The Monsters That Remain: Myth, Memory, and Maltese Imagination in Ġużi Gatt’s Karattri tal- Fantasija Maltin.
Ġużi Gatt’s Karattri tal-Fantasija Maltin (2023) presents a series of fantasmatic monsters drawn from Maltese oral traditions and stories passed down through generations. Yet folkloristic characters, tales, and legends do not tell the whole story of this work. In collaboration with Richard Bartolo, Eric Leone, John Spiteri Gingell, and others, this book is enriched by an abundant array of visual representations: sculpture, photography, visual art, and graphic animation adorn these pages with an exceptional eye for detail. The book thus speaks to a diverse audience: Maltese speakers, children drawn to its visual world of fantasy, artists and curators, and researchers of Melitensia. Rather than treating such monsters simply as fantasy and relics of a distant past, this book aims to demonstrate their cultural forms through which the past remains active in the present and repeated, transformed, as well as transmitted into the imagination for new generations to come.
The figure of the monster is particularly revealing in this regard, not merely as an object of fear, but as something that shows. In this respect, Antonio Gramsci famously described the period in which “the old world is dying and the new world struggles to be born” as a time of “monsters,” positioning the monster as a figure of uncertainty in which the old order has lost its authority while the new has yet to emerge. The Latin term monstrum, associated with monere (“to warn”) and monstrare (“to show” or “demonstrate”), invites us to understand the monster as a sign through which something otherwise concealed is made visible. The monster can therefore be understood as the visible manifestation of such a remainder; something supposedly belonging to the past that continues to inhabit the present. This offers a productive way of approaching Maltese mythology in the context of Gatt’s work, where supernatural and fantasmatic creatures continue to circulate across generations, even within an increasingly modern and secular society.
Initiating with the well-known maltese ‘Ħares’, which is distinguished from ‘Ruħ’, the author outlines how the term is broadly translated into “someone who looks” as if acting as a guardian of some sort. Interestingly, the term itself in maltese denotes an immanent contradiction: while the term is literally translated as “to look” or “someone who looks”, it also simultaneously denotes a monster who is seldomly seen. It is typically depicted as a four-fingured grotesque figure, carrying a sack of coins and guarding a particular dwelling, cursing anyone who dares to break its terms or conditions. However, due to its invisibility, it is said to take multiple forms such as a black dog, a wild cat, or a treacherous snake. Interestingly, its feminine counterpart, il-Ħaddiela, was believed to cause sleep paralysis and could be warded off by placing a metal object, such as a key or knife, under one’s pillow. On the other hand, ‘ir-Ruħ’ (also known as ‘fatat’ or ‘fantazma’) is the conventional interpretation of the ghost or spirit. Within the tales and legends, the ghost is typically an undead spirit who, having suffered a grave injustice, roams the world of phenomena in search of justice and, ultimately, rest.
The subsequent array of monsters and figures reflects the cultural expression that emerges between terrestrial and celestial. Firstly, the legend of the ‘gawgaw’ is depicted as a hybrid creature with a human body and a bull’s head, or simply a horned head, possessing otherworldly strength. On Christmas Eve, it appears by dragging a harrow through the streets, emitting loud, bellowing cries. With reference to venerable national and international authors, Gatt goes into profound detail to describe the origins of the name; the reason why it is said to appear on Christmas Eve; and the reference to the type of animal and the agricultural implement. It is suggested that the term gawgaw is an amalgamation of a star that appears in December in the South Mediterranean and North Africa, colloquially known as ‘kawkaw’ (Alpha Carinae), and muscular bull known as ‘il-Qawqaw’ or ‘il- Qawqam’. Drawing on Ancient Mesopotamia and Greek civilisations, the Alpha Carinae constellation is portrayed as a hybrid creature in a similar fashion as aforementioned in which the Kawkaw star represents the harrow. Furthermore, in light of traditional pagan and syncretic practices, Gatt argues that the reference to Christmas Eve links Christian festivities with the legend of the Gawgaw and the seasonal appearance of the star. Thus, tracing the iconography of celestial stars from Mesopotamian and Greek civilisations into the Maltese vernacular, Gatt offers an intriguing explanation for the emergence of the Gawgaw monster.
Secondly, in a similar vein to the Gawgaw, ‘l-Ors tal- Gandlora’ has a diametric relation to the celestial calendar. While the Gawgaw appears in the final months of the year, the ors tal- Gandlora appears in the month of February, specifically the 2nd February during the feast of Gandlora observed in Piemonte Italy and, in fact, Victoria Gozo. Legend has it that a giant horrifying bear swarms the city of Victoria, Gozo, after awakening from his winter slumber. Resting one leg on the old city walls, and the other of the neighbouring hill, he then meanders through the serpentine roads brushing his whiskers against the cobbled walls. If his whiskers are moist by the dampness of the winter, then the wet season persists; if his whiskers are dry, then the wet season has come to an end and begins the seasonal transition into spring.
There are several reiterations of this legend particularly known as Candlemas Day, Groundhog Day and L’orso della Candelora in the United Kingdom, United States, and Italy respectively. Documentation of the precise names are, in fact, at times convoluted whereby the legend of the Gawgaw is replaced with the name of the L-Ors tal-Gandlora, and vice versa. At times, as Gatt notes, it is also common to find reference to both as simply ‘Il- Waħx’ or ‘waħx il- Baqar’. However, Gatt observes that the older term waħx denoted a state of being “uninhabited” or “deserted,” in opposition to wens, meaning presence or companionship. Today, the term refers more broadly to the abstract figure of ‘the monster,’ thereby signalling the presence of a demonstrable remainder within the Maltese folkloristic cultural habitus. In Lévi-Strauss’s terms, while myths may differ in their semantic content and cultural context, their underlying structures can remain remarkably similar, suggesting that the persistence of the monster may lie not only in the survival of a particular figure, but in the recurring structures of meaning that sustain it.
One particularly fascinating element of this series is the association of certain monsters with specific geographical areas and architectural features of the island. Consider, for example, the twice-told tales of the ‘tork tat- taraġ’ and ‘il- Belliegħa.’ In the first instance, ‘it-Tork tat-Taraġ’ was a supernatural household guardian placed at the bottom of the staircase, in the dark transitional space between upstairs and downstairs, and was often depicted holding a dim lantern. Maltese popular culture historically used Tork rather loosely for dark-skinned or North African people, partly reflecting Malta’s historical encounters with Muslim raiders and captives. The figure was also used to frighten children, who were warned that he would seize them and throw them into a sack. Similarly, il-Belliegħa was a folkloric creature associated with traditional household wells and used to frighten children. As liminal monsters, both figures inhabit ambiguous spaces within the home, between the familiar and the unknown, and the everyday and the supernatural.
Ġuze Gatt’s book is inundated with folkloristic references and an actual auto-ethnographic account of his own childhood. It is a refreshing and detailed take on the tales and legends of the Maltese Islands, with a concerted effort to portray detailed and authentic visionary displays of such monsters. Space here does not permit a detailed examination of all these creatures. The work is, however, not to be considered as a rigorous academic publication; its referencing is limited, and some sources are questionable. Rather, it adopts a gentle, conversational-like prose that evokes the feeling of a bedtime story. In effect, it seeks to beguile the reader, much like the monsters within its pages, leading them into an uncanny valley of folklore that leaves the mind insatiably curious. In this sense, the Maltese monster may be understood not simply as a figure of folklore, but as a kind of cultural haunting: a persistent trace connecting different historical moments and revealing how the old continues to inhabit the new.
