage to Lithuania, the homeland of my boyfriend, Hannibal Lecter2, and never looked back. This, to quote my boyfriend, David Byrne, must be the place.
My Mum, fresh back from Australia and desperate to return (and no doubt go halves on accommodation she continually refers to as ‘expensive’), keeps telling me how much I would love it. Sure, Australia gave us Kylie Minogue, Epponnee-Rae, Kylie Minogue as Epponnee-Rae, Sam Reid and this TikTok, but in my heart of hearts, I know Sydney will never be Odessa; swimming in the Black Sea, promenading down Katerynynska Street, grabbing a steak at Lou Lou and catching a cheeky performance of Don Quixote. And I know Sydney has sea, steak and opera houses, but…eh.
Here, the sun blazes in a heavy blue sky, a different kind of cold to England, brighter, sharper. It gets dark at 3:30 and the bitter wind from the sea immediately bites into the back of your legs despite velour-lined thermal tights. Sometimes your hair blows in your face and it is cold. My hair has never been cold in England. Ovid and Byron went to warmer, Grecian climes, whereas I am dumping hyaluronic acid on my ruined, dried skin like there is no tomorrow3.
I first moved to Poland in December 2020, and in the taxi to Heathrow at 3:00 am I listened to the Finale Ultimo from Camelot on repeat and pretended I was Natalie Portman’s Jackie Kennedy, leaving the White House for the last time. I still pretend to be Jackie most days, if only to do the voice, but on this taxi ride, I listened to the finale of Raymonda. I thought of the ending of Tamara Rojo’s production, where Raymonda quietly slips out of her wedding, to return to her job, her passion, her calling.
I didn’t really bother with a farewell tour - I saw a few wonderful friends and left the others to feel guilty. One anonymous friend who has not signed up for this newsletter crawled out of the woodwork of Facebook Messenger to ask, How are you feeling about it?
I keep turning Katie’s question over in my head, and I cannot tell if it is deeply stupid. Yes, I could have stayed in London - it’s not as if I have actually been exiled by the British government (though a girl can dream). It was a voluntary act that I paid for. So, to clear up any questions you may have about my exile, its conditions, and my feelings towards it, here is a handy primer.
Exile Manifesto - Lily Elizabeth Hyde, 23rd November 2023
So, you’ve actually gone into exile?
Yes, I’m 800 miles from South-East London, in a small, luridly painted flat. It is obviously not legally binding, and I will come back for Christmas because my mother would kill me if I didn’t, but then I’ll go back out with a one-way ticket in January.
And you’re not coming back until you have a literary agent?
That’s the (very stupid) plan.
Will you have a link to this manifesto in the cover letters that you send to literary agents?
But, of course!
Are you really going to spend all your time agenting?
There are only so many literary agencies a girl can alienate herself from, so no. I’ll dedicate my mornings to submitting my work and maintain a diligent afternoon schedule of pitching, writing and impersonating Jackie Kennedy.
Are you secretly hoping that if you make a big fuss about exiling yourself you’ll fluke and get a literary agent very quickly?
Yes, obviously.
How much is this costing you?
Hopefully less than Curtis Brown’s Writing Your Novel course4. You can always become a paid subscriber if you’re concerned.
What does your family think?
My mother and brother are delighted. Uncle Dickie referred to it as ‘my calling’.
What do your friends think?
The ones that aren’t jealous are very supportive.
Can I come out and visit you?
Maybe next year.
What’s the best thing that’s happened to you so far?
Making Jennifer Garner’s biscones with an oven that actually works.
What is the worst thing that’s happened to you so far?
Having to transport a month’s worth of luggage and a Harlequin Practice Mat across a courtyard and up six flights of stairs. Samsonite and cobbles do not mix.
What are you struggling with?
To find good falafel.
How are you feeling about it?
As I write this at a desk that overlooks Gdańsk’s Royal Chapel and St Mary’s Basilica, and my view of over 450 years of history is marred only by errant flakes of snow in the wind, I feel quite content.
Thank you so much for reading! It means the absolute world to me. If you enjoyed it, please consider subscribing or sharing with a link. See you next week! L x
Although not because I’m avoiding creditors.
Mads Mikkelsen’s Hannibal, obviously.
Which to be fair, I would also probably be doing if I was exiled in Greece.
If you do have a place on Curtis Brown’s Writing Your Novel course, you have too much money and should give some (read: £3,190) to me.